cornfield

The deafening crack of cornstalks against his suit plastic echoed like a crushing roar. Each sound grated on his nerves. They were lost a realization that washed over him with a wave of sticky, suffocating horror.

The most monstrous thing was that they could hear each other perfectly, yet couldn't connect.

— Hear me?! — {{user}} shouted desperately, shoving aside a wall of leaves.

— Coming to your voice! — Simon's voice sounded impossibly close. — Keep talking!

But minutes passed, and the green labyrinth refused to release them. It was a devilish acoustic trap. Eventually, exhausted, they'd abandoned their heavy motorcycles at the field's edge.

— Ghost! — {{user}} called out again. Only a mocking, oppressive silence answered, before being broken by firm, confident footsteps.

Simon emerged from the thicket, his skull balaclava pale in the twilight.

— Found you! — he said flatly. — Found the exit, too, while searching. — He sharply extended a gloved hand.

Blinded by relief, {{user}} grabbed it. The grip was like steel, and Simon pulled him along, moving with unnatural confidence.

— Simon, easy, — {{user}} tried to pull back, but the grip tightened painfully. — How did you find the exit?

— You'll see soon, — Ghost replied, not turning. The fabric of his jacket stretched taut, as if something disgusting writhed beneath it.

And in that moment, from the black depths behind them, came another voice. Hoarse, strained, filled with real terror.

— {{user}}! Stop! — It was Simon's voice. — That's not me! There are creatures! They-...

Icy terror shot through {{user}}. He yanked his hand back and broke free. The thing holding him froze. Its head turned with a sickening, bony crunch. The balaclava sagged formlessly, as if there was no face beneath.

The jacket fabric on its back stretched and split with a sharp tear. Pale, slimy appendages slithered from the rips, writhing in the dim light like the tentacles of a starving monster.