wickedscript

My first week on the road and I’m already regretting my life choices.

“My name’s Rex,” I say into the old CB radio. “Well, actually, it’s Rick. Or Richard Lu Dutche the Third, if you wanna get real fancy, but I fucking hate that name. So call me Rex.”

The CB doesn’t respond.

It never does.

“Anyway,” I continue, shifting in my seat as the whole cab rattles around me, “yet another fine day in May while my old-ass rig tries to shake itself apart.” 

I don’t know why I left the old CB in the truck when I bought it, and yet I'm glad I did. Rambling to the old radio was therapeutic, weirdly, and gave me something to do on long stretches. I didn’t connect it or anything. I tried to get it to work as one of the first things I did, only to find that wires were missing. 

Another pothole shakes the truck around me like an earthquake, and I sigh. “Maybe I should have focused more on the shocks…”

The road stretched out before me, quiet, with no other cars, and decent weather. A sunset behind me, a burning line of gold as the sun burns out. I should be happy, or at least content. I never get such a pleasant drive through scenic country. Thick wheat fields to my left  and even thicker corn fields to my right. Something about it was nagging at me, and I just couldn't for the life of me figure out what.

I tried to shake the feeling off and focus back on the road before me. Rubbing my eyes, I noticed a long rectangular sign off the side of the road. 

Harver Family Farm's annual harvest festival was painted in bold white letters, flanked by wheat and apples with a cartoonish scarecrow. As I pass the sign, a smile comes to my face at the memories of my grandma in her kitchen making apple pie during the autumn months.

Static screams through the speakers, sharp enough to make me flinch. I reach over, twisting knobs, trying to shut it off—nothing. I smack it. No change, I raise my hand to hit it again.

“--and for anyone traveling through the area this evening, don’t forget to stop by the Harper Family Farm. Fresh food, live music, and a harvest festival you won’t want to miss.” a woman's voice comes through the static, calm and soothing.

“You're listening to KTL7 and—” a loud crack of static cuts her off.

“Driver,” a rough voice growls,” you listen close.

The CB radio glowed with life.

I straightened without meaning to, fingers tightening on the wheel as I tried to stay focused.

“Over the next few miles, anything and everything is gonna try to make you stop that rig.” It said, “If you do stop, you do not get out of that cab. You hear me?” The voice growled. 

Static fizzled from the speaker hurting my ears as I tried to turn it down. 

“Do not go into the fields.”

Crackle

“And for the love of God…”

Pop

“DONT LISTEN TO THE R!!” with a sputtering hiss of static the voice was gone. 

The lights of the CB fade out.

Dead once more.

A jazzy sort of tune filled my cab as the normal radio seemed to fade back as I twisted knobs on the CB radio trying to get the voice back. “Hey—” I grabbed the mic. “Hey, you still there? What’s your handle?” I tried. 

Nothing, the Old CB was once again nothing but decoration. Over the next few miles I tried to get it to come back on, to maybe get some clarity on what the hell just happened but nothing worked. Nothing but the regular old radio playing smooth music worked and no matter how i tried to change the channel nothing else seemed to pick up and honestly I fucking hate smooth jazz….

A stern faced man stands over me as I refuse his help…..I’m snapped out of my memories as a loud bang startles me from my thoughts. I feel the rig skittering, I see pieces of the tire flying off in the side mirror as I slow to a stop. It takes several yards more than it should have to come to a complete stop thanks to the load of Dr.Mers dog food making it harder than it should have been. 

Throwing all the breaks on and my hazards I hop out to check the damage cussing under my breath as my feet hit the asphalt. I make my way down to where I saw the pieces fly from and find nothing but a perfectly normal tire. 

“What the hell?” I patted the tire down making sure it did blow out from behind instead. 

Nope, both tires were fully intact and perfectly fine.

“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself, walking around to check all of my tires at this point. 

I stand hands on my hips confused next to my cab door. All of the tires were fine so what the hell had I hit? 

Just as I start trying to think of what it could have been, a sound on the breeze catches my ear. A little musical tune like a carnival almost but chipper catches my attention.The music, It was too clear, too crisp, like I was standing in a carnival but I wasn't. 

I didn’t remember stepping into the wheat.

One moment I was standing by my truck, staring at the perfectly intact tires, and the next I was already a few feet in, dry stalks brushing against my jeans. Their dry stalks brushing against me with every step felt almost like wading through water and I don't know why.

The smell hits me as I move deeper.

Fresh popcorn and sugar fills my senses with just a hint of something sour. Faint, but there. Like fruit left a little too long in the sun, suddenly I’m craving a candied apple so bad I can taste it. 

By the time the barn came into view, I realized I was smiling.

A sudden pain up my left leg pulls me from my thoughts and I yell in shock. Looking down I find two bloody lines down the side of my jeans and a grey thing staring up at me from the ground. The thing at my feet is malformed and I think it's smiling its mouth a jagged line with too many teeth. I move back just in time as it tries to take a bite of my leg and I start to run for the barn as something else starts moving behind me. 

