Cropsy - Chapter 8: The Shape in the Corn

The cornfield was wrong.

Evan realised it the moment he stepped past the rusted fence. Corn should sway with the wind, whispering softly, stalks bending and brushing against one another like dry bones. But here, the field stood rigid, unmoving, as if frozen in a moment of breathless anticipation. The air was heavy, damp with the smell of rot and old soil, and every step Evan took felt like trespass.

Behind him, Mara hesitated. “This place doesn’t feel abandoned,” she whispered. “It feels… occupied.”

They had followed the map found in the asylum’s records, a crude drawing scratched in pencil decades ago. The mark at its centre had been labelled only with a single word: CROPSY.

As they ventured deeper, the rows tightened. Corn leaves brushed their faces and arms, leaving thin, stinging cuts. Evan raised his flashlight, but the beam seemed to bend oddly, shadows stretching too long, too thin. Somewhere ahead, something shifted. Not the wind. Not an animal.

A sound followed—wet and deliberate, like fabric dragging over mud.

They stopped.

“Did you hear that?” Mara asked.

Another sound answered her: a slow, rasping breath, close enough to feel. The corn ahead parted slightly, stalks bending away as if pushed aside by unseen hands. Evan’s heart hammered. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to move.

Then they saw it.

At first, it appeared human—a tall silhouette hunched forward, shoulders uneven. But as it stepped into the narrow path between rows, the truth revealed itself. Its skin was pale and mottled, stretched tightly over a frame that was too long, too thin. One arm ended in twisted fingers; the other had been replaced by a crude hook, rusted and stained dark. Its head tilted unnaturally, eyes sunken deep into shadow.

Cropsy.

Its mouth opened, and the sound that came out was not a scream, but a laugh—broken, gurgling, as if its throat had been damaged long ago.

Mara screamed.

Cropsy surged forward with shocking speed. Evan grabbed Mara’s arm and ran, tearing through the corn as stalks snapped and leaves sliced at their skin. Behind them, the laughter echoed, closer with every step. The field seemed to shift, paths twisting, turning them around without warning.

Evan tripped, crashing into the dirt. As he scrambled up, he felt something brush his ankle—cold, metallic.

The hook.

He kicked blindly and rolled away just as it struck the ground where his head had been. Cropsy loomed over him, breath hot and foul, its face inches away.

“You remember me,” it rasped, voice like gravel dragged across bone.

Evan didn’t know if he remembered—but some ancient terror inside him did.

And it was screaming.

Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model