The autumn wind blew through the night. It brushed past the tall stalks of corn that surrounding the trio of fillies and gave them the voice to sing, a hideous brushing sort of sound. The song of the corn chilled Scootaloo to her core. “Uh, girls? Maybe we should go back?”
“Go back?” Apple Bloom rounded on her friend with such speed that the sombrero perched on her head fell forward over her face. She pushed it up huffily and gestured at the surrounding stalks of corn. “It’s called a corn maze for a reason, Scoots. You have to find your way through.”
“Actually, it’s called a maze because the ponies in the Eastern lands call corn maize.” Sweetie Belle grinned smugly, the hooded red cloak tied to her neck billowing in the wind.
“Thank you… dictionary.”
Sweetie Belle’s grin faltered. “What’s got you all bothered? This is your family’s maze. Didn’t you help design it?”
“Naw. The way Mac tells it, the corn just grows where it wants to. Grows in a different pattern every year.” She brushed a hoof through the stalks. “Applejack reckons that it must be some far-reachin’ effect of the Everfree Forest.”
“So you’re saying we have no idea how long we’re gonna be lost?” Scootaloo’s fear gave way to irritation. The rainbow-maned wig on her head was starting to itch.
“We ain’t lost!” Apple Bloom snapped. She pointed forward. “There’s a turn up there. I bet you a dozen bits we’re already at the exit.”
“You’re on.”
The Cutie Mark Crusaders trotted down the path and made the left turn.
“Wow. I guess I owe you twelve bits.” Scootaloo murmured.
The path ahead of them terminated into a one that was considerably wider. The corn stalks were bent and crooked here, like they had recently been trampled.
“I don’t think that’s the…”
“Last one out is a rotten apple!” Sweetie Belle shouted before bolting towards the exit.
“Wait for me!” Scootaloo blazed behind her.
“Wait!” Apple Bloom ran after her friends, racking her brain for the reason the path ahead filled her with such apprehension.
The three fillies passed the boundary and flew down the new path. The light seemed to fade the longer they ran. The ambient sounds of the night began to become quieter and quieter until the only sounds they could hear were their hooves crunching on the ground, their increasingly tired breaths, and the sound of the wind through the corn.
They slowed to a stop to catch their breath. Sweetie Belle tossed back her hood and grinned in embarrassment. “Uh… maybe I jumped the gun on that one.”
“You think? Geez, I feel like we just ran a mile there.” Scootaloo removed the itchy wig and tossed it to the side. “Let’s just back track and try another path.”
“Uh… Scoots?”
Something in Apple Bloom’s tone bothered Scootaloo. She turned to see what had her friend on edge.
There was no path behind them anymore. Now there was only a wall of tall and weirdly bent stalks of corn.
“What in Equestria…?” Sweetie Belle joined her friends. “We just came from there, didn’t we? We didn’t turn?”
“’Stay off the path that is twisted and worn.’” Apple Bloom recited as she drew away from the corn stalks. “’Where stalks all grow tattered and torn.’”
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo looked at her in confusion. “What are you muttering about, Apple Bloom?”
“It’s a poem Granny Smith says every year right before we open the maze. I always figured it was just one of her corny traditions.”
“Ha. Corny.”
“Not the time, Scootaloo.” Sweetie Belle growled at the young Pegasus. She turned back to Apple Bloom. “What does one of Granny Smith’s kooky old rhymes have to do with this?”
As if in answer, another wall of corn burst from the ground to block the path they’d been running down. The Cutie Mark Crusaders were now surrounded by the gently waving stalks.
Sweetie Belle blinked rapidly as she began to panic. “Okay. Got it. How does that poem go again?”
The three fillies drew close together in the center of their square prison as Apple Bloom again began to recite. “’Stay off the path that is twisted and worn, where stalks all grow tattered and torn.’”
“Okay. Got that part.” Scootaloo looked around rapidly, terrified something was going to step out of the corn at any second. “What comes next?”
“’For those that do stay lost and forlorn.’” Apple Bloom looked skyward to find a starless cover of darkness. The only light came from the yellow moon. “’Singing forever the Rhyme of the Corn.’”
