Charles stood at the edge of the cornfield waiting for his new friends. He shuffled awkwardly as he waited, kicking the tip of his Converse on the ground. He wasn't used to being alone with no one around. In the city, there was always someone within a reasonable distance but here it was just him, the corn, and farmer Anne's scarecrow. He kept swiveling his head looking for Luke, Joe, or even Chris to show up but his eyes always came back to the corn. The longer he stared into the cramped rows, the more endless they seemed. He considered hopping back on his bike and riding home but he didn't want to be seen as a coward, so there he stood, anxious and alone.

He wasn't sure why the boys had made him come here of all places on Halloween night. When they asked him to come out, he assumed they'd stay at one of their houses and watch terrible horror movies from the local video store or torment younger kids for their candy. He would have guessed there was a party but when they told him to go to Anne's field, he ruled that possibility out. Any kid caught trespassing on her land was likely to stare down the business end of her double barrel. That certainly didn't help his anxiety about being alone on the outskirts of the field. He wrapped his raggedy leather jacket around him, it brought some loose idea of comfort.

Finally, the boys rode up in Luke's beat up pick-up truck. "Hey big C!' they hollered, stumbling out of the truck as a few cans of Milwaukee's best rolling out with them. They must have raided one of their dad's beer fridges. The boys surrounded him.

Joe wrapping his arm around his shoulders and giving him a noogie, "Are ya ready for some Halloween fun, Charles?"

Charles wrestled free. "I'm not sure how much fun you can have in a trigger happy psychopath's cornfield but whatever." Charles brushed his hair back down while the boys grinned around him.

"Oh, it's gonna be a lot of fun," said Luke, cracking a lukewarm beer he pulled out of his coat pocket. "You're gonna do a little trick, and when you're done, we'll give you a little treat."

Charles frowned. He already didn't like this. "What's the treat? Warm beer that you guys have already drank half of?"

The boys just grinned at that, as Luke pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. "How about Sydney's number as a treat?"

Charles' heart beat like an 808 drum. "Sydney Williams?"

Luke laughed as he stuffed the paper back into his pocket. "The one and only, and we already told her you'd call her tomorrow to set up a date. So be a good sport this Halloween, eh?"

Charles sighed. "What do you want me to do?" Chris threw an empty beer can on the ground and crushed it under his heel, "We want you to get that farmer Anne's scarecrow," spitting as the last words came out of his mouth, like they left a sour taste.

"You want me to get a scarecrow?" It was an odd request until Charles remembered that Anne got Chris thrown in the county jail for the night after catching him and his girlfriend on her property doing lord knows what.

"Not just the scarecrow, but its pipe," said Chris, his eyes burning with anger as he said it.

Charles was about to question it but Luke answered before he could say anything. "The scarecrow was modeled after her late husband. It wears his clothes, his hat, and 'smokes' his pipe." Charles would never doubt the depths of teenage pettiness again.

Joe laid a hand on Charles' shoulder, and held out a flashlight, "Listen, the sooner you get the pipe the sooner you can come join us for beer and pizza. Get the pipe, and meet us back at my place. You'll get the holy trinity of beer, pizza, and a girl who wants you."

Charles looked around at the boys. His shoulders dropped as he sighed. "Fine." He took the flashlight, as the boys all clapped him on the back. "We'll see you soon, Charles. You'll be a king after this one," hollered Luke as they made their way back to the truck. Charles watched them drive away, leaving him, once again, all alone in the growing darkness.

Charles hadn't realized how late it was. The sun was all but gone and the shadows of the corn stretched long, like a thousand hands clawing at what remained of the light. He flipped the flashlight in his hand, took a deep breath, and plunged into the corn. The scarecrow hung tall above, a lighthouse in a sea of brittle stalks, the pipe hanging from its "mouth."

As Charles walked, he became increasingly aware of how silent it all was. The sound of crunching stalks under his feet, his breath as he hiked, the slight whispers of the autumn wind that rustled the corn like a rattlesnake's tail. It all felt heavy, and the tightness of the rows made it worse. He felt claustrophobic and he couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on him. He hated that he agreed to this stupid prank but Sydney Williams had caught his eye since he moved here earlier this year. Who would turn down the chance to get with a girl like that?

He was lost in the fantasy of their first date until he walked straight into the wooden post of the scarecrow, a satisfying thunk if it hadn't been his head. He took a minute to compose himself, staring up at the scarecrow. Its button eyes on the burlap sack stared back at him, and its crooked stitched smile made him uneasy. He inspected the thing up close, its blue flannel and washed-out jeans ripped and torn, with a sunhat that had seen better days sat lopsided on top, and cowboy boots made it look like it was ready for a barn dance.

