Popcorn Thief (16 page)

Karl surged forward. “No!” he commanded. He struck out with
his own cob of corn, beating the thing back before it could press its advantage.

Franklin took a breath, then another. Pain bit into him. He
told himself it was nothing, like he’d just been riding up College Hill and had
a stitch in his side. He could do this.

Karl wasn’t as skilled with his cob—or maybe he didn’t
love his corn as much as Franklin. He was already in trouble, the thing
gaining.

Franklin pushed himself back into the fight, racing around
the thing, attacking it from behind, drawing it away from Karl.

It wasn’t that he loved Karl, no. That would’ve been too
much to ask. But Karl represented everything Franklin wanted to be, that
perfect farmer who made his living from his fields, independent and proud.

With both of them attacking, one on either side, the thing
didn’t know where to go. It lashed out first at Franklin, then at Karl, but it
couldn’t get through.

Then Mama joined Franklin on his right side, and Gloria on
his left, boxing the thing in.

The thing didn’t know where to go first. If it attacked any
of them, the others closed in. Even Karl realized they weren’t alone. “There’s
other ghosts here, aren’t there?” he asked as Mama and Gloria took turns
pushing at the thing.

“Gloria’s here, yeah.” Franklin didn’t want to admit Mama
was there as well—didn’t think that was any of Karl’s business.

“Thank them for me, would you?” Karl said after taking
another deep breath and diving into the fight again.

All together, they pressed in, containing the creature,
draining away the fury of its attack. It whirled more slowly now, its advantage
becoming its weakness. It didn’t have any room. Its attacks were shortened,
slower.

Franklin panted, his arms tired, his legs trembling with the
effort. Hell, even his
will
hurt,
forcing the creature away, diminishing the thing, making it fold in on itself.

It had no place here, though, not in Katherinesville, not in
her fields or woods, not in her hills or lowlands, not even in the hearts of
the people who got angry or hateful.

As purple fingers of dawn stretched across the sky, the
thing finally collapsed in on itself. It stopped whirling, changing from a dust
devil into a small cloud, the size of a basketball. Its color cleared too, growing
to a cleaner white.

Was this what Earl Jackson had originally tried to raise?
Something less evil, more of a familiar?

It still had the chance to grow back, though. With one last
blow, Franklin cleaved it in two, breaking the heart of it.

With a sigh that could even be heard over the chorus of
cicadas, the thing flowed out over the ground, like morning fog, fading away
into the good solid earth.

Franklin wiped the sweat away from his brow with the back of
his arm. Karl, standing across the way, looked rough: A line of blood ran along
his jaw, from where the creature had tagged him. His arms were bleeding, too,
and as he walked forward, he limped badly, barely able to put any weight on his
right leg.

Gloria stepped in front of Karl. For a moment, she flared,
bright and white.

Karl’s eyes opened wide and he gasped. “Gloria?” he asked.

Her
intent
spilled
across the empty field.
Next time, actually
ask the girl out.

“Yes, ma’am. I will,” Karl fervently promised.

Then she was gone.

Mama beamed proudly at Franklin.

He knew he looked a mess, bleeding from his side, his arm,
who knew how many other places. He could barely draw a breath, and his legs
felt like they was made out of jelly.

Still, Mama was proud of her boy. Franklin felt her love
flow around him. Her absolute conviction that he was gonna be all right now,
finally
, washed over him as she faded.

Papa’s photo floated down from where she’d been standing.

Franklin groaned as he reached down to pick it up. Damn, he
hurt.

Karl gave a low whistle. “Your field’s ruined,” he said
softly. “I’m sorry for that.”

Franklin nodded. All his stalks had been knocked
over—either by the creature, or by them, fighting it. He’d known that
would happen, going in.

But it was a sacrifice he’d been willing to make.

“Think we need the emergency room?” Franklin asked, offering
his arm for Karl to lean against as they started trudging out of the field,
stepping over the fallen stalks, toward the house.

“Either that or the psych ward,” Karl said. “Shit. I still
don’t rightly believe what just went on.”

Franklin shrugged. He was used to that.

As they reached the house, Sheriff Thompson pulled up in his
Crown Vic, the lights flashing. He marched over to Franklin.

“Franklin Kanly, I—” The sheriff stopped, blinking.
“What the hell happened to you two?”

“What do you think, sheriff?” Karl asked belligerently. “We
finally decided to settle the score with each other.”

The sheriff just grunted. “So you was the one who broke him
out of jail.”

Karl shrugged. “No. And you’ll never prove it.”

“All right. Let’s get you both to the hospital,” the sheriff
said. He looked out over Franklin’s fields. “All your popping corn’s gone,
ain’t it?”

Franklin nodded.

“And whatever thing that’s been plaguing us, it’s gone too?”
Sheriff Thompson asked, still looking out over the fields.

“Yes, sir, it is,” Franklin said firmly.

The sheriff nodded, still staring at the fields. “Might just
have been a misunderstanding at the judicial center,” he said slowly. “Accidentally
releasing you early. Since you weren’t gonna be charged with anything.”

“Thank you, sir,” Franklin said.

“But if anything like this ever happens again,” the sheriff
said, his beady eyes boring into Franklin, “you’re gonna be the first one I’m coming
after.”

“Understood,” Franklin said, too tired to feel much
threatened.

The sheriff looked over at Karl. “So, the story’s going to
be that you beat each other within an inch of your lives, isn’t it. Feel better
now?”

Franklin and Karl looked at each other. Franklin couldn’t
help his grin. “We’ll make each other better men yet, sir.”

“Who knows?” Karl asked as they shuffled to the sheriff’s
car. “Might even go into business together.”

“Selling popping corn?” Franklin asked.

“What else?” Karl said. “We’d make a hell of a team.”

Franklin agreed. They’d still be competing, trying to top
each other with better ideas and products.

But even if they didn’t make a go of it, Mama was still right.

Franklin was gonna be okay, now.

LEAH CUTTER CURRENTLY LIVES IN
SEATTLE—the land of coffee and fog. However, she's also lived all over
the world and held the requisite odd writer jobs such as working on an
archeology dig in England, teaching English in Taiwan, and bartending in
Thailand.

She writes fantasy set in exotic times and locations such as
Tang dynasty China, WWII Budapest, rural Louisiana, and the Oregon coast.

Her short fiction includes fantasy, mystery, science
fiction, and horror, and has been published in magazines as well as anthologies
and on the web.

Read more stories by Leah Cutter at
www.KnottedRoadPress.com.

Follow her blog at www.LeahCutter.com.

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