It wasn't long before I came out of the wheat stumbling and confused as I entered the clearing. The things in the wheat did follow me but seemed to move off to the sides like fish moving through water.  

“Woah  there bud!” someone grabs my arm stopping me. “Had a bit too much cider?” A voice jokingly asks. 

I turn to thank them and stop dead. 

A clown smiles back at me with a big red nose, an oversized coat, and floppy shoes. The makeup was cracked in places not painted to look that way, but actually splitting along the edges like dried paint.

“I—uh, no,” my voice shaky “There's something in the wheat fields, it tried to bite me,” I tried to explain. 

The clown laughed, loud and sharp, like the sound didn’t quite match the expression on his face.

“Oh sure sure! That's just old crusty” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “That old dog is always trying to bite someone!”

 “It wasn't a dog” I tried, he leaned closer to me and a sweet smell hit me again—stronger now, almost sickening. Something about it, wrong. Before I could say more the clown was already leaving. 

“You’ll get used to it” Something about the way he said it struck me as wrong asI watched him disappearing into the colorful crowd.

I stood there for a moment longer, just taking it all in, the lights, the decorations, the joy of it all. I realized I was smiling even though I didn’t feel happy. If anything, my stomach had started to twist, a slow, uneasy knot—but my face didn’t seem to care.

“Just 10 minutes to catch my breath then I head back” I hear myself say. 

It felt easier not to think too hard about it..  The festival was… normal. That was the problem.

Everything looked exactly like it should—kids running between booths, people laughing over games, vendors calling out to passing crowds. The sounds all blended together into a steady, familiar hum. It felt like walking through a dream instead of a real place. Like everything had been copied from somewhere else and pasted here just a little too perfectly.

I drifted from booth to booth, not really paying attention to where I was going or what I was doing. At some point, I ended up with a stuffed orange bear tucked under my arm.

I didn’t remember playing a game. Didn’t remember winning anything. It hurt when I thought about it too long. 

I couldn't tell you how long I walked around. The sky never seemed to change its purple blue stayed that same shade like the sun had just barely crept past the horizon but night wasn't quite here. 

How long have I been here? Was my next thought as I looked around. I couldn’t remember how long I’d been there, and the longer I tried to think about it, the more my head started to hurt. 

I moved to try and find the edge of the carnival, back to the wheat fields, back to my rig. I stopped as I passed the front of the barn where several scarecrows were displayed. 

That’s when I saw the car.

It was set up like part of the festival, old, rusted, filled with hay and candy bowls but something about it felt off. My steps slowed as I got closer, eyes drawn to the side of it. The words were smeared across the metal in thick, uneven strokes.

THEY LIE.

That’s when my leg started to sting and the memories of how I got here flooded my mind. I looked down, and for a second, everything came into focus. The wheat. The things in the field. The cuts.

It hit me all at once, and with it came a wave of nausea strong enough to make me sway.

“How long have I been here?” I whispered. No one answered. No one even looked at me.

I moved on auto turning this way and through the crowd around me trying to find the edge of the festival, trying to spot the wheat, trying to spot my truck. That’s when I came upon the scarecrows.

A sign sat in front of them, hand-painted and cheerful.

Harver Family Farm Scarecrow Contest.

They stood in a neat row in front of the barn, each one dressed up in different clothes, posed with their arms out stretched on wooded stakes. I stepped closer without thinking.

The first one to catch my attention  wore overalls and a yellow shirt patterned with tiny flowers. A straw hat shaded its face. At least, I thought it was shading it. Until I got close enough to see.

What was left of a woman’s face peeked out from beneath the brim. Her skin was pale and stretched too tight in some places, too loose in others. Yarn braids had been nailed into her scalp, dark streaks running down where the metal had been driven in.

Her glossy dead eyes stared at me, her mouth a sewn smile.

I staggered back. My stomach turning as a hand clapped my shoulder and I jumped, a strangled sound escaping me escaping me not unlike the sound of a dying cat.

“Which one’s your favorite?” A man dressed like a cowboy asks with a toothy smile. 

“Uh, not sure yet still looking I think” I force a laugh “Hard to choose, you know?”

He stared at me for a second too long, his smile never moving but his eyes were cold. 

“Better pick fast, partner,” he said. “The festival's almost over.” The way he said it made something cold settle in my chest.

He pointed toward a small booth off to the side, where a bored-looking teenage girl dressed like a bee sat waiting.

“You vote over there.”

I nodded, pretending to consider it, but my attention had already shifted past him, past the barn, past the crowd.

The roar of a diesel engine coming to life can be heard for just a moment before the music swallows the sound. I caught sight of something familiar, faint plumes of white smoke drifting over the wheat.

My truck, out there in the distance like a lighthouse in the dark. All sound stopped at once, like a switch being flipped it just stopped.

The silence that followed felt wrong, heavy, like the air itself had thickened. A cold sweat broke across my skin, every hair on my body standing on end.

I glanced over my shoulder and froze. Everyone had stopped. Not slowed. Not paused. Stopped.

