A Day in the Cornfield

by Glenn Gray

part 11

One day, Karl and Stew discover strange “turd”-like things appearing in their cornfield. The things have a strange power of mimicry, and their intentions are far from clear. Karl and Stew elicit the help of Sheriff Maynard and his daughter Roxy. Consternation ensues, and the once quiet farm becomes the epicenter of national attention.

“Dang tootin’,” Karl said. “Just came right up there from the ground.”

They stared down at the turd thing.

“Seems we know where they’s comin from now, huh?” Roxy said.

“Maybe those little guys we saw are Martians,” Stew said. “Maybe they tryin’ to grow this stuff here in our cornfield. Like Martian corn or sumpin.”

Karl said, “Is why they keep runnin back heres, and they stole it from the wheelbarrow. Yeah. That’s it. Yup.”

“Doesn’t ’splain that humongous turd though.”

“They putting them together, is all.”

“We can spercutate all we want,” Stew said. “Ain’t helping none.”

“That’s ‘speculate’, Stew.”

“Thanks, Rox,” Stew said. “Hey, maybe we should dig down deep.”

Sheriff said, “Don’t know if we want to start doin’ that. That big flyin’ turd might come back. What if that’s the Queen turd thing or King thing or whatever?”

“Maybe we need us a backhoe,” Karl said. “We could dig deep, see what’s down there.”

“Corlett’s got one,” Stew said. “We could borrow it.”

“Wait,” Sheriff said, scratching his head. “I think we gotta get some help. Real help. Maybe something like an environmental agency.”

“Or the Army,” Roxy said.

“Yeah, maybe the Marines,” Stew said.

“Hey before we do that we might wanna make sure we don’t look stupid,” Roxy said. “Why don’t we touch it, see what happens. Like before. Now we got all of us together here. We do it as a group. Protect each other.”

“Hmmm,” Karl said.

Some shrugs, looking around, nodding.

“Should I shoot it?” Sheriff said.

“Yup. Good idea,” Karl nodded, looking around. “Yup. Shoot it, Sheriff.”

“Reckon that’ll work,” Roxy said.

“Okay.” Sheriff shrugged, lifted his gun from the holster. “Step on back now, then.”

Sheriff Maynard hovered back a few feet from the blob. Sheriff aimed, arm straight, shaking just a bit. He took a deep breath, squinted his eyes, bearing down on the turd.

BLAM!

The bullet swung wide, sounded like a high-pitched PING! And kicked up some dirt.

“Crimeny!” Sheriff shook his head, backhanded his brow, clearly upset at his failure. “Can’t seem ta do it.”

“Pa.” Roxy pulled her 9 mm from her holster, sliding over. “Let me.”

“Ya sure, Baby?”

“Got it, Pa.” Roxy moved out front, everyone else falling back in a huddle.

Roxy took aim, cool, calm and rock solid.

BLAM!

The bullet ripped into the blob dead center, sounding like a wet slap.

“Nice shot, Rox!” Stew said.

“Good one, baby girl,” Sheriff said.

“Thanks, boys.” Roxy grinned, settling the gun back in the holster.

They stood together, not quite knowing what to do next. Waited and watched.

The blob shuddered. It started to shake, then vibrated, sputtered, fluctuated colors. Mist rose from its surface.

There was a sharp flash and then there was a huge bullet sitting there on the ground, the size of a newborn calf.

“Whoa!” Karl said.

“Huh?” Stew said.

“Wow!” Roxy said.

And then the huge bullet began to shake, its borders blurred, and it started to shrink.

As it shrunk, a gelatinous material oozed out its back portion and something started to take shape. A gun.

A hand holding the gun.

Then an arm attached to the hand.

A body.

The bullet shrunk to the regular size for a regular bullet as the gun and body formed and took shape.

It was Roxy.

Or something that looked just like Roxy.

Then there was a shriek-like sound and the bullet was sucked back into the gun, more like a SLURP. There was an exact replica of Roxy standing there, face to face with the real Roxy.

The fake Roxy, somewhat stiff, robot-like, slowly raised its arm, gun in hand, and pointed it at the real Roxy.

And then a loud sound.

BANG!

To be continued...