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“It always worked on the napkins at IHOP.”
“I’m not risking the world on pancakes.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Yes. The rule of thumb with all mazes is to go to the left. It’s mathematical or something.”
“Do you have the coins?”
She holds up the bag.
“Fuck it. Let’s try.”
She takes my hand and drops the first coin. We step into the maze and take the first left turn.
A FEW MORE lefts. A few more coins. The light changes. The floodlights filter down through the dead cornstalks, throwing tiger stripes everywhere, flattening everything until it’s faded and two-dimensional. We’re videos of ourselves walking through a video of a place. After too many turns, everything gets dreamlike and I have to remind myself that we’re real, this place is real, and what we’re doing is just as real.
Shapes form in the shadows. Faces. Animals. Whole cityscapes. Glimpses of Pandemonium. Breaks in the stalks give glimpses into adjoining rows and I swear that sometimes I see figures moving past us in the opposite direction. I wonder if this dream state is an effect of the place’s magic or just boredom from looking at fucking corn for what feels like a fifteen-hour Berlin Alexanderplatz marathon?
I consider checking the time on my phone, but if we’ve been walking for hours it will depress me. If we’ve been walking for just twenty minutes it will depress me even more.
The air in the maze is musty. We brush against the stalks. Dried leaves break apart and drift into our noses. Candy can’t stop sneezing.
I didn’t think that bringing down Wormwood would include being annoyed to death. It might be time to turn back.
I watch Candy wipe her nose on my old coat for the hundredth time.
“How many coins do you have left?”
She sneezes.
“I haven’t had any coins for an hour.”
“Thanks for keeping me up-to-date.”
“I didn’t tell you because you’re a big crybaby and you’d have wanted to turn around.”
“I have my lighter. I can still burn the place down. Just say the word.”
“What’s that up ahead?”
Something flat hangs from the stalks a few yards ahead of us. It’s a sign. It says HELL and under that is an arrow pointing back the way we came.
Candy and I look at each other.
“Someone is fucking with us,” she says.
“Or it’s the maze itself. It’s screwing with us. Testing us. Sort a temptation of Saint Anthony situation.”
“What was his story?”
“He was a monk who went to play hermit in the desert. Lucifer wasn’t impressed and tried to kick Anthony’s ass with visions. Animals. Bugs. The seven deadly sins. He probably threw in a few Daleks.”
“The seven deadly sins sound good,” she says. “Wake me when we get to Gluttony. I could use a ham sandwich.”
I look at the sign.
“A pretty lame temptation.”
