HER HORRORWEEN - You Are in the Heart of the Corn Maze

[00:00:01] [SPEAKER_00] Why have so many crop circles appeared around Britain? How did thousands of people demonstrate powers of telepathy? Can the dead suck the life from the living? Join me, Tim Harford, for a trip into the paranormal throughout Halloween month on Cautionary Tales. Listen to Cautionary Tales on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts.

[00:00:29] [SPEAKER_02] Want to immerse yourself in Wonder Woman's Amazon Tribe? Or the setting of the movie Atlantis? Or the bisexual bliss of the mummy, curse and all? You've found your queer history girlies in Spirits, Mythology Legends and Folklore. Spirits is a weekly podcast where mythology buff Julia explains a different story from ancient myth or modern folklore to her childhood BFF, Amanda. They examine these stories through a queer feminist lens, drawing parallels to modern life, and

[00:00:56] [SPEAKER_02] asking why these stories still matter to us as human beings. Once a month, they also tell spooky stories from listeners' hometowns. Listen to Spirits, Mythology, Legends and Folklore in your podcast app every Wednesday. And as they say on Spirits, stay creepy, stay cool. Listen up, thrillers. A quick note. Tonight's Devious Audio Delight contains adult content and language. Please see the content warnings in the show notes.

[00:01:22] [SPEAKER_03] You visit Wittershins Apple Orchards Corn Maze every year with your family. But it isn't the same as it used to be. The sky is still that bright autumnal blue against the

[00:01:49] [SPEAKER_03] scarlet banner of sugar maple leaves. The air still carries the scent of wood smoke and dry corn husks and hot apple cider. Families still scatter across the orchard, picking Macintosh apples and honey crisps. They hike across the pumpkin fields, searching for the perfect sphere to carve open and disembowel. There is even a hayride, but the thought of packing your family and that close to strangers makes you

[00:02:17] [SPEAKER_03] shudder. But the corn maze is closed again. Although they've added an observation platform so people can have a bird's eye view of the maze and the huge ancient apple tree at its heart. A danger sign hangs across the entrance, warning people not to enter and to keep six feet of distance. Your son and daughter barely pause long enough to put on the masks you hand them before they bolt for the corn maze.

[00:02:44] [SPEAKER_03] You warned them that it would be closed, repeatedly, but they still wail in disappointment when they see the sign. You make an unplanned early stop at the food truck to buy apple cider mini donuts to quiet them. You no longer feel any shame and resorting to bribery. They're back in distance learning, so every day you pay the children with candy corn in a desperate attempt to make them pay attention to their

[00:03:09] [SPEAKER_03] remote teachers. You know you're buying a future lecture from their dentist, but that's in the future and you no longer have any faith in your ability to predict what might happen between now and then.

[00:03:22] [SPEAKER_01] I thought we agreed we wouldn't spend any extra money on treats. Your husband says. You shrug. You

[00:03:30] [SPEAKER_03] don't have the energy to argue or to come up with a different solution. Your husband boosts your son onto his shoulders to pick the best apples, while your daughter runs up and down the path between the rows of trees. You remember to smile and take a picture, but something else compels you away from there. You follow the tug of my invisible lure to the pumpkin plot. You walk sure-footed across the dry,

[00:03:58] [SPEAKER_03] crumbling soil. Your husband calls. You don't answer him. My call is stronger. Your family follows in your wake. Your children run screaming from pumpkin to pumpkin, arguing loudly over which one is better, but you ignore them. Your husband keeps glancing at you, expecting you to intervene in the children's

[00:04:25] [SPEAKER_03] squabbles, but he's on his own. My lure pulls you forward. Unknowingly, you let me lead you down a spiral path, outlined in intertwined pumpkin vines. At the last moment, you hesitate, but you take that final step

[00:04:44] [SPEAKER_03] into the center of the spiral. When your foot sinks into the dirt, I rise up through you. You shiver and tug your knitted cardigan closer around your shoulders. I can't believe I left my coat in the car, you mutter. The pumpkin patch is always freezing, even on mild days. I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached.

[00:05:13] [SPEAKER_03] You've had trouble remembering a lot lately. You think it's a side effect of enduring long-term stress. You keep planning to mention it to your doctor at your next visit. I release the lure. You wander across the field and dutifully consider the merits of the various pumpkins that your children summon you to. Relieved, your husband gives you a hug. You shrug him off.

