Don't go into the corn fields at night.
That was both a warning and something to heed in this little town in Indiana.
Normally, Gabriel wouldn't wander this far from LA. There was plenty of stories to hunt in the nearby, more populated states. But, what the locals said about the murders that happened in the fields was what piqued his curiosity and he felt he couldn't just let this one go.
He'd already been here a little over two weeks, the motel he was staying at was cluttered with his theories and ideas. Newspapers, copies from the library archives were on the beat up round table in the center of the room. There was a peg board he hung on the opposite wall, pinned up with photos of victims, connections to places they had last been seen, and of course a large photo of an aerial view of the cornfields during the day.
This motel was on the very edge of town, right next to the field. Apparently the field made it bad for business, other than some courageous teens, or clueless passersby, not many checked out a room and definitely not for more than a couple of nights.
Not that the motel was really in shape to begin with, or really up to code(if the cracks in the walls, and the exposed wires in the light socket by the bed was anything to go by).
But, the place didn't need to be fancy. This was strictly for business, and the less he spent on the trip, the better. He had to get to the bottom of whatever crime had occurred, so he could write his book about it and get the rest of the money he was due from his publishing house. He was nearing the end of his financial rope as it was and he hoped this story would at least be more interesting than all the others.
They hadn't found the murderer, just the victims. Dried out husks left on the edges of the fields(he currently was looking over his peg board, the photos of the victims pinned to the specific areas of the fields they had been found). The murders also spanned almost the entire town's history.
Now, that was just pure coincidence.
Also, the corn fields were huge, a great maze of vegetation, and it'd only seem natural the bodies would find their own way out due to animals of the night passing through.
The fact that the bodies were dried out, nearly mummified.
Well, that was a little harder to explain; and they hadn't actually explained it in any report(that he could find). Yes, air and sun and exposure could play a part. If the bodies were buried in the nutrient rich soil for a long period of time; a variety of factors could come into play.
But, almost everyone that had died had been seen the night before.
That didn't give mother nature time to make a body like that; so the mystery remained.
The murderer had become a legend, whoever they were. The locals had made up stories, eventually the murderer had turned into a creature, a demon.
When he had first arrived, the motel owner, the shop keeper, and even people in the street had all warned him not to go in the fields at night. Didn't offer too much of an explanation, didn't ask him much about why he was there either(which was fine with him); just gave him a warning and continued on.
Gabriel wanted to find out what was going on, but he wasn't naive enough to think he'd be the one to prevail where everyone else had failed(for decades). If he couldn't find the root cause, he'd like to at least shed light on the mystery, the deaths, and turn a profit on the book he wrote about it. Maybe it'd bring tourists back to this ghost town he had landed himself in.
Currently Gabriel was nursing his third cup of coffee, looking out the window to the fields outside. It was dark, the moonlight barely enough to illuminate anything outside, everything shining a pallid silver. The longer he looked, the more the shadows seemed to dance, sway, turn into real things before he shook his head and looked away.
He grunted to himself, rubbing his eyes. He needed sleep, running on caffeine and bad diner food was hardly a diet he should be keeping up. He also wasn't any closer to the mystery, to solving anything or even finding anything new out.
Gabriel had to interact with the locals if he was going to find anything else out. He needed to look like a normal human being and not a zombie if he was going to acclimate well. Had to put his game face on, hit the ground and find clues.
He set the mug on the round table, right on the edge of a newspaper copy printed in the nineteen sixties. He walked over to the mattress which sunk under his weight almost immediately, the springs whining in protest. Gabriel leaned over to turn off the light, letting the room wash in darkness.
He'd stare at the ceiling for hours until the first light of dawn broke, and he finally fell asleep.