Popcorn Thief (15 page)

“Why would he do a spell from her driveway?” the sheriff
asked.

“You heard Eddie. She called it an abomination. Lexine
wouldn’t have helped Earl call it into being,” Franklin explained reasonably.

“How did you know Earl called it from the driveway?” the
sheriff said. “That his SUV was parked down at the far end of her property?”

Franklin felt himself grow still. His heart beat hard in his
chest and his temple. “It just made sense,” he said weakly.

“You were there,” the sheriff said triumphantly. His tiny
eyes glowed with satisfaction. “You
did
place that ear of corn next to Lexine. Maybe ’cause you were sorry you’d killed
her.”

Franklin sighed in exasperation and shook his head. “I keep
telling you, I did
not
place that ear
of corn next to her body.” He looked away and took a deep breath. He could
already hear Darryl yelling at him.

But Franklin just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hell with it. Was I there? Yes. I’d heard about the
businessman missing, and I knew that Lexine could find him.” Franklin took a
deep breath. “But there’s no
cell phone reception
at her property. I couldn’t call the cops. Then I heard the sirens. So I
took off. That’s the truth.” Cold chills ran up his spine, like a ghost had
just appeared behind him.

Franklin didn’t feel any relief for having told the sheriff,
no weight lifted from his shoulders. Instead, he felt himself hunching up,
closing off.

“I knew you weren’t telling the truth,” Sheriff Thompson
said. “I knew you were there.”

Franklin hung his head. He should have kept his mouth shut,
like Darryl had told him to. Now, he was in even worse trouble than before.

“I’m gonna keep you here overnight,” the sheriff explained.
“So you can think about what you did, what you should have done.”

“You already arrested me,” Franklin pointed out, looking up.
What was the sheriff going on about? Franklin already felt like shit.

“But we ain’t charged you, yet.” Sheriff Thompson sat back
in his chair. “You’ll be free to go in the morning.”

“Why you keeping me here overnight?” Franklin asked. “What
is it you want me to do here?”

“I don’t want you to do anything,” the sheriff admitted. “I
just want you here.”

“You think if I’m here, and y’all go after the creature tonight
and just injure it, that I’ll be safe here,” Franklin said. “Too many people, cameras,
and lights.”

“Exactly,” the sheriff said. “I knew you were smarter than
you looked.”

Franklin glared at the sheriff. No one but family got to say
that kind of thing. “What about Darryl?”

“I’ve got men looking for him,” the sheriff admitted. “But
we haven’t been able to find him. Would you know where he’s at?”

Franklin shook his head. He was never admitting anything,
ever again, to the sheriff. Even if the only reason he’d arrested Franklin was
to keep him safe.

“Well, hopefully he’ll be joining you soon. I’m not sure if
we can get this thing, but I gotta try something.” With that, the sheriff
tapped the folder on the table once, twice, and stood up. “Anything else you’d
care to tell me?”

“Don’t do it,” Franklin said. “Don’t go after the creature
like this. Y’all will either kill yourselves, or someone else.”

“Either we’re gonna stop this thing, or whatever it is, from
killing more people,” the sheriff said. “Or I’m gonna let you go and just use
you for bait.”

Franklin nodded. He’d expected nothing less.

FRANKLIN SAT IN THE TINY CELL just
off the front room. He could still see the office from between the bars. The
few remaining officers left until it was only him and the front clerk. The cell
smelled like an office: burnt, cheap coffee; printer toner and too much
paperwork; and a funny tangy smell that he finally recognized as gun oil.
Cameras were trained on the cell from three different angles. The bars were
cold, and weighed on his heart—they’d give him nightmares for years.

However, Franklin had to admit that a part of him was
relieved. He’d be safe here. The creature—that thing of chaos and
hate—wouldn’t come here.

On the other hand, it
would
go seeking someone, and kill them, if the sheriff and his men were at all successful.

