“Are you going to the corn maze this Saturday?” asked Ashton.

“Mmm...I wasn’t planning on it but sure. I will need a ride from you,” he warily replied.

“I got you. I’ll pick you up at 7 o’clock. See you then, Wyatt.”

After shutting the door, Wyatt dragged himself with worry over to the television to take his mind off Saturday but his brain was overpowered with an alternative idea. He vigorously flipped the channels to hopefully please his thoughts, however, his thoughts were hungry for his attention. Born unique, he had always had a special talent that differentiated him from the others; Wyatt possessed irrefutable intuition. His talent wasn’t specific and could only predict the overall outlook of a day or event. Because Saturday didn’t seem to have a positive attitude, his decision of going to the corn maze rang sharply in his head over and over again like a church bell. Nonetheless, he swallowed his suspicions before falling asleep with the bay windows open in the crispness of mid-October air.

A sleepless night, as well as a dull school day, had passed and Wyatt along with his friends walked down to the library. Their history teacher had assigned an essay on folklore and legends of the area that was due in the next two days so the boys scoured the two-floor building for dusty books. Peaking and peering through cracks in the wooden shelves for an hour or two they had not found a book.

Regathering to talk, one teenager mentioned, “We checked the first and second floors, so that leaves the room at the entrance.”

Desperate for a book, they took a hike over to the undiscovered. Pulling back a scratchy wool curtain that hung from the door frame, they filed into the room one by one and felt around for the lights. Once the lights were on, they were surprised by the number of untouched books in such a small area. The shelves were unkempt and labeled “forbidden”. The shortest boy, known as Finn, picked up a faded hardcover unveiling it from its blanket of dust to reveal its name, The Black Devil.

“Guys, come over here,”  instructed Finn. As advised, the teens collected around him to listen to him read the battered first pages.  “He lurks in the depths of the worse nights taking with him the most innocent victims as time ticks. To the majority, he comes unexpectedly, but for those who are attentive, the signs come insidiously. First, six crows will swarm around signifying death-”

Interrupting, Wyatt insisted, “I don’t think we should be reading this.”

“Just let me finish the last sentences of the paragraph, alright? You always get so anxious around this stuff,” Finn snapped and continued, “...signifying death is on its way. Following the crows, is a cloak of fog that will erase all sight allowing the two-horned creature to creep in. Then the fog clears before his one-of-a-kind murders to reveal his face to his victims. Finally, within the snap of the fingers, the victim’s memory is erased and their story is never to be told.”

“Okay, I think it is time to go. That’s obviously not the type of book he’s looking for so we will try again tomorrow,” blurted Wyatt.

The boys shivered their way out of the library and were tense for the rest of the week. At least once a day, each of them was reminded of the legend; their hearts would drop if they heard the squawk of a bird or they would tremble when they saw fog hanging over the twinkling water in the early morning. Eventually, they had to disguise their fear as the night was approaching.

Now Saturday, Wyatt, out of all the boys, was the most nervous as he still had the gut-feeling that the night was going to end poorly yet, he couldn’t think of how it would. Patiently waiting in line, he wanted to tell his friends of his suspicions but thought it was too soon.

Suddenly, over the hill, a crow flew under the moonlight and resided on the dewy grass. Seconds behind it, additional crows swooped in until there was a club of six. The boys noticed the birds but laughed it off thinking that it is merely a coincidence. However, Wyatt knew that that was a sign of how the night was going to end.  

The line continued to shorten and within twenty minutes they were in the maze walking aimlessly through the dry, brittle corn stalks. In the midst of the boredom, fog as translucent as muddy water started to roll in.

“He’s here. The Black Devil is here,” screamed Wyatt, “Run. Now.”

The boys scattered throughout the corn maze but ran through most of the corn as nothing was visible to their eyes. Escaping to the areas that appeared less fuzzy,  they were led to the dead center of the maze. They stood back-to-back terrified and waited for their ends. Off in the distance, a putrid smell and sound of corn crunching under heavy feet walked closer and closer until the face of the perpetrator was distinguishable. Charred skin, jagged horns, and a diabolical pitchfork were now detectable as the fog cleared up. Without words, the devil commanded the prongs on the pitchfork to ignite into flames like candles on a cake. The light emitted from the bright flames illuminated the speechless victims’ faces of anguish in the last seconds of their lives.

The devil proudly raised his metallic pitchfork in the chilly breeze and dipped it in the pool of dehydrated corn, starting a lively fire. He constructed a barricade out of thin air trapping the helpless boys in. They shrieked and cried for help but their calls went unheard.

While they burned slowly under the stars, Wyatt questioned, “Why didn’t I trust myself?”