Maize

By Ryan Kreifels

Maize is a dark tale about gruesome murders and the urgency to find the cause. In rural Ryne County, a tourist attraction is the site of a grizzly killing. Residents start to suspect each other, while the local county sheriff and his deputy look for answers. After a second victim is found, they begin to suspect that something sinister is underneath the corn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889826002

Book preview

Table of Contents

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Copyright

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About the Author

cover.jpg

Maize

Ryan Kreifels

Copyright © 2023 Ryan Kreifels

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 979-8-88982-599-9 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88982-600-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To Jim Quilty:

Even though I was physically prevented from attending your funeral, I want to tell you now what I would have told you then. Thank you, I'm sorry, and Rock Chalk Jayhawks!

To my boys, Tanner and Hunter:

Thank you for being amazing, inspiring, and absolutely incredible. The greatest gift I ever got was becoming your dad. You have made me a better person and the world a better place. 

To Jessica:

Thank you for giving me a second chance at love. I am so lucky to have such a great person with me on the journey of life. I can't wait to see what our future holds. 

Finally, to my mother:

Thank you for everything. You give me life, guidance, hope, and love. You have made me a better man and father. I have you to thank for all my successes. Thank you for everything! I love you.

1

Ryne County, West Virginia, was a close-knit farming community on the border of Ohio. It was considered by many as flyover country as it lacked any discernible features or commercial landmarks. The simplistic landscape and the lush fertile fields made it a magnet for all types of farming. Roadside lemonade stands and freshly baked pies were available to any passing motorist or curious tourist. The calm country ambiance and rural way of life made it the perfect place that no one visited on purpose. It was a great place to live, to raise a family, and to love.

Until it wasn't.

2

The patriarch of the Simmons family, Stan Simmons, had bought fifteen acres of land in 1969 when he was only twenty-three. He had saved his money from doing chores for his father and small handyman work around his parent's farm.

In the spring of 1971, he had turned the untilled land into a place where families could gather and memories could be made. Picnic tables, free standing grills, and sandpits were scattered about the property. It took a lot of work, and Stan knew he needed help. His best friend, Sara, had been by his side for nearly half a decade before he proposed. Stan married Sara Worthington in a private ceremony in 1973. Her parents did not approve of Stan's vison to take care of their daughter. They did not feel buying acres of forest land and fields of dirt was a formula for a successful marriage. Mr. Worthington wanted Sara to marry a doctor or go to school to be a lawyer. Stan knew Mr. Worthington did not like him, so he never asked for permission to marry Sara. Stan and Sara Simmons became partners in both life and business. She was impeccable with a sewing machine and could hem, loosen, and create masterpieces out of most fabric. Stan was an old-school, hardworking farm boy. He rose with the song of a rooster and worked until the sun set. Stan wanted to prove to her parents his business would flourish. He took a chance in 1975 and planted apple and cherry trees in the southern portion of the property. He had countless rows of corn and a designated area for cultivating pumpkins. For the first three years, there was no harvest. Birds feasted on the buds, and small underdeveloped fruit fell victim to ground rot. Year four was better, but year five and every year after provided the Simmons family and their customers with a seemingly endless supply of apples, cherries, and pumpkins. Upkeep of the land and making visiting guests happy were part of their life. The business flourished as the Simmons saw it as a necessity rather than a desire.

In 1976, the Simmons family grew by one as they welcomed a son, Peter Bradford Simmons. They were both overjoyed, and their hearts filled with love. Stan worked every day to make his family proud. He sacrificed cub scout meetings, ball games, and family gatherings. Sara gladly stepped in when she was needed, and Peter didn't seem to mind. She knew how to pitch a tent, throw a curveball, and build a birdhouse. Peter had two very loving parents and couldn't ask for anything more. He rarely caused his parents grief, and with the structure of running a business, he did not have time to be mischievous. As he grew, Pete saw his father as his hero and wanted nothing more than to be like him. Stan was a mentally sharp and physically strong man of honor and integrity. He taught his young son that hard work, pride, and love were the keys to a successful life. He allowed Peter to perform tasks around the farm, and when they were done incorrectly, his wisdom and experience gifted Peter to understand why. His patience with his son propelled Peter's ability to learn to the correct method and benefit from Stan's do as I do mentality.