When an officer came in to speak with the desk sergeant,
Franklin didn’t heed him no mind, not until the pair of them approached his cell.
“Don’t know why the sheriff’s asking for him,” the officer said with a shrug.
“Just that I was to fetch him, right away.” He wore his police hat down low on
his forehead, and kept his face turned to one side.

The sergeant shook her head. “I don’t like any of this,” she
said plainly. “I just don’t.” With a sigh, she swiped her card, then turned the
key in the lock. “You need to go with this officer,” she said resignedly.

Franklin wondered what had gone wrong. Why did the sheriff
need him? Had someone already been killed? He held his tongue until they
reached the front street.

Instead of a police cruiser, he saw Darryl’s big black
truck.

Only then did Franklin look closely at the officer holding
his arm so tightly. “Darryl?” he whispered urgently. “What the hell are you
doing?”

“Breaking you out of jail,” Darryl said with a grin.

Franklin couldn’t help but gasp. Breaking someone out of a
holding cell had to be a felony. Along with impersonating an officer. Shit, but
they were in it now.

“Wait,” Franklin said, stopping in the middle of the broad
sidewalk.

“We can’t,” Darryl said, tugging on him. “You never know
when that desk sergeant’ll catch a clue. We gotta go! Now!”

“The sheriff is gonna lock us both up and throw away the
key,” Franklin complained, but he let himself be tugged along. “God damn it.
We’re never gonna hear the end of this one.” He climbed into the passenger side
of the cab.

“Sheriff’ll forgive us, once we get the creature,” Darryl
told Franklin as they raced down Main Street, hanging a hard left, heading
toward the highway.

“And how we gonna do that?” Franklin asked. He was gonna
lose the farm. What kind of ghosts would visit him in prison? He shivered.

“Well, you love your corn, right? And I love hunting.
Between the pair of us, we’ll have enough love to slaughter it,” Darryl
reasoned.

Traffic out of town was light. Still, Darryl gunned his
engine and honked his horn when an old car just sat at the first stoplight, not
moving after it turned green. “Stupid farmhand,” he muttered as he raced by.

Franklin stayed quiet. He couldn’t imagine the trouble they
were in. Mama would have his hide for something like this.

But he also didn’t see any other way. He needed to be out in
his field when the creature came calling.

Darryl spun gravel as he slid into Franklin’s driveway. He
had his door open just as the truck came to a stop.

But Franklin grabbed Darryl’s arm before he could get out.
“No,” he said firmly.

“No? What the hell are you going on about?” Darryl asked.

“You’re not going with,” Franklin told his cousin. “It’s me.
And my fields. You’re going home to your family, Darryl.”

“You’re my family too,” Darryl pointed out.

“All right, then, to your wife and kids. You don’t love
hunting. Would you give it up if your youngest, Tommy, got hurt, and needed you?”

“That’s not fair,” Darryl said.

“Would you?” Franklin insisted.

Darryl slowly nodded. “Of course. He’s my boy,” he said with
a shrug.

“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Franklin said. “Me, and my
fields, and my love of sweet popping corn.” Nothing else made sense to him.

“Now you’re the one’s gonna get himself killed,” Darryl
complained.

“No, I ain’t,” Franklin said. “Go home. Get yourself an
alibi, one that’ll hold up in court. I’m gonna go fight that beast. Kill it
with love.”

“Cuz—you don’t have to do this by yourself,” Darryl
said. “We all know how brave you are. We seen it all summer.”

Mama and Gloria appeared next to the house, on the walk
leading around to the fields out back.

“I won’t be alone,” Franklin assured Darryl.

* * *

Franklin stepped out of Darryl’s truck into the cooling
night air. With a final wave, Darryl pulled out of the driveway, spitting
gravel as he raced away, leaving Franklin alone with his ghosts.