People stood locked in place exactly as they had been, mid-step, mid-laugh, mid-bite. A kid’s hand hovered inches from a candy apple. A man leaned forward in the middle of a throw, a ring still gripped between his fingers. All frozen.

For a single, stretched-out second, the entire festival felt like a photograph.

Then. They all turned.

I was running before my brain even understood what I was doing. A low, guttural noise filled my ears as panic filled my chest. 

“Dont go! You have to choose a scarecrow!” I hear a man yell at my back. 

The itchy slap of the wheat is almost euphoric as I enter the field.

“We still have games to play!” A kid yells somewhere from my right.

“Don’t go!” another voice yells behind me, too loud, too close. “You still have to vote!”

The wheat closed in around me, dry stalks slapping against my skin. It scratched and bit and caught at my clothes, but it felt real—more real than anything behind me.

“We still have games to play!” another voice called from somewhere off to my right, high and gleeful.

I didn’t look back.

I just ran.

The only thing guiding me through the golden brown sea was the faint silhouette of my rig ahead just past the edge of the field, a thin plume of white smoke rising from it like a signal.

Home.

Safe.

Real.

Something slammed into me from the side.

I hit the ground hard, the air punching out of my lungs in a sharp gasp. Before I could recover, weight pressed down on me. I wheezed, turning to see what was on me.  The clown.

Up close, the cracks in his makeup looked deeper, wrong, like scars splitting open. His grin stretched too wide, his teeth too long, his breath hot against my face.

“You can’t leave yet!” he laughed, the sound bubbling up like it didn’t belong to him. “The festival’s not over yet!”

I thrashed kicking and clawing at him as he held me down. More hands joined him and soon I was being hauled off the ground by the cowboy from before and a new person, this one a disco dancer, held onto my arms as I struggled to pull away. 

“Come on now, partner,” the cowboy said, his voice almost gentle. “Ain’t nothing out there for you.”

His face is wrong the more I look at it. His eyes too sunk in, his skin loosening in places. His grip on me tightened seeing the horror in my eyes.

“Best you stay with us.” I hear him say but his mouth doesn't match the words as they start dragging me back toward the clearing. 

Back to the festival.

A scream cut through the air, we all turned in time to see teen bee from before being swallowed by the sea of wheat around us. Like something out of a shark movie. 

A cry from our left causes the two to pause and we all see the teenage bee from before be pulled down by something in the wheat. The stalks shuddered as whatever was below started moving fast around us, circling, hunting. 

“Oh, that ain’t groovy, baby…” the dancer muttered, loosening his grip.

Another scream this time to our right. 

We watch as a vampire costumed man disappeared next, pulled under so fast it barely registered. Then another. And another. Vanishing. Pulled down by some unseen force. 

The hands holding me loosen, just enough. I hesitate, I pull my arm free and  punch the disco dancer in the face. Shocked, he stumbles back as the cowboy lets go to check his friend.

I run. 

I run and I don't stop.

The sounds behind me shouts, screams, and something wet being torn apart. I refused the urge to look.

The wheat thrashed around me as I pushed through it, stumbling, slipping, catching myself just enough to keep going. I nearly faceplant onto the asphalt as something catches my leg and a sticking pain shoots up my right leg.

I looked down and saw fresh cuts, two long bleeding lines carved through my jeans. Something moving at the edge of the field catches my eye and I freeze.

It stares back at me. 

The grey thing crouched just inside the wheat, low and still, like a waiting predator. Its mouth stretched into that same jagged smile, teeth slick with something dark.

It just watched me. It didn’t follow.

Just smiled.

Slowly, it slipped back into the wheat, disappearing like it had never been there at all. From the road, I could still see the field moving, not from the wind.

People were running the other way now, back toward the festival, their silhouettes jerking and stumbling through the stalks. Around them, the wheat shifted in wide, sweeping arcs that curved and tightened like sharks circling prey.

I didn’t stay to see how it ended.

My truck sat just behind me.

Engine idling.

Waiting.

I climbed into the cab and slammed the door, the sound louder than it should’ve been in the empty night. For a second, I just sat there, hands gripping the wheel, trying to steady my breathing while the engine rumbled beneath me like something alive.

Safe.

I was a few miles down the road before I noticed the bear. Still clutched in my hand. I stared at it for a second, the little orange face grinning up at me. I rolled the window down halfway, ready to toss it then paused. Sighing, I shoved it onto the dashboard instead.

“Yeah… you can stay,” I muttered.

It made a decent keepsake I supposed, a good warning if nothing else.

The truck hit a dip, the whole cab rattling hard enough to make my teeth click together. The regular radio clicks on with a crackle.

“To all you lovely people out there in the void… take care of yourselves tonight,” the woman’s voice drifted through, smooth and calm “The night is long… and the darkness is full of life.”

Soft jazz fills the cab. Slow, Smoothing. Way too calm for what I’d just crawled out of. I leaned back in my seat, staring out at the empty stretch of road ahead.

Then I snorted.

“God,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I fucking hate jazz.”