When Pete was eight years old, he got lost in the family's cornfield, and it took rescuers several hours to find him. When he was handed over to his mother, Stan removed his dirty bifocals and wiped away a single tear. As he turned toward Peter, it was the only time Peter ever saw his father show sadness as an emotion.

When Pete was a young boy, he started becoming independent and assertive. He would routinely help his father without being asked and perform chores around the acreage. He fed the pigs, picked the low-hanging apples and cherries, carried the lighter pumpkins to the front building, and raked fallen leaves. After school, he would come home, eat a small snack, and get to work. On the weekends, Pete worked all day with his father. He admired his father's work ethic and endless dedication to his family. In Pete's eyes, Stan could do no wrong, and the love he had for his father was equal parts idolization and heroic awe.

One afternoon, Stan was in the city buying supplies, and Sara was inside painting a friendly ghost for one of the buildings. Before he left, Stan told Peter to gather wood for the bonfire pits. Peter walked to the side of the house where the wood was stacked. He had pint-sized gloves on his small hands. He remembered hearing his father say, Watch for spiders, as he pulled the gloves tight. He found his first pile and bent down to grab two of the chopped pieces. When his gloved hands wrapped around the wood, Peter heard a sound unlike any other followed by a blast of the hottest air he had ever felt. It was like someone who was whispering something but was right at the volume where you couldn't make anything out but you knew they were talking. He couldn't make out the sound, and after a few seconds, he shrugged his shoulders and continued working. His father often preached about distractions and how too many could make an easy job harder. The small arms of the eight-year-old couldn't carry large-size bundles, and it made the chore time-consuming and physically draining. He made several trips back and forth from the woodpile to the pit. A green wheelbarrow sat on its top against an apple tree. Peter thought about using it, but he knew he wasn't strong enough to push it. After what seemed like days to the warped time concept of a young boy, there was one pile left. The remaining pile was the furthest away from all the other piles. Pete scolded himself for not starting with that one and working his way toward the closer piles. He gathered up the last remaining pieces and started to walk toward the pit. After walking a few steps, Peter heard the sound again, but this time, it was louder and more discernable.

Mom? he asked in a shaky voice. Is that you?

The logs in his hand suddenly became very heavy, and the rapid loss of momentum caused the wood to spill out of his arms and fall the ground. He moved his brown eyes from side to side, and then his head swiveled left and then right. Not seeing anything, he called again to the origin of the sound. His tone was solid and direct.

Hello? Is someone there?

There was no response or acknowledgment. A crow cawed from high in the air, and wind rustled some fallen leaves near the house where Pete's mother sat working on her latest project.

Peter, a voice said coming from the other side of the house that faced the cornfield. He didn't know who or what was talking to him nor did he have any desire to find out. He wanted to turn around and walk back to the house where his mother was. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, and his arms were covered in goosebumps. He started to take a step, but his legs were frozen as if buried in cement. His instinct was to look down to see why his legs would not move. He tried to convince himself that his shoelaces were tied together as if there was a prankster loose on the property. Panic and fright began to take charge when he realized his head would not turn nor could he see behind him. He looked at the front of his shirt and noticed circular burn marks forming on his chest and stomach area. He remembered a special on the local news about a man who was functionally healthy but couldn't move a muscle. The local anchor described it as being trapped in your own body. Peter could see, smell, taste, and feel, but he was beginning to think he was trapped in his own body.

A moment after realizing he couldn't move his legs or head or even move forward, an unseen force violently grabbed at his collar. It felt as if dozens of fingers with uneven sharp nails were grabbing all over his dirtied, wood chip-laden white T-shirt. The force nearly gave him whiplash as his head broke free of the constraints and jolted forward and backward like a ragdoll. His hands began involuntarily clenching and unclenching, making fists and then relaxing. All control of his upper body was lost, and the young boy began to convulse violently. His youthful brown eyes began to flutter and twitch. The pupil on his left side disappeared into the white portion of his eye. It rolled back and forth,