The farm house stood like a dark shadow, cut off from the
rest of the living night. The cycling cicada song returned, louder than ever.
Clouds hung over the sky, reflecting back the lights from town with a weird
orange glow.

Sweet Bess appeared next to the house, before ambling off
into the fields. Franklin shivered, a chill spreading across his back, as if a
whole platoon of ghosts had just arrived, that he couldn’t see. Franklin took
one last deep breath, then turned toward Mama and Gloria.

Worry poured out from both ghosts. They knew what he was
planning to do. “Mama, it’ll be okay,” Franklin reassured her as he walked
past, toward his field. “We can fight this thing. And win.”

Franklin didn’t have to see their expressions to know they
glared at him. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that.

With one last look up toward the stars, Franklin stepped
across the first row of corn, pushing past the stalks. Instantly, the cries of
the cicadas cycled up, their sound deafening. Leaves rustled all around
Franklin, like a quiet summer promise. The smell of good black dirt rose up to
greet him.

Mama and Gloria appeared on either side of Franklin, then
they passed forward, into the next row of corn. Franklin followed them into the
very heart of the field.

Mama came to stand next to Franklin, then held out her hands
toward one of his ears of corn.

Franklin stifled his own cry when one of the perfect cobs
fell, yet one more victim of the creature.

Mama
shoved
the
fallen soldier with her will, rolling it right to Franklin’s feet. With a sigh,
he bent to pick it up. It felt heavy in his hands, weighty with purpose.

He hoped it was enough.

Peeling back the husk just a tiny bit, Franklin admired the
formidably straight rows of kernels. He didn’t strip the husk from the ear to
see for certain, but maybe this would have been an ear he could have entered
into the “most perfect cob” category of the State Fair.

Now, he’d use it as a weapon. He built up his admiration for
this perfect cob. Bringing it close to his nose, he smelled the sweetness of
the kernels, felt the summer heat still captured in its rows.

Cold struck Franklin, as if someone had just opened the deep
freeze at the grocery store. The creature whirled into being, just a few feet
away. It casually made space for itself, cutting down half a dozen stalks.

Franklin seethed as he stared at the creature. He’d never be
able to love this whirling mass of chaos. It was the opposite of everything he
did love, the neat rows of his field, the order of the seasons. “You will
leave,” Franklin said, holding out his single ear of corn, as if it were an
old-time sword. “You will leave this earth and never return.”

The creature whirled in place, contemplating. It struck out
suddenly with one of its whip-like arms, aiming to knock the cob from
Franklin’s hand.

Franklin struck back. He blocked the creature’s attack,
forcing the arm away.

He stepped back, surprised. How had he done that? He looked
at the cob of corn in his hands with amazement and awe.

Love it was.

When the creature struck out again, Franklin was ready, and
he slashed the cob of corn in front of him, keeping the creature’s spikes off
his body.

His wonderful, beautiful,
perfect
corn could do this. He knew that it had the power to win
the State Fair this year. His corn was better than any Karl could grow.

Step by step, Franklin drove the creature back, out of the
center of the field, toward the road. Maybe it could get caught up in the trees
and blackberry brambles lining the lane.

Mama appeared next to Franklin, her arms crossed over her
ample chest. Pride radiated from her.

Franklin, her boy, was finally doing good.

Gloria, too, appeared. Her impatience spilled out into the
night. She wanted Franklin to finish this creature.
Now
. Before it went back to Karl and his fields and destroying
everything else.

Bolstered by his ladies, Franklin took a broad step forward,
pushing the creature back. Off his property. Out of his field. Out of this
world.

The creature gathered itself up and attacked again. But it
chose a different target this time: It attacked Mama.

“No!” Franklin cried as the thing tore into Mama’s ghost. He
struck out at its whips with his cob of corn.

The cob broke in two, sliced cleanly through by the thing’s whips.

“Crap!” Franklin said, stepping back.

The thing continued to tear into Mama. White bits of ghost
floated through the air. The thing’s intent was clear: It planned on tearing
Mama apart.

