James A. Hunter
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Backrooms 2: Kiosk Kingdom - Chapter 36
🕑 Added 2024-10-09 20:33:07 +0000 UTCThirty-Six –The Cornfields
We had a minute, maybe less before the legion of HOA thralls converged on us and thanks to the houses obstructing the view, I was the only one who knew what unholy hell was about to bury us.
“Time to go!” I bellowed at the top of my lungs.
Jakob was the only one close enough to hear me.
“Get to the cornfield!” I yelled, not bothering to explain. When he didn’t immediately move, I screamed, “Now, for fuck’s sake!” just for good measure. Apparently, the panic in my voice and the fear on my face were enough to convince him to move his ass. He dealt one final blow to the Kevin directly in front of him, cutting the man’s legs out with the edge of his plasma shield, before turning on a heel and darting toward the swaying stalks of corn.
I yelled out again, trying to get Temp and Croc’s attention—not that it did a damned bit of good. The boom of “Footloose” completely drowned out my words, and the two of them kept right on hooking and jabbing, enticed by the bloodlust and the easy experience points. I recalled my tools with a thought, then stretched out invisible tendrils of telepathic power, wrapping the weaves around my friends. I tried to lift them into air but couldn’t. In theory it should’ve been easy—I’d casually tossing around freakish Sunnysiders, who were far heavier.
I mean, I wasn’t actually sure how heavy Croc really was, but Temp was fun-sized and couldn’t have weighed more than a buck-ten, even in armor and soaking wet.
Despite that, it felt like both of them were old growth trees, rooted to the ground.
It didn’t make any sense, so I redoubled my efforts—
A terrible pressure built inside my skull and after a few seconds of concerted effort, blood began to gush from both nostrils, running over my lips and chin in twin rivulets.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” I grumbled, reaching up trembling fingers and swiping at the blood. “That’s probably not a good sign.”
To make matters even worse, the hoard of Sunnysider reinforcements was rounding the corner and were now on our block.
Screw me sideways.
I reluctantly cut the flows of psychic power, since that obviously wasn’t doing dick, then activated Neural Slip Stream to buy myself a little extra time.
Arctic power cascaded through my system as I became nothing more than a translucent, immaterial ghost almost invisible to the naked eye. Although I couldn’t deal damage as a Spectral Thought, that didn’t prevent me from using Physic Sovereignty. I angled my body and blasted toward Temp and Croc like Superman. I phased harmless through the remaining Sunnysiders as time slowed and began moving at a glacial pace, then landed directly beside my friends who were all but frozen in combat.
Now that I was on the ground, I couldn’t see the encroaching army, but knew they’d be right on top of us at any second. As the timer lapsed on Neural Slip Stream, the world momentarily titled on its edge and time seemed to lurch back into normal speed all at once.
“Dan?” Croc asked, clearly taken aback as I appeared beside him. “Where did you come from?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I barked. “We need to go and I’m talking yesterday!”
“That’s going to be tough,” Croc replied, a look of consternation flickering across its face. “Unless you have some sort of time travel Relic I don’t know about, Dan. Do you have some sort of time travel Relic, because that would be pretty neat.”
“No, I don’t have a time travel Relic and we seriously don’t have time for this,” I grumbled before slapping on Temp’s shoulder to get her attention. “We need to go.”
“Why would we go?” She asked, paying only half attention to me as she simultaneously lopped off a Kathy’s hand with her cleaver. “I’ve never felt more alive. This is what I was born for and these freakish dolts are hardly even fighting back! I’ve gone up at least two full levels. Maybe three. It’s glorious!” She threw her head back and cackled before launching a ball of Dire Mosquitoes into a Lawnmower Man’s whirling chest cavity.
“Because we’re about to have a lot of pissed off homeowners to deal with,” I shot back, gesturing toward far end of the block—just in time for the front ranks of reinforcements to appear. They were running at us, driven by madness and fury and I knew if we didn’t leave now, we weren’t going to get a chance to leave at all.
“But what about all the Relics?” Temp said, stealing a forlorn look between the pile of corpses and the wave of Sunnysiders rushing toward us.
“They aren’t worth your life,” I shouted. The words came out especially loud, because that was exactly when the weird radio gave up the ghost and died. The abrupt absence of Kenny Loggins was deafening in its own way. Suddenly, I could hear the moans and cries of the wounded thralls. But I could also hear the thunderous clamor of thousands of feet slapping against asphalt all at once.
It was the sound of death, sure and terrible.
Several nearby radios squealed to life with a burst of static followed in short order by the ever-chipper voice of WBSC host, Seth Nickles. “Well, you’ve really done it this time. We were trying to be welcoming. Trying to be good neighbors. Trying to save you from yourselves. The Backrooms are a treacherous place, and this was your one chance at happiness. But now you’ve gone and RUINED IT! RUINED EVERYTHING YOU UNGRATEFUL, CHOWDERHEADS!”
The voice didn’t sound friendly anymore. Didn’t even sound human anymore. Almost as though the pretense at playing pretend had been dropped entirely.
“Sunnysiders, this is Seth Nickles and the HOA Board wants you to kill the interlopers on sight. MURDER THEM. Chop them into pieces. Eat their bones and water your lawns with their blood. String their bloated corpses up from the trees with loops of their own intestine. MAKE THEM SUFFER. MAKE THEM PAY. Those who do not conform must be punished. Make an example of them, and remember we are always watching. Always listening. The signal never sleeps.”
“Perhaps there is some wisdom in your words,” Temperance agreed with a nod. “Where exactly are we going?”
“This way, and let’s just hope we’re not too late.”
