Chapter 2: The Truth in the Cornfield

My sister-in-law walked over slowly, reached out, and gently took my hand. “Ethan, don’t be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her hand was ice-cold but steady, her thumb tracing soft circles on my knuckles. For a moment, I felt like a little kid again, looking for comfort I didn’t want to admit I needed.

I lowered my gaze to her hand. Something felt off… How did she know all this?

Her grip was too firm, her eyes too knowing. A prickling unease crawled up my arms. How could she say these things with such certainty? Who was she, really?

Suddenly, I turned the tables, grabbing her wrist and fixing her with a sharp stare. “Who are you? No one in town knows Uncle Ray is dead. How did you know?”

My words came out in a hiss, more desperate than angry. I searched her face for a crack, some sign she was making it all up.

She looked like a startled rabbit, her eyes darting away. “Ethan, please don’t ask anymore. I… I really can’t say. But believe me, I’d never lie to you.”

She sounded close to tears, and I wondered how many secrets she was swallowing just to keep me safe. The silence buzzed between us, thick as summer humidity before a storm.

I scoffed, shaking her hand off. “You say nothing, yet expect me to trust you. Do I look that gullible?”

My voice cracked, sounding more like a scared kid than I wanted.

As I spoke, I reached for the door.

The brass handle was slick with sweat from my palm. I was half-hoping she’d stop me, half-hoping she wouldn’t.

Startled, my sister-in-law threw her arms around me from behind.

Her embrace was sudden, desperate, her breath warm against my back. I could feel her heart pounding, fast as mine.

The soft warmth of her body made my back stiffen.

I froze, caught between fear and longing, my breath snagging in my chest. The heat of her skin sent goosebumps up my arms.

Choking up, she pleaded, “Ethan, I really can’t tell you, but you absolutely cannot go out.”

Her voice trembled, thick with something deeper than fear—a kind of hopeless hope.

“If you leave this room tonight, you will die.”

She said it like a fact, not a threat. It sounded final.

“But if you stay, all evil things will be kept out—nothing can hurt you.”

“This room was specially built by your grandpa to protect you.”

Her voice took on a reverent tone, like she was reciting an old family secret passed down with Sunday biscuits and stories by the fire.

“If you won’t believe me, at least believe your grandpa.”

My grandpa, who always kept a loaded shotgun by the door and a stash of salt in the pantry—"just in case," he’d wink. He never did explain what the salt was really for.

“You knew my grandpa?”

I heard my own disbelief, tinged with something like awe.

“I…” She opened her mouth, but fell silent.

Her lips pressed together, secrets locked tight behind her teeth. I could tell I’d reached the edge of what she was willing to say.

I realized that no matter how much I pressed her, she wouldn’t say more.

Some truths, I guessed, were meant to stay buried. Or maybe they were too dangerous to dig up.

But whether it was because she mentioned my grandpa, or because her sincerity moved me, in that moment, I chose to trust her.

I hugged her and sighed, “Alright. I believe you.”

The words felt heavy, but a little relief crept in. I squeezed her hand, more for my sake than hers, and tried to breathe.

She let out a long sigh of relief when she heard me say that.

The air seemed to loosen around us, as if a coiled spring had finally let go. She sagged against me, her shoulders shaking.

Her whole body trembled in my arms.

I held her tighter, unsure if it was to comfort her or myself. She was cold and fragile as a dove fallen from its nest.

Her hands began to tug restlessly at my shirt.

Her fingers twisted the cotton near my waist, searching for something to anchor her. I felt my breath catch, part fear, part longing.

I knew this wasn’t the right time, but I wasn’t made of stone. Holding a beautiful woman in my arms, who could stay unmoved?

Her perfume—something floral and faint—lingered on my shirt. My head swam with confusion and want, even as dread pooled in my gut.

As I lost myself and kissed her, a sudden pounding came at the door—bang bang bang.

The whole frame rattled. Dust drifted from the ceiling, settling on my hair and shoulders. The sound was jarring, rattling the thin wood. I pulled away, heart racing.

“Ethan! Open up, you brat! I called and you didn’t answer!”

It was Uncle Ray’s voice.

His voice, usually warm and teasing, now sounded rough, hungry. I froze, lips tingling with leftover adrenaline.

Panic shot through me. The knocking continued.

The sound thudded in my ears, every blow making the house seem smaller. I felt like a trapped animal.

“Open up! If you don’t, I’ll come in myself!”

His words sounded more like a threat than a promise.

“May I come in?”

That last line sent a chill crawling up my neck. The way he said it—formal, polite, unnatural—like he was following a script he barely understood.

My sister-in-law shook her head at me.

Her eyes met mine, calm but urgent, and she pressed a finger to her lips, pleading for silence.

She said calmly, “Don’t worry. He’s just all bark, no bite.”

She sounded too calm, like someone who’d already survived the worst night of her life.

“This room—the door frame, the beams—they’re all made of old maple wood. Even the cement was mixed with something special.”

She gestured around, voice dropping to a whisper. “Your grandpa knew what he was doing. Maple’s supposed to keep the bad things out. And… well, let’s just say the cement has a few family secrets mixed in.”

“As long as you don’t invite him in, nothing evil can cross the threshold.”

The words sounded like something from an old Southern folktale. I suddenly remembered Grandpa muttering about thresholds and salt lines whenever a storm rolled through.

Hearing this, I finally breathed a sigh of relief.

My shoulders slumped. For a moment, I let myself believe we were safe—at least for tonight.

Uncle Ray pounded on the door for a while longer, then, realizing I wasn’t going to answer, cursed and left.

His footsteps faded down the hall, followed by a muttered string of curses. I caught a whiff of old spice and cigarette smoke as he stalked away.

After he was gone, my sister-in-law wanted to continue.

She glanced at me, hope flickering in her eyes, but my nerves were shot. The moment had passed.

But no matter how hard she tried to tempt me, I just couldn’t get in the mood.

My heart was racing for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to hold on to something solid until sunrise.

In the end, I could only hold her and sigh, “Let’s just sleep.”

I pulled the old quilt up over us, wishing the world would stop spinning, just for a night. The creak of the bed, the hush of her breathing, the distant hum of cicadas—somehow, it felt almost normal.

The next morning, when I woke up, my sister-in-law was gone.

Sunlight streamed in through the cracked blinds, striping the bed in gold. I reached out instinctively, but the other side was cold. Her scent lingered, faint and sweet.

For a second, I wondered if I’d dreamed her up—if any of it was real.

Thinking of what happened last night, I jumped out of bed, hurriedly dressed, and rushed outside.

My hands shook as I pulled on yesterday’s jeans, barely bothering to lace up my sneakers. I needed answers. Now.

I wanted to take advantage of daylight to go to Uncle Ray’s house and see for myself what was going on.

The bright morning seemed safer, but dread gnawed at my gut as I headed down the cracked sidewalk toward Ray’s place—a squat, peeling ranch with a faded flag out front.

On the way, I ran into my childhood friend, Joey.

Joey—tall, skinny, always sporting a ball cap and a nervous grin—was walking his old beagle, Daisy, down the block. He looked up, squinting against the glare, and gave a lopsided wave.

After all these years, Joey was delighted to see me. He waved and asked where I was headed.

He grinned wide, teeth flashing, and called out, “Hey, Ethan! Long time no see. Where ya headed, man?”

I hesitated, not daring to tell him the truth, and just said my mom had sent me to fetch my sister-in-law home for dinner.

The lie tasted strange on my tongue, but it was easier than the truth. Joey never did handle weird well.

But as soon as I said that, Joey’s face turned pale with fright. “Dude, you’re an only child. Always have been.”

He took a step back, eyes narrowing, Daisy whining at his feet. “You don’t have a brother, Ethan. You never did.”

“You don’t even have a brother—where would you get a sister-in-law from?”

His voice was shaky, and he looked at me like I’d just started speaking in tongues.

“Man, I’m a coward. Don’t freak me out like that.”

He tried to laugh it off, but his hand trembled as he scratched Daisy’s ears. I could see goosebumps on his arms.

“What are you talking about? My brother—”

I started to protest, but the words dried up in my throat.

Halfway through my retort, I suddenly stopped.

Something was wrong. The memory wouldn’t come.

My brother… That’s right, what about my brother?

I tried to picture his face, his laugh, but all I saw was static—a blank space where a person should be. It was like reaching for a light switch in a dark room and finding nothing but wall.

Why can’t I remember anything about him?

Panic clawed at my chest. It felt like waking from a dream and forgetting the whole thing before you can write it down.

Joey’s face was white as a sheet as he patted my shoulder. “You must be seeing things. Go see Uncle Ray.”

He squeezed my shoulder, eyes wide, voice shaky. “You should talk to Ray, okay? Maybe he can help you sort it out.”

A chill ran down my spine. Sweat broke out all over me. This was too creepy.

I rubbed my arms, feeling cold despite the sun. Nothing about this morning felt right.

Yeah… Where did I get a brother?

I mouthed the words, the syllables alien in my mouth.

Where did I get a sister-in-law?

The world spun, and I staggered forward, hoping the answers would catch up with me before my nerves gave out.

After Joey left, I staggered toward Uncle Ray’s house.

The houses blurred past, the familiar mailboxes and cracked driveways suddenly strange and distant. I barely noticed the neighbor’s lawn gnome or the faded yard sale sign on the next block.

His place was just down the street. Just as I was about to push the door open, a pair of hands yanked me back.

The porch creaked under my weight, and I reached for the screen door, but before I could grab it, someone pulled me hard, spinning me around.

It was my sister-in-law. I shuddered in fright.

Natalie—no, Lila—stood behind me, her eyes wild and desperate. My heart hammered in my chest, fear prickling down my arms.

She quickly clamped a hand over my mouth and dragged me toward the cornfield.

Her grip was vice-tight, stronger than any woman I’d ever known. She hustled me off the porch, boots crunching through dewy grass, past the Miller’s picket fence and into the sea of green stalks behind the old water tower.

I tried to break free, but her grip was shockingly strong—I struggled several times but couldn’t get away.

My breath came in panicked gasps, sweat trickling down my neck. No matter how I twisted, her hand never slipped.

The corn whispered around us, the sweet smell of earth mixing with my fear.

Deep in the corn, she finally let go and sighed softly.

We stood hidden in the rustling shade, sunlight slanting through leaves. She let go and leaned against a stalk, brushing her hair from her eyes. I could smell the earthy sweetness of the field, hear my own heartbeat roaring in my ears.

Flushed with anger and fear, I said, “Who are you? Why did you lie to me?”

The words burst out, sharp and accusing. I clenched my fists, desperate for an explanation that made sense.

She looked at me for a long moment before speaking. “Actually, I’m not human.”

Her words were matter-of-fact, delivered with a calm that chilled me.

“My name is Lila Grant. I have the fate of a snake—coming and going as I please.”

Her voice was ancient, tired, like she’d worn a hundred skins and none fit quite right.

“Your grandpa was kind to my family, so I won’t hurt you.”

She spoke like it was a confession, voice low and steady. Something about the way she said it made it feel truer than any story I’d heard in Sunday school or at late-night bonfires.

“Ethan.” Lila’s soft, cool hand touched my forehead. “Ethan, wake up. Think carefully.”

Her touch was gentle, almost motherly. I felt my mind wobble at the edges, reality shimmering like heat off blacktop.

“In this town, are there really any living people left?”

Her words were a cold slap. The truth I’d been dodging all along pressed in from all sides, suffocating.

I stared at Lila in horror. “What do you mean?”

My voice cracked, the words weak and pleading. I could hear the wind whispering through the corn.

She shook her head. “I can’t say. This is something you have to realize on your own.”

Her eyes were sad, old, full of secrets she couldn’t share. The weight of them pressed against my chest.

“But I won’t hurt you.”

Her words sounded like a promise, one I wanted to believe but couldn’t quite trust.

On the verge of collapse, I shouted, “You keep asking me to trust you, but you never tell me anything. Why should I believe you?”

My voice echoed through the corn, harsh and desperate. I felt the tears stinging behind my eyes.

“I don’t buy your ghost stories. I’m going to find Uncle Ray and get to the bottom of this!”

I spun away, blind with anger and fear, ready to run for answers, no matter what they cost.

Just as I turned to leave, Lila suddenly seized me by the throat.

Her hand was cold as river water, fingers unyielding. I gasped, air rushing from my lungs.

She leaned close and whispered in my ear, “Ethan, you see? If I wanted to kill you, it would be easy.”

Her breath was icy, her words slicing through my panic. I could feel her lips brush my ear.

“But I truly want to save you.”

Her grip loosened, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something ancient in her eyes—a sadness, a longing, maybe even love.

The suffocating sensation sent my mind spinning—I was almost at my limit.

Black spots danced at the edge of my vision, my knees buckling beneath me. The world wavered, distant and unreal.

And then, in a flash, I remembered…

Faces flickered behind my eyelids—friends, neighbors, all gone. Their names, their laughter, slipping through my fingers like sand. It seemed that everyone in our town really was dead.

Like flipping through a photo album full of blank faces, the truth snapped into place: the emptiness, the strange silences, the sense of being watched. I remembered funerals, too many funerals, until I was the only one left to shovel dirt onto the caskets.

I was the one who had collected their bodies.

The images slammed into me—me, alone in the cemetery, lowering caskets with trembling hands, writing names on weathered stones. The weight of the whole town pressing down on my shoulders.

Just as I thought I was about to die too, Lila suddenly released me.

Her hand fell away, and I crumpled to the dirt, sucking in ragged breaths, the taste of earth and fear sharp on my tongue.

I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air.

The corn rustled overhead, the world tilting back into place, piece by fragile piece.

After a long time, I finally recovered. “It’s true. It seems everyone in town is dead.”

My voice sounded hollow, the words foreign. But they were true. I could feel it in my bones.

“I believe you. Tell me—what should I do?”

I looked up at her, desperate for guidance, for hope, for anything that would pull me from the nightmare.

Lila heard my words and smiled.

She knelt beside me, her smile soft and bittersweet, sunlight turning her hair to gold. The hush of the corn surrounded us, and for the first time in days, I felt something like peace—fragile, but real.

But as the wind shifted, carrying a new scent—smoke, maybe, or something burning—I knew the nightmare wasn’t over yet.