As soon as the earth pony stopped speaking, the wind died. The corn stalks were suddenly still and unmoving. Silence ruled the unnatural night.
“That can’t be good.” Scootaloo murmured, her tiny wings buzzing in fright.
Something stepped out of the corn in front of them. Something as tall as the stalks themselves. It towered over the three petrified fillies, its face coated in darkness.
Sweetie Belle screamed and bolted to the right, vanishing into the sea of corn.
“SWEETIE BELLE!” Her friends called after her. They gave chase, pushing through the tall stalks and leaving behind the nightmare they had spawned.
The silky sweet smell of the corn was all around them, suffocating them. They charged through, following the increasingly distant screams of their unicorn friend. They called out to her and begged her to stop. If she heard them, she paid them no mind.
Abruptly, the screaming stopped.
Apple Bloom burst from the corn and found herself in another clearing. Or maybe it was the same one. Who could tell? She panted as she stared at the figure of a filly standing just a few feet away from her. The wind blew past and rustled the red hooded cloak she wore. “Sweetie Belle? Are ya alright?” Apple Bloom reached out a hoof.
The figure slowly turned to reveal that it wasn’t a filly at all. It was a mass of corn stalks, dried and wrapped and tied to create the shape of a filly. The corn doll opened its mouth and screamed at her with Sweetie Belle’s voice.
“APPLE BLOOM!” The earth pony spun to find Scootaloo. She scratched at the earth futilely as the corn stalks wrapped around her body pulled her back into the endless sea of corn. She stared at Apple Bloom even as the stalks wrapped around her face. “HELP ME!”
“SCOOTALOO!” But she was already gone. And Apple Bloom had bigger problems.
She felt the earth push open beneath her feet and felt the long tendrils as they wrapped around her little body. They pushed her into the air even as she struggled against them. They turned her until she was again facing with the thing that had originally emerged from the corn. Light burst forth from within its head, flickering like a lone candle. The light illuminated the carven eyes, nose, and mouth of a grinning jack-o-lantern. Its grin widened as the stalks pushed up to their full height and forced the filly face to face with it.
Apple Bloom screamed.
“Stay off the path that is twisted and worn.” Its voice was the sound of the wind in the corn. “Where stalks all grow tattered and torn.” It reached for her with long arms that ended in hands with fingers fashioned from dry corn stalks. “For all those who do stay lost and forlorn.” The fingers wrapped around Apple Bloom’s head.
Apple Bloom shut her eyes and felt the fingers caress her eyelids. She felt them starting to push.
“Singing forever the Rhyme of the Corn…”
She screamed…
…and sat straight up in bed, bathed in a cold sweat. She panted rapidly and looked around her dark bedroom. “Oh.” She muttered, rapidly calming down. “It was just a nightmare. Thank Celestia.” She climbed out of bed and crossed the floor to the window. She looked out into the night.
Across the way, the moon’s light shined down on the corn-maze grown just for the upcoming Nightmare Night celebrations. She sat down and stared at the field, noting how it seemed to go one forever in the inky darkness of the night. She pushed open the window and let the wind blow the sweet smell of the stalks into her room. She listened as the wind pushed through the field, making the corn dance and sing its queer song.
On a night like tonight, one could almost imagine that somewhere in that endless field there was a path that nopony should ever take.
“’Stay off the path that is twisted and worn.’” Apple Bloom recited the rhyme Applejack had taught her from the moment she was old enough to understand. “’Where stalks all grow tattered and torn.’” It was a rhyme passed down since the Apples had settled here, since they had first seen the bizarre corn field that grew itself in a new shape every year. “’For all those who do stay lost and forlorn.’” When the sun came up, she and her siblings would have to mark the correct path, just in case. They’d forgotten to do so last year and no one had heard from Silver Spoon since.
Apple Bloom yawned and returned to her bed. As sleep came for her once more, she wondered where Silver Spoon was now.
“’Singing forever the Rhyme of the Corn…’”
The field danced and sang in the night air. If one listened closely, one might hear another sound buried beneath all the others.
One might even identify it as a scream.
