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Feelings of getting stalked among the stalks

Crew discovers courage and a new deity while wandering.

By Megan Pearl

Published Oct. 8, 2010

From the carnivorous minotaur to an axe-wielding Jack Nicholson, mazes have historically presented a unique, unmatched danger for mankind.

I, however, am fearless. Challenged with the mission to complete a 16-acre corn maze, I accepted. And then I raised the stakes (as well as the possibility of needing a new pair of pants) by going at night. As my explorer heritage mandates, I’ve kept a journal recording my adventure for posterity. Armed with a pen, yellow checkpoint pass and army of belligerent adventurers, I embarked on a journey into the depths of the maze.

8 p.m. Saturday. We’re driving about a half hour outside of Columbia on the interstate to Shryocks Callaway Farm. The exit is one of those no-stoplight, no-gas-station, fast-food combinations common between major cities in the Midwest. It's fly-over territory.

8:30 p.m. We exit onto a dark, winding road guided only by a small, homemade sign and the warm glow of an iPhone map. Knowing it’s a few miles deeper into the thick Missouri countryside, we continue driving nonchalantly, waiting for bright lights or something to catch our atten—oh damn it, we passed the farm!

8:37 p.m. I swear I can hear dueling banjos.

8:40 p.m. Walking toward the giant, picturesque red barn from the gravely parking lot, we see what appear to be wholesome families enjoying bonfires and the crisp October air. Are their smiles genuine or maniacal? It’s hard to say. At the counter, we’re given the option of $3 flashlights to guide our way through the maze. But we decline on grounds of our Spartan courage and stingy natures.

8:45 p.m. The dirt paths throughout the maze are suspicious — where did they get all that dirt from? The leaves on the towering corn stalks are dry, and they rustle in the wind as if there were someone hiding in the thicket of stalks. I’m trying to remember the smiling faces of the families outside the maze. Despite the family-oriented air of the farm, the depths of a dark maze is the kind of place that makes a person used to the well-lighted, geometric confines of a city or suburban metropolis realize how perfectly she fulfills the role of “first to die” in a horror film.

9:12 p.m. Running out of food and beverage — what will happen to us? Guided only by the dim lights of a real estate billboard advertising a woman with super-villain eyebrows named Wendy, we’ve been in the maze for hours, and we haven’t seen a guiding checkpoint since our initial entrance. The crew is beginning to turn on one another. As they wrestle to the ground, I ponder our impending doom.

9:23 p.m. Wandering down a path, we find ourselves out of the corn and standing on the edge of a vast, empty abyss. With no desire to search for the fourth dimension, we retreat back into the corn and away from the ruse of hope.

9:30 p.m. Convinced Wendy is our deity, one of the crew members is attempting to remove his clothing as an offering in exchange for the way out. In a moment of weakness, I consider his insanity as a possible solution, only to be brought back to reality by an encounter with new mazegoers. By some act of fate, or possibly Wendy, we’ve stumbled upon our salvation: the exit.

Coincidentally, the exit is the same as the entrance. The end of our journey might signify the end of an era: There were no monsters nor murderers hiding within the intricacies of maze. Much to the contrary, our hard-won conquest revealed nothing more than corn.