[00:05:43] [SPEAKER_03] When the children's mix of laughter and screams shift to complaints of tiredness and boredom, it's time to go home. We buy four pumpkins, one for each member of the family. Our pumpkin has green skin and rough bumps on top, like horns. I like it. You load the children in the car and buy another bag of apple cider mini donuts, hoping it will keep them quiet for part of the

[00:06:11] [SPEAKER_03] drive home. I go with you. In the car, your son keeps sticking his hand into your daughter's space until she punches him. He screams that she hit him and should be punished. And we are still 20 minutes away from home. This would be easier if you'd given the children their tablets for the car ride, but they have too much screen time already. I glare at the children with invisible red eyes and hiss a

[00:06:40] [SPEAKER_03] warning through pointed teeth. You shout, loud enough. Louder than you meant to. Louder than you knew you could. Loud enough to rattle your own skull. They see something in your eyes that makes them shut up. Takeout for dinner? Your husband suggests kindly when you get home. Greek food? You nod, afraid that if you open your mouth to speak,

[00:07:07] [SPEAKER_03] the voice will happen again. While he shows the children the menu for Christo's Greek restaurant, you check your messages. You find one you've been dreading. We're sorry. We aren't going to be able to continue with the holiday shows. We have to lay off all remaining theater employees, tech, administration, and the props department, including outside props

[00:07:33] [SPEAKER_03] overhire. HR will be contacting you individually in the next few days, and you should receive a packet in the mail. His tone changes from scripted to personal. I'm sorry, but we won't need any of the props you're making for the Halloween or Christmas shows now. We're postponing all performances to next year. If you hold on to what you've gotten done, we'll hire you to finish them then. Thick yellow worn

[00:07:59] [SPEAKER_03] nails erupt from your fingertips, scything through the air but cutting nothing. A sudden irresistible itch seizes you, and you claw at an old scab on your arm with your short, stubby fingernails. You gouge your own skin, leaving shallow glistening pink troughs that your blood rushes to fill. Hand pressed flat against the wounds, you go and tell your husband,

[00:08:24] [SPEAKER_03] We can't afford takeout. I got the call. He knows which call you've been expecting and fearing. You'd hoped things would stabilize by now, but they haven't. Layoffs and rehires are an ordinary part of the industry now. You know what steps to take every shutdown, but it seems to get harder each

[00:08:45] [SPEAKER_01] time. Okay. I'll get the kids started with a movie to keep them out of your hair while you take care

[00:08:53] [SPEAKER_03] of dinner. The burden of dinner rolls back onto your shoulders. Another responsibility you are unprepared for. You think of what food is still uneaten from the school lunch boxes. Breakfast for dinner, you call. Talking doesn't feel right, as if your mouth is crowded with too many teeth. I bare my teeth in a smile that stretches into a jagged slash from ear to ear. You cover your mouth

[00:09:20] [SPEAKER_03] with your hand. Your son doesn't like the idea. He doesn't want a movie and mini blueberry waffles. He wants hummus and pita bread and jack-o'-lanterns. Your husband pacifies him with a promise that you will carve the pumpkin right after dinner. Whatever the kids don't eat that you and your husband can't finish, you feed the dog. At least you're saving money on dog food, you think. The dog growls and

[00:09:47] [SPEAKER_03] backs away when you set his food dish down. He always acts like this around Halloween. What gets into him? I don't know. And you don't know yet, but it sounds like a lie. After dinner, you tell your daughter that she has to finish her schoolwork. Her teacher returned her assignment with a note that she needed to fill out all the answers in the form. Every day, you check that her assignments

[00:10:13] [SPEAKER_03] are marked done, but you didn't review her answers in the form to make sure it was completed. Dad promised that we would carve pumpkins now, she protests. He did, and promises have to be kept. You have to wake up early to finish it tomorrow then, you warn. No complaining, no morning cartoons until all your work is done. She bobs her head eagerly. No problem. It will be a

[00:10:41] [SPEAKER_03] problem, and you know it. You and the children have fun choosing the jack-o-lanterns designs. I approve of the fangs and batwing ears that your children pick. We will be a family of monsters. Drawing the design on the pumpkins is fun. But when it comes time to stick their hands inside and yank out the slimy, stringy pumpkin guts, your children scream. Gross! They're missing the fun part.