I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her along as I hauled ass toward the cornfield, with Croc right on our heels. We cut around the edge of the yard, leaping over corpses and dodging the grasping hands of downed Sunnysiders, who were badly injured but not quite dead. Without a dose of Kenny Loggins to drown out the signal, they’d finally started to come to their senses.
That was bad news for us, because they were pissed with a capital P.
I breathed a sigh of relief when we found Jakob waiting for us by the edge of the cornfields then I muttered a quiet prayer of thanks to the good lord above, because he wasn’t alone. Our new and mysterious friend, Edward Myrl, was standing beside the Cendral with a none-too pleased scowl plastered across his face. It probably didn’t help that Jakob had one hand wrapped around his arm and was clearly prepared to restrain the man—though, to be honest, I’m not sure how well that would’ve gone. Sure, Jakob was level 26, but Ed had nine levels on him. If push came to shove, I was pretty sure Ed would skin Jakob alive and turn him into a Cendral scale handbag.
“This man says he is with you,” Jakob said. “Is that true?”
“I’m not sure I’d say he’s with me, but I don’t think he’s actively trying to murder us,” I replied.
“Told you,” Ed growled, shrugged Jakob’s hand away. “As for you,” he said, turning on me, “nine minutes. I said you had nine minutes. Either you’re a moron who doesn’t understand how clocks work, and thus too goddamned stupid to live, or you fundamentally don’t understand how dangerous this place is. Either way, if I wasn’t a moron, I would’ve left you all to die.” He glanced over my shoulder and his eyes widened. “Which is still a real possibility, unless you all get real good at listening.”
“Can’t you just deploy another one of those radio things?” I asked.
“It’s not like those grow on trees. That took me two months to build. But I do have a place not far from here that should be safe.” He stole another look at the legion of Kevins and Kathys quickly closing in on our position like a plague of biblical locust. “Assuming they don’t follow us into the cornfields. Which they probably won’t. They don’t like the cornfields.”
“Why’s that?” Croc asked, its head cocked curiously to one side.
“Because the cornfields are where the kannibal kids live, and when its dark, they’re positively feral. Let’s just hope we don’t run into the little shits either. Now stay close and move fast.” He wheeled around and promptly darted off into the cornfields.
“Do we follow?” Jakob asked, eyeing the retreating back of the man with obvious suspicion.
“At this point, I’m not sure we have any other choice,” I replied. “Just stay together in there, okay? A cornfield at night is worse than a maze. If we get separated, there’s a good chance we won’t be able to find each other.”
I had a terrible feeling about this, but we weren’t spoiled for options and staying here wasn’t an option at all. Taking a deep breath, I bolted after Ed and the others followed suit. Although it was hard to see Ed’s retreating back—his damned coat blended in with the swaying cornstalks a little too well—I had an ace up my sleeve. I focused on the man in my mind, then cast Unerring Arrow as I ran. Blue light snaked outward from my chest and slithered through the stalks.
I could hear the howls of rage from the amassed Kevins and Kathys growing closer and closer, but so far it seemed Ed was right. The cornfields were the one place they didn’t want to come. Perhaps it was the one place where the HOA didn’t reign supreme.
With the blue light to guide my way, I picked up the pace until I was all out sprinting. It took less than thirty-seconds before I’d caught up with Ed, who was moving at a quick clop, but not an all out run. I quickly saw the reason. He held a pair of metal rods, one in each hand. The rods looked a bit like upper case Ls; he held the shorter edge of the rod, while the longer edge jutted straight forward.
I was pretty sure I’d seen rods like those before, though not in the Backrooms.
I’d seen them on a TV show called Superstition Unplugged—Unplug the myth. Plug in the truth. It was one of those cable access shows from the late 90s where a pair of skeptical investigators traveled around the country exposing occult bullshit, fake psychics, and haunted houses. Basically, Scooby-Doo, but for adults. They’d done an entire episode of Dowsing Rods, which were these occult relics that dust-bowl farmers would use to find underground water.
The rods in Ed’s hands swung back and forth in crazy arcs, crossing at times, then straightening at others until they ran parallel. He turned and maneuvered at a steady pace, weaving through various rows seemingly at random, following whatever innate magic controlled the rods. I kept an eye on Ed, but made sure that we didn’t loose anyone in the labyrinth of stalks. Croc and the others were able to keep up easily enough, but the larger concern was that we weren’t alone.
Ed had said that the Kevins and Kathys tended to avoid the cornfields, but “tended to avoid” didn’t sound like a hard and fast rule to my ears. Plus, the alternative didn’t sound any better. Although it was hard to imagine that the feral kannibal kids who called the fields home could possibly be worse than the army of Sunnysider adults, I wasn’t holding my breath. After all, there was probably a damn compelling reason why the adults didn’t venture out into the fields after dark.
“Almost there,” Ed called over one shoulder, before glancing back down at the rods twitching manically in his hands. “Just a little further now,” he said, though it sounded like he was attempting to reassure himself more than us.
Ed took a hard right, then a sharp left and we rushed out into a circular clearing with what appeared to be the dilapidated remains of a storage barn at its center. Unlike the picture-perfect homes that decorated the rest of Sunnyside, this thing was ancient. Most of the roof had collapsed in on itself like a dying star and the remaining boards were gray and warped from age and the elements.
Instead of lumbering on ahead, Ed froze in his tracks like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. His gaze snapped toward the black, gapping maw of the barn entryway.
There was something waiting inside, partially concealed by the shadows. I wasn’t sure what I was looking at, but it was big.
So tall it had to stoop as it slunk through the opening.