A white flash raced by Franklin, slamming into the creature.

Gloria.

The creature let go of Mama in surprise, and she disappeared.
Gloria gave her impressive silent scream as she beat at the creature with fists
that couldn’t land a punch. However, the creature paused in the face of such
passion.

But even the force of Gloria’s emotion wouldn’t stop it for
long.

Franklin pulled off another cob. He told himself hurriedly
that it was still perfect in every way. He imagined what it would have tasted
like, once it had been properly dried. Would each kernel have the proper legs?
Enough crunch, but not too much? He’d never know, now.

When the creature lashed out at Franklin, he repelled it
again. But this time, the thing held its ground. Franklin couldn’t force it
back further.

Mama reappeared beside her boy. When the creature switched
targets, Mama rebuked it, pushing away its whips with her hands. She couldn’t
attack it, but it could no longer attack her.

When Franklin glanced over, he saw that Mama now carried a
photo of Papa, nestled in her bosom.

With renewed vigor, Franklin and Mama attacked the creature,
now on opposite sides of it. They were intent, both of them, on driving it off.

Gloria also pushed at the thing. But her passion merely fed
it. Whenever she got closer and gave her silent scream, it spun faster, and its
attacks grew harder.

Franklin’s arms grew tired of battling. His heart was full. He
could love, oh, he could love.

But while his soul was willing, his flesh was weakening.

“Gloria!” Franklin cried. “Would you go make yourself useful
somewhere else?”

Franklin only felt relief when she disappeared again. But it
was short-lived. The creature attacked again, sharper and harder. Franklin lost
one cob, then another. He grabbed wildly for yet another, pulling it off a
stalk without looking.

It was a runt, smaller than the others.

Still, Franklin had a desperate love for it, even this one.
It would never be perfect, but neither had he been. Despite that, his life was
still full of surprising joy, of love and care that popped up whenever he
needed it most.

Franklin struck out again, his muscles aching, his hand
sweaty, and his grip slipping. But he had to keep going. This thing could
not
win.

“Holy shit,” someone said behind Franklin.

“Karl?” Franklin asked, surprised. “What the hell are you
doing here?” Franklin struck out at the creature, forcing away the whip that
had reached for Karl. Mama engaged the creature again, making it turn toward
her for a few moments, giving Franklin a bit of breathing room.

“I just—the sheriff, and his men, were shooting up my
field. And somehow, I knew, I
knew
I
should come see how you were doing. What the hell is that thing?” Karl asked.

“You can see it?” Franklin asked, surprised. “It’s the creature.
That’s been living in your fields. That thing that’s been attacking folks. It’s
what Gloria’s been trying to protect you from. I’ve been trying to drive it
off.”

 
“With this?”
Karl asked, gesturing toward Franklin’s runt of a cob.

“It’s been working so far!” Franklin said, annoyed as he
thwacked the creature again.

An ear of corn appeared at Karl’s feet. When Franklin looked
up, Gloria stood there. “I think that’s from your fields,” Franklin guessed.

Gloria nodded.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Karl asked, dumbfounded.

“Pick it up, idiot! Fight!” Franklin directed.

The thing surged forward again, trying to get at Karl.

Franklin wasn’t about to let that happen. He might envy
Karl—Hell, he might’ve wanted to
be
Karl at one point—but this thing wasn’t gonna hurt his competitor.

What had Karl said? That Franklin made him a better man,
making him try harder?

Shit. Karl had done the same for Franklin.

Without hesitation, Franklin attacked the creature,
defending Karl.

The thing lashed out with all its fury and strength, aiming
to destroy Franklin, his field, all he loved. It struck Mama, Gloria, the
stalks of his beloved corn.

Franklin cried out when one of the creature’s whips ripped
across his side. The pain hurt worse than when Mama had died. He staggered to
the left, his hand coming away bloody.