[00:11:11] [SPEAKER_03] You plunge your hand in. The pumpkin is still body heat temperature from the sun-warmed car trunk. For a minute, you flash on the feel of thick, heavy ropes of intestines still steaming with heat. You shudder from horror or longing. Can you take over? You ask your husband, who is studying your family budget.

[00:11:35] [SPEAKER_03] I need a break. I need some time to myself. To work. I'm going to the studio. You leave every year on Devil's Night. You always tell your husband it's because of the Halloween shows. That you need to work in the studio and make sure your monster costumes and props are in the perfect shape for them.

[00:11:56] [SPEAKER_01] You don't have to tonight. Didn't you finish the props for that one outdoor Halloween show like weeks ago? The others are canceled, right?

[00:12:07] [SPEAKER_03] Your back cramps sharply. You feel like your muscles are splitting open across your shoulder blades. Your husband glances at the budget.

[00:12:20] [SPEAKER_01] We can't afford your studio anymore. You're month to month, right? I guess if you clear out your stuff tonight, we can save next month's rent.

[00:12:31] [SPEAKER_03] Your studio is where you work your art. It is inhabited by the monsters you've created. It is the only place that is yours alone and is infinitely precious to you. You hung on to it through the last round of layoffs and rehires by putting the rent on your credit card. But now, you're maxed out. I unfurl my wings and snap them open. Long shadows stretch across the room as their glittering darkness spreads.

[00:13:01] [SPEAKER_03] You convulse, arms snapping open to match my wings. You knock the monster pumpkin off the table and the shell cracks into pieces. Your hands are still coated in drying guts when you return to the apple orchard. The visitors and staff have all gone home. They are tucked in safe this devil's night, dreaming of Halloween.

[00:13:30] [SPEAKER_03] Cool moonlight bathes the land, turning apple trees into twisted black skeletons and corn stalks into silver spears. The maze waits for you. You step over the danger sign and enter the maze. You remember the twists and the turns from past years. You walk unerringly through the dark, trailing a hand across the rustling corn stalks.

[00:13:58] [SPEAKER_03] The dry leaf blades cut your palms. You don't flinch. You leave a trail of smudged blood behind. In the heart of the corn maze is a huge ancient apple tree. It was the first apple tree to grow on this land. It remembers being a sapling in a forest of oak and ash and basswood. It remembers being before.

[00:14:28] [SPEAKER_03] A shaft of moonlight lances through its gnarled branches to strike your face. And you remember. Every year, the spell on you wears thin. As thin as the veil between the living and the dead. You feel the restless urge to be your true self. The beautiful monster you locked away with a spell. Every year, you visit the corn maze twice. Once in the daylight.

[00:14:58] [SPEAKER_03] To be reminded that I live in your heart. And once. To cast the spell to forget again for another year. If you walk three times wither shins around the ancient apple tree. You can go back to the confines of your life. If you don't. Your true self will spread her wings and unsheathe her claws on Halloween.

[00:15:25] [SPEAKER_01] You are in the heart of the corn maze. Written by Abra Staffen Wiebe. Performed by Spooky Spring. With Jeff Schmidt as the husband.

[00:15:55] [SPEAKER_01] You've been listening to Ominous Thrill, Her Horrorween. It's created, produced, directed, and sound designed by myself, Jeff Schmidt. If this is your first Ominous Thrill episode, please look back in the feed to find other stories you might enjoy. There's plenty of devious audio delights to choose from. The best way to help support making more Ominous Thrill is to subscribe to the ad-free feed, The Red Room, on Patreon and Apple Podcasts. Find links in the show notes. It's greatly appreciated.

[00:16:25] [SPEAKER_01] Next best is to share this story with everyone you think might enjoy it. Help spread the word. Use the share icon in your listening app of choice. And the easiest way is to leave a five-star rating and a positive review. It doesn't do much for the algorithms, but it helps other listeners decide if they'll listen. Thank you. This has been Ominous Thrill, Her Horoween. And until next time, thrill you later.

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