Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Cassie
Returning to reality and pretending like nothing extraordinary happened in the haunted cornfield is impossible.
How can I?
While everything in Cold Springs is still plain and boring—exactly as it was before I snuck into the stalks—I feel like a completely different person.
Maybe the shift came from the utter hopelessness of being lost.
Or maybe from the bone-chilling terror of facing death.
Or maybe it came from experiencing something impossibly paranormal with no other explanation than magic.
Regardless of the reason, my memories from the cornfield are more than I can forget or even ignore. They haunt my every waking moment, swirling together in a blur of reverence and fear that leaves me anxious. The feeling is like an itch beneath my skin I can’t scratch, an ache I can’t soothe.
As the days crawl by, I’m skeptically optimistic that the anxiousness will settle. That the memories will fade and I can move on with my life and forget about the Watcher.
They don’t.
If anything, the longer I spend away from the cornfield, the more desperation builds in my chest. Desperation for what? I don’t know, but I do my best to tamp it down.
I try to pretend like everything is fine.
Routine is everything on the farm, which I quickly come to understand and loathe. Getting up at the crack of dawn to feed the animals and shovel hay has to be one of the worst ways to start the day, but once the chores are finished, there isn't much to do.
There's a big screen TV in the living room, which keeps me occupied for a couple of hours. I don't want my aunt and uncle to think I'm a couch potato, even though I’d love to relax and rot in bed all day, so I try to find other things to occupy my time.
I go to town, visiting and learning the shops. I draw. I nap. I even try my hand at gardening, and I nearly give Aunt Bonnie a panic attack with how horrible I am at it.
But despite my best efforts, nothing is ever enough to take my mind off the cornfield for long.
To take my mind off Atticus.
Images from my time with him linger in my thoughts like a dream, fading in and out of my mind without warning. They tease my senses, taunt my curiosity.
Drawing me back to the one place I know I shouldn't venture… the cornfield.
Days pass, and I fall into somewhat of a rhythm. Get up early, do chores, waste time trying to distract myself. But no matter what, life feels like a blur as it passes me by. Nothing feels as real as the vines wrapped tightly around me or walking through the cornstalks with Atticus.
And, as much as I should stay away, I find myself searching for that realness more and more.
“What’s up with you?” Madelyn asks one morning as we arrive back to the farmhouse after chores. “You’ve been so distant recently, and you’ve hardly said a word today. Are you thinking about leaving already?”
“Not yet.” I force an unconvincing smile. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
She cocks one of her pale eyebrows in my direction and pulls her blonde hair out of its messy bun, letting it tumble down her back. “I know that look, Cass. I bet this is about some guy, ain’t it?”
As the thought of Atticus crosses my mind for the tenth time this morning, my smile turns genuine, and Madelyn snorts a laugh.
“I knew it,” she says. “Is it a boy in town?”
I shake my head quickly, not eager to divulge my secrets. I can’t even make up a fictional guy; she knows everyone in Cold Springs. “Just a guy back home.”
“Not your ex, right?” she asks, looking mortified.
“No, no. Definitely not.” My nose scrunches automatically, but thoughts of him are quickly replaced by thoughts of walking with Atticus. “He’s nice.”
Even though he tried to kill me.
He let me go, after all.
That would sound insane to anyone else.
“Have you been talking?” she goes on, prying for more information. I have to answer her questions carefully so I don’t back myself into a corner. There’s no way I can tell her about my trip to the cornfield, and I especially can’t mention Atticus.
“Not really.” I can’t exactly call or text him. Besides, I’ve only seen him once. “There’s no way it could work out anyway. It’s not really worth pursuing.”
Madelyn leads the way up the steps and pauses when she reaches the porch. “No one is telling you to get married, Cass. Have some fun. Live a little. If it’s just a dick appointment, that’s fine.”
I snort a laugh.
He’s somewhat human, but does Atticus even have a dick?
My face heats at the thought.
“That smile on your face tells me all I need to know.” Madelyn smirks and keeps walking, pushing the front door wide for me to follow.
I hesitate in the doorway, chewing the inside of my cheek as I consider visiting the cornfield again. Surely, one more visit won’t do any harm, and Madelyn is clearly on board—even if she has no idea what’s going on.
What’s the worst that could happen? I ask myself as I trek up to my room to clean up for breakfast.
If he didn’t kill me last time, I doubt he’ll try it again. And if he does, maybe I’ll be able to sweet talk my way out of his vines for a second time.
Not to mention, I’ll have to come up with another convincing story to tell everyone so they don’t send out a search party. I can’t risk anyone going after Atticus; even though he can’t die, I can’t stand the thought of him being hurt.
