Beware the cornfields. Sinister spirits flock there at night, barely luminous among the stalks and leaves. They have faces of women, eyes bleeding pungent tears, teeth like knives. Their bodies are phantoms, tapering off until there is nothing there.
They look out at the edges of the fields, seeking prey they can rend with their teeth. Children, playing too near. Small animals, foraging for nighttime meals. Even the occasional deer or coyote has fallen victim to these spirits.
They call out, voices like fingernails on chalkboards. Or maybe that is their actual fingers, ripping against their own skulls, pulling out yards and yards of stringy hair. They know you. They can get inside your head. And once they are there, it is all too easy to get lost on your way. Then they are inside your body, rearranging your innards, playing with your guts. And you lie there, in the corn, your insides now on the outside, dozens of horrible visages cackling at your unfortunate circumstances.
The moon, though… they fear the moon. That straight, white light illuminates them, enlightens them, reveals to them what they could have been, in another life. So they stay mostly hidden in the corn, down low to the ground where the cover is thickest.
So, if ever you’re out walking in the country at night and you hear someone call your name, run. And stay away from the corn. You never know what’s waiting for you in there, ready to slice you up and laugh as you bleed out.