Stan’s now lifeless body was wearing blood-stained clothes. Porter’s knife was lodged deeply in Stan’s side. His face frozen with a horrific and startled expression. The rustling finally ceased, and a figure emerged from the corn stalks.
As Porter realized that his life may depend on his next course of action, he remembered the crazy sequence of events that had occurred leading up to this moment.

It all started with the letter.

Dear current resident of 421 Maple Street,
I have witnessed very strange events taking place in the corn fields near your current house (our previous house). Things like sounds that resemble voices coming from the corn fields, a faint light visible on only the darkest of nights, and worst of all, my brother’s mangled and disfigured body found there. My parents would always make a convenient excuse for why these things were happening like “it was the wind” or “it was probably just a reflection” but I never fully believed them. Even my parents could not explain the mysterious death of my older brother and the police reports didn’t have a definitive answer either.
I apologize for selling it to you without warning but my parents wanted to sell it and if potential buyers knew the stories, they would not be interested in owning the house. I hope you understand. We have since moved and I encourage you to do the same. I want to stop whatever is in those fields but I need your help. Meet me by the old warehouse on 7th Street on Tuesday night at 8:30.

Sincerely,
Stan

Porter had sensed something amiss with the house and its surroundings ever since they moved in, and by reading Stan’s note he was more certain than ever that there was something that needed to be found out. He had to meet Stan.

Then the meetup.

“Are you Stan?”
“I’m assuming you’re Porter.”
Porter clenched his fists, his body tensing “I can’t believe you sold us that house!”
“Calm down bro” said Stan as he slowly backed away. “How was I supposed to warn you?” With shrugged shoulders and palms facing up, “All communication was done between the realtor and your family. All we did was list the house.”
“You should’ve never listed it to begin with”
“Agreed, but it wasn’t my call. What’s done is done. All we can do now is try to figure out what’s been going on.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Porter replied with half a smirk.
“Let’s meet at the corn fields on Friday night. I don’t know about you but I’m sleeping there. No more tip-toeing around this. I’m gonna find out once and for all what’s been going on. How about 6 P.M.? That way we will still have a little daylight left to set up our stuff.”
“Let’s do it!” said Porter confidently.

Finally, the night at the cornfields.

The corn fields were darker than usual this night. The moon was nowhere to be seen as if it too were afraid of whatever the fields were hiding.
“Why did we do this again?” said Porter with a worried look on his face.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have the fire started in no time” replied Stan.
The two boys found a nice flat clearing in the fields and decided this would be where they would spend the night.
“You look for some firewood, and I’ll start laying out our sleeping bags” said Stan.
“How come I have to look for firewood? This whole thing was your idea.”
“The less we argue, the faster we can figure out what’s been going on here.”
“Okay, I’ll go get some firewood” said Porter as he grabbed his flashlight and headed out into the field.
“Remember to blow the whistle if you need help.”
“Haha yeah. I’ll bring the whistle.” replied Porter sarcastically.
“You laugh, but it could save your life.”
“I doubt it.”
A few minutes later Porter returned with some smaller twig, dead corn stalks and leaves.
“There’s not a whole lot of firewood in a corn field Stan.”
“This will work. Set it all over there and light it up.” said Stan, handing Porter the lighter.
They lit the fire and listened for anything out of the ordinary, talking from time to time, wondering how in the world they ever thought this corn field was haunted.
“I’m gonna hit the sack.” said Stan.
“Me too.” said Porter with a yawn.
After what felt like a few seconds later, but what Porter knew was a few hours later, he woke up after hearing a whistle in the distance. It was their SOS whistle. He immediately leaned over and saw that Stan was still in his sleeping bag. He must’ve just imagined the whistle.
“Pfew” he whispered. “Pssssst Stan wake up.”
After he got no reply he tried to poke Stan awake. Nothing. That’s when he heard a rustling in front of them both behind the corn, probably about 20 yards away. He tried to shake Stan awake harder this time. Still nothing. The rustling got closer. Porter began to rummage through his bag, looking for his knife. The rustling continued to move closer. His knife wasn’t in his bag. He tried to wake Stan one final time and turned him from his side to his back.
“Oh...my...God…”
Stan’s now lifeless body was wearing blood-stained clothes. Porter’s knife was lodged deeply in Stan’s side. His face frozen with a horrific and startled expression. The rustling finally ceased, and a figure emerged from the corn stalks.

Porter was now caught up to the present, worried that his next move would be his last.