After fidgeting around my room for several minutes, I land in front of the vanity mirror and stare at my reflection. My cheeks are pink and my hair is a mess, but there’s a glimmer in my eye that I haven’t seen in a long time. Hope. Excitement. Giddiness.
I can lie to myself, but what I want more than anything is to drive across town and slip into the haunted stalks of corn again. Even if it’s just once more, I want to see the sentient scarecrow who’s barely left my mind over the last several days.
The admission has my cheeks flushing even brighter red, and a smile curls my lips.
I’ve made up my mind.
Tonight, I’m going to see Atticus.
Stepping into the cornfield at night is much more daunting than during the day, even with a flashlight clutched tightly in my hand.
Were those stalks really that tall and thick last time?
Rather than the hoodie and jeans I wore last time, I opted for a brown knitted dress with long sleeves and a pair of fleece-lined leggings. Perfect to keep the chilly air at bay, though it’s already made the tip of my nose go numb.
I even put on a little makeup and curled my hair, letting it fall in perfect waves down my back.
I got dolled up for a scarecrow.
The thought is almost enough to make me laugh, until I remind myself he’s not just a scarecrow.
He’s Atticus.
And he might not have saved my life, but he did decide to let me go and led me out of the cornfield.
Heat warms my cheeks as I look up at the sky. A thick blanket of clouds mostly hides the moon and stars, turning the field in front of me into a fortress of darkness. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, even though I know there’s nothing to fear.
Well, mostly nothing. I could still be completely wrong about Atticus, and he could easily tie me up and torture me.
My heart lurches.
The beam from my flashlight is swallowed by the darkness a few feet ahead of me, and I slowly make my way through the tall, tangled grass surrounding the cornfield.
When my feet hit the dirt pathway, I pick up the pace.
The soft sounds of night disappear as I make my way between the cornstalks, my footsteps slow but determined.
If what Atticus said is true, he already knows I’m here, but I decide to call for him anyway.
“Atticus,” I say in a normal tone, my stomach fluttering as my voice shatters the silence.
I should’ve paid attention when he walked me out of the field. It would’ve made finding him easier, but I was a little preoccupied then. Distracted and battling nerves.
“Atticus,” I call, a little louder this time.
I don’t want to run around screaming his name in case there are animals or townspeople close enough to hear, but unless he can pinpoint my location with his magic, he won’t be able to find me.
Clearing my throat, I prepare to call out again, but the rustling of cornstalks behind me has ice punching through my veins.
I whip around, brandishing my flashlight like a weapon, my heart leaping into my throat.
My pulse quickens with every passing second until a form steps out of the corn and onto the path.
I hold the light a little higher, and I’m able to make out a wide-brimmed hat.
“Atticus,” I exhale with relief. A smile immediately finds my face.
“Cassie?” He blinks at me like he’s seen a ghost and doesn’t step closer. “You came back.”
A shiver works through me, and I nod nervously. My thoughts war with themselves, excitement clashing with self-doubt, all while a single question plays on repeat in my head: Did I make the right decision?
“I did.” I nod. “If you don’t want me here, I can leave—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy to see you. I thought you might have forgotten about me.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I can promise you, a talking scarecrow isn’t something you can easily forget.”
“You’re probably right.” He chuckles softly. “To what do I owe this visit?”
I hesitate, not sure how to answer his question.
How can I admit that he’s lived in my head rent free for the last several days? That I haven’t been able to sleep without first thinking about his face—er, burlap sack?
Embarrassment has my skin heating.
“I just…” I take a deep breath to settle the nerves eating through me. “I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
Foliage rustles as he takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between us.
As he moves into the light that’s shaking slightly in my hand, I’m able to make out the features I’ve spent hours dwelling on.
His straw-like blond hair poking out from beneath the wide-brimmed hat, his piercing eyes peering at me through the eyeholes of the burlap sack.
A few pieces of straw still poke out at odd angles, but much less than before—like he painstakingly tried to pluck them all free.
My gaze catches on the sliver of pale, grayed skin visible above the collar of his shirt, and my breath catches.
“I am doing much better now,” he says, reaching out with a gloved hand to brush his knuckle along my jaw.
My heart almost slams to a halt.
We stand there for a moment, both seemingly unsure of what to do next. My drive to the cornfield was filled with hypothetical conversations and what might happen, but now that I’m here, my thoughts are fuzzy.
I’m unsure and nervous, which isn’t like me.
Finally, he offers me a hand, eyes still locked on me unblinkingly, and I take it numbly. Electricity skitters over my skin as he laces his fingers with mine.
“Come,” he urges and turns to lead the way down the path.
Pulse racing as I struggle to catch my breath, I follow.