Chapter 3: The Town That Time Forgot

Chapter 3: The Town That Time Forgot

Grace’s hand was still clamped on Travis’s arm. Her grip was like a vise, cold and bloodless, her perfectly manicured nails pressing crescents into his skin through the sleeve of his letterman jacket. He didn't try to shake her off. The shared, unspoken terror of the turning scarecrow was a live wire connecting them, humming in the suffocating silence of the bus. He could feel the frantic thumping of her pulse against his arm, a rhythm of pure fear that matched his own.

The bus rumbled on for what felt like another eternity, the endless corn finally beginning to thin. Travis’s bad knee throbbed, a familiar pain that felt distant and trivial compared to the new, sharp-edged dread twisting in his gut.

Then, the world outside changed.

The cornfields gave way to a neatly paved road, and ahead, nestled in a shallow valley, was a town. The bus slowed, its brakes hissing as they rolled past a wooden sign, its white paint faded but still legible: WELCOME TO MERCY HOLLOWS. A KINDER PLACE.

It was like driving onto a meticulously preserved movie set from the 1950s. A single main street was lined with two-story brick buildings. There was a cinema with a clean, hand-painted marquee that read “Now Showing,” but listed no film. A diner with gleaming chrome stools visible through its spotless window. A hardware store with a pristine display of unused tools. Vintage cars, all polished chrome and immaculate paint, were parked neatly along the curb as if their owners had just stepped away.

But there was no one.

No people walking on the pristine sidewalks. No children playing in the manicured town square. No movement at all, save for a single stoplight at the main intersection, cycling from green to yellow to red for an audience of ghosts. The silence that pressed in on them when the bus engine finally shuddered and died was profound and absolute. It was the silence of a photograph, beautiful and dead.

“Alright, everyone, end of the line!” Mrs. ClearField announced, her voice jarringly cheerful.

The bus doors hissed open. The gaunt, silent driver stepped out and stood sentinel by the entrance, his face still shadowed by his cap, his posture radiating a quiet authority that brooked no argument.

A wave of relief and confusion rippled through the students as they began to shuffle out, stretching their cramped limbs. They were off the nightmare bus, but where were they?

“This isn’t a farm,” Mark grumbled, looking up and down the empty street. “This is… creepy.”

“It’s part of the historical experience!” Mrs. ClearField chirped, clapping her hands. “Take a moment to appreciate the town's unique preservation. We'll be walking to the farm from here. It’s just on the edge of town.”

As the students milled about on the sidewalk, a new kind of panic began to set in, starting as a murmur and quickly growing into a chorus of frantic complaint.

“I’ve got no bars.”

“Mine’s dead. Anyone got a signal?”

“It’s not just no service, my whole screen is frozen on the carrier logo.”

Travis watched as Grace, her face pale, tried her own phone again. She swiped and tapped at the inert screen, her expression crumbling from anxiety into pure, unadulterated fear. The ice queen had melted, leaving behind a terrified seventeen-year-old.

“It’s gone,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “There’s nothing.”

Travis pulled out his own phone. It was the same. A black, unresponsive brick. The realization washed over the entire group at once, a collective, dawning horror. They weren’t just lost. They were severed. The nine-hour journey through a looping landscape hadn’t just been a lie; it had been a deliberate act of isolation, a journey designed to strip them of any connection to the outside world before they even arrived. The invisible walls of a cage had just become visible.

Amidst the rising tide of student panic, Travis met Grace’s wide, terrified eyes. The last vestiges of their school personas—the injured jock, the popular cheerleader—evaporated completely.

“You’re okay,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. It was a lie, but it was all he had.

She shook her head, her breath hitching. Her hand went to her silver locket, her fingers fumbling with the clasp. “No. I’m not. You were right. You were right about everything.” The admission was a surrender, