The Corn King

Summer is departing and the skies grow a darker shade of blue as autumn begins to take control. The wistful scents of summer flowers fade on the burning bonfires and compost heaps that are scattered across the land. The seasons are changing even though the evenings are still washed in the fiery gold of the summer sun. Purple skies, orange flames dancing across the clouds, burnt red and yellow swirl together. The leaves are turning and dancing, spiralling through the air as they fall from the trees. Sycamore seeds spin like helicopter blades, the smashing sounds of conkers can be heard as they fall to the ground and split open.

The starry sky is changing, moving from Leo into Virgo into Libra and on and on.

The air filled with the scents of the changing season, leaves crunching under feet, the soil hardening, becoming difficult to plough. And out in the villages the corn is being gathered in. The bright red harvesters moving like mechanical spiders across the golden yellow fields. Red poppies dancing beneath a golden sun become crushed and their petals turn into a running tide of crimson blood to feed the soil. Their seeds scattered to the winds along with a thousand others, blown about from rock to rock, finally settling down.

A flash of movement in a distant field. The corn swaying, dancing in a breeze. The noise of the harvesters a distant drone. A black shape stumbling running through the field. Panting, gasping for air, gasping for life. Battered and bruised, blood trickling down his face from cuts, eyes twinkling. The corn whipping at his torn clothes as he makes his way through. His body shaking, hands wrapped around his stomach as he lurches forward, hoping against hope that he can find help or someone will find him.

'Yes it's true what they say…'

A flash of last night, flashing lights, dancing bodies in a closed up place.

His heart is beating rapidly, his mind a jumbled mess of images and hallucinations. Drugged, dazed, drunk, piss stains trickle down his pants. The dry smell of urine permeating the air around him, waves of nausea wash over him from time to time. It takes all his strength to hold back the sickness, the regurgitated food that threatens to explode outwards from his throat.

'It's better the devil you know..'

Like a scratched record it plays over and over in his head, images jumping forth and offering no truth, just half-baked lies and promises. This female voice singing in his head, the taste of something floating down his throat, dancing and singing. Flashing strobe lights, liquid balloons like the ones you blew as a kid floating through the air, catching the light and turning it into a rainbow.

He stumbles and falls. His face smacking into the soil, the sheaves of corn catching his body and wrapping around him. Holding him in like some cocoon. He gently breathed in and out, the tangy scent of the soil, the dirt pressing against his mouth, the clay cloying taste touching his lips.

He awoke. Hours, maybe days later . He was unsure. Time had broken down, the face of his watch smashed. But the sky overheard was dark, maybe night time? He looked up, cramp shooting down his legs, pins and needles sparkling through his fingers. He whimpered in pain.

In his head he heard songs and words. Instruments being strummed and female voices rising to match the plucked strings. He shook his head but still the music played on.

Something flickered ahead in the distance. On the horizon a dark shadow was dancing, large gigantic steps, as if it could stride over the tallest mountain in one step.

The sky overheard began to suddenly change. Night time was replaced with the dawning sun and the noise of the combine harvesters filled the fields around him. The ground shook beneath the rumbling machinery. Mice darted around his feet, running for safety. The corn shaking in anticipation. But he couldn't see the harvesters.

He began to look around him trying to spot them, but all he could see were the open fields. The sun rose in the sky, its blinding yellow light filled his eyes. Something brushed against his legs, a swift movement, a tender stroke, but it was only the corn moving in the breeze, gently tickling his skin through the torn clothes.

The sun was too bright in the morning sky. A group of birds suddenly took flight from a nearby tree. Their cacophony filled the sky as he watched them swarm into the air and swoop in various formations.

Again the sensation of something brushing close to him…..

He looked down to his feet. A different sound began to fill his ears. Something Eastern, a pipe, a drum beginning to be beaten, the hands pounding against the skin of the wooden instrument and then a female voice joining the music, crying against the sky. The corn twitched and moved.

