Maybe I'm a“maize”d

Stephen King had it right.  There’s something oh so creepy about a cornfield.  This week, while out driving around the neighborhood, I decided to stop and check out a cornfield in Stillwater Township.  I was curious to see how the crop had fared thru the hot and dry summer.  At first glance the stalks appeared the right height, but I wanted to see the size of the ears so I parked and hiked in for a closer look.  I walked a ways in to examine the rows when I was overcome with the most unsettling yet unmistakable feeling. 

At that instant, I had a flashback to my childhood when my friends and I played hide and seek in the cornfield across the street.  Out of breath and giggling I ran between the rows and hid behind the sturdy stalks.  So tall and strong they seemed like sentinels protecting the crop.  I wasn’t in there long when I first heard it.  Wait.  Did my friends find me?  Who’s whispering?  The overwhelming sensation of being watched flooded over my body.  But it was more than that.  I was not welcome here.  The whispering became more intense.  Get.  Out.  Get.  Out. Get.  Out.   I didn’t need an ear to fall on my head to get the drift.  I was never much of a sprinter but I’d bet I  came close to a record setting pace as I beat feet out of that field. 

When I finally found my way out I was shaking and near tears.  Feeling foolish I saw my friends and then recognized the same symptoms of terror.  We couldn’t get away from that field fast enough.  Safe at my house we later swapped . . .  the same story.  I  never went back in a cornfield.  Until  Tuesday. 

Decades have passed and I’m an adult now but otherwise nothing has changed.  Cornfields have their secrets.  Do not disturb!