“Ninety-nine. One-hundred. Ready or not here I come!” Jim yelled, opening his eyes.

Cutting through the field, Jim looked for the tell-tale white of Ricky’s shirt. The corn stalks towered above him and bowed as he pushed his way through. There were dizzying rows as far as his eye could see.

Ricky was hiding here somewhere. Jim pushed into the next row and felt a nervous twinge, like somebody was staring at him.

“Ricky?” Jim called.

The boy turned to see one of the many scarecrows that lurked over the field. This one wasn’t just a mop and a hat but a full straw man crucified, rather than hung. It was time to go home.

The cornfield no longer seemed harmless. There was no way to tell which way was out.

A raspy voice spoke from above him.

“You can’t run forever. No matter where you go, I’ll be there. Every train has a last stop and I know where yours is. I’ll see you soon.”

Jim watched as the scarecrow opened its stitched mouth and spat a wet chunk of tobacco onto the ground.

Then it looked at him.