It began to wrap itself against his legs like some snake charmer had brought the stalks to life. They began to tug at his legs, pull him down. The corn swirling around him, coiling around him like some boa constrictor. He couldn't do anything, was helpless against this new nightmare. He fell flat on his back as the corn covered him, squeezing against his chest. Then he saw the lumbering beasts moving towards him. The sound of the machinery echoing all around him. He tried to cry out, to warn the driver, he saw the sun glint in the metal spikes as they spun round and round. The corn sprung up and over his mouth, filling it with sheaves and seeds. His sounds becoming nothing more than a gargling pitiful sound.

He thrashed in the corn, but it held him tightly, bound him to the earth. The ground was rumbling, rumbling through his body. He saw the red harvester come marching towards him. The corn being ripped up from the earth, chewed and spat out the other end. If he felt anything it was gone in an instant. A sudden rush flooding his body, a quick sensation of something being torn, a loud booming noise filling and bursting his ear drums, every part of his body ripped and torn to shreds. He didn't feel a thing, over within a minute, a shower of blood shooting out from the back of the machine, clumps of skin, a bit of arm, a torn leg, an eye, bloody shredded clothes.

****

Fingers gingerly moved between the cut corn like some scavenger in a rubbish pit. Moved across the ground, dirt covered nails, caked with soil. It flicked at the dried looking leather. The fingers attached to an arm lead to a torso. A naked male. It picked up the leather and chewed on it. Crouching in the cut field, it's body grazed and covered with dirt it lingered over the taste that filled it's mouth. It's face turning into a smile. It sniffed at the ground, it's nose moving across the soil. Dark red, it smelt the blood.

He gathered together the things he found, bits of torn clothes, limbs, eyes, scraped up the soil that was caked with blood. Gathered it all up in his arms and stroked it all. Like some secretive caress he stroked these things. Taking pleasure and delight. He patted the earth as if in thanks.

He began to lay them out in the field. Re-assembling the body. Piece by piece like some jigsaw he put it all together. He discarded the clothes. Looked upon the naked frame of this boy. He moved across the body, his mouth finally reaching the torn lips of the boy. He breathed into the lips. Breathed again and again. The sky overhead growing dark and thunderous. Light obliterated from the land.

It began to move. Like some ripple on a pond it began to move. It's eyes flashed open and stared at the man looking down at him. It was numb, no feeling, no sensation. It's spine not properly connected, the nerve endings flapping against the ground. It tried to stand up and wobbled backwards and forwards. The man watched it, like watching some new born baby take it's first steps.

He reached out to help the boy, to steady him.

There was nothing but silence between them. The boy tried to look out of his eyes, but everything appeared dim and blurry. But sight was coming back to him with every ticking second. He saw before him the muddy man and some kind of crown upon his head made out of straw, he stared in muted silence, unable to speak any words or even form them in his mashed up brain.

The man touched his cheek. His fingers gently running over the ridges, the broken bits, the blood seeping through. It wasn't perfect, but it would do for now. He faced the boy, his arms open wide as if inviting him into his embrace. The boy stumbled towards him, everything flapping against the growing wind. The corn on the ground suddenly being whipping up into a tornado. Spinning round them as they stood in it's centre, the eye of the storm.

He brought the boy close to him, embraced his flesh. The elasticity of it, the leathery feel against his own. His fingers caressed him with sweeping strokes, but the boy couldn't feel anything and just watched in muted silence. His lips kept trying to form words, but nothing came but blood and saliva spraying over the man.

He went round to the back of the boy, his flapping spinal cord, every bone and plate still in place but not connected to anything. He gripped it with both hands, the boy opened his mouth as if to scream, but just silence came out. He stumbled backwards towards the man. The corn spinning faster around them. If there was anything beyond it he could no longer see it.
The man was against him, breathing upon his ragged skin. Breathing in his essence. He whispered into his ear, but his brain couldn't translate the sounds, their meaning lost on him.

Like a camera lens shutting his eyes closed, his body began to shut down. The man was feeding on him. From the spinal cord he fed, crunching on the bone, everything he took within him, feeding and eating until the boy was no more.

The storm died down.

The skies cleared, the sun burst out. It was as if nothing had happened, except for the figure of the man lying in the corn. His body rising and falling with each deep breath, his eyes glistening with new life. He was born again on the autumn winds and they carried him across the lands and oceans to distant places, to new places.

©NigelSymon 2002