It took him a moment but he realized the pipe wasn't in its "mouth." Rather, it was in the scarecrow's janky burlap hand, but he could have sworn it was... he shook his head. He only saw it from a distance, and probably just wasn't paying enough attention.

The sun had fully set, and the moon was hanging above, its silver light illuminating Charles and the scarecrow like they were standing in center stage. He was getting nervous, and the longer he lingered, the more likely there would be no beer when he got back to his friends. He reached up to grab the pipe, grasping it by the bowl but it wouldn't come out from the hand. It must have been caught on something.

He struggled for a moment, pulling hard with two hands before the pipe finally came loose as he fell onto his back. He inspected the pipe as he laid there. The stem looked yellow and had teeth marks, the bowl was charred, and the silver mount was dirty and dull. He imagined that when the pipe was at its prime, it must have been beautiful, but it needed some major TLC before anyone could smoke it now. He slipped the pipe into his khaki work pants pocket and clambered back up, brushing himself off.

Now to get out of here. He took a final glance at the scarecrow, it seemed to be glaring at him without its pipe, and he began the trek back through the corn to his bike. He didn't know how long it had taken him to reach the center of the corn, but he felt like the walk back was utter agony. He was trying to get lost in the thought of calling Sydney but he just couldn't shake an awful feeling. He paused for a moment. His head hurt from both the post and the fall but then he heard it. There was movement in the corn. He tensed up as it stopped. His mind raced with possibilities, but it was probably a racoon or a fox. He laughed at how silly he was.

He started walking again, trying to put some distance between him and the noise but after a few beats the movement started again. He slowed at first to make sure he wasn't crazy, and it slowed too. He stopped, and it stopped. Charles was getting nervous, and he started walking faster. He wanted out of this corn, and he wanted out now. The movement sounded like it was getting closer as his hands tensed around the flashlight. It made for a weak weapon but at least it was something. He flipped the light on and spun in the direction of the sound. There was nothing but corn. He relaxed a little. It was all in his head.

He was about to turn around when he heard it now to his left, so he spun again but there was nothing still. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was looking back in the direction he came from but he quickly realized there was no scarecrow in the middle now. His heart was beating like a jackhammer, his hands cold and clammy. It had to be a joke. His friends were being assholes, it was all just a joke.

"Al...al...alright guys, you got me!" he blurted out, nervously clapping. "You can stop now." But he heard none of the boys' laughter. No one emerged from the rows carrying the missing scarecrow. "Screw this," he said as he turned and sprinted through the corn. He could hear whatever it was given chase, matching his speed, if not gaining. Charles wasn't about to wait and find out. He ran faster than he ever imagined, feet pounding the earth, stalks of corn crashing around him. He spent no time dodging it, feeling nothing but raw panic.

His chest was starting to hurt, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could go at this rate. He was slowing down when he saw the exit. With freedom so close, he got a slight second wind. As he neared the exit, he could hear it gaining on him. It was faster and faster now but he was almost out. Then his foot caught on something and he went flying forward. He scrambled to get up, not even bothering to stand all the way up, just rushing forward on hands and knees, and just as he was about to exit, something grabbed his leg.

He kicked like a mule, flailing wildly to break free but its grip was ironclad. He clawed earth and roots, dirt digging under his nails if they didn't happen to break, as he started to be dragged back into the corn. He screamed. He screamed for anyone, for farmer Anne, for Luke, for Chris, for Joe, please just anyone but it didn't matter. He was pulled further into the corn, further away from the outside world, pulled until he could scream no more, until the corn fell silent again.

The next morning, Joe, Chris, and Luke rode in silence in the truck as it bumped along the dirt road, all too hungover from the night before to make conversation or to blast the radio. They couldn't help but be a little concerned about Charles after he failed to show up last night. They figured Anne got him, or that he chickened out, but still, they decided to check.

The truck rolled to a stop where they'd last seen him. They piled out, sunglasses haphazardly hanging on their faces, heads spinning like tops, as they stared at the scene before them. There was Charles' bike, and there was a line of ruined corn that went deeper and deeper into the corn.

They stood in awe for a moment before their gaze slowly turned to the scarecrow in the middle, its pipe hanging from its mouth. A new friend stood next to it, wearing a leather jacket, khaki work pants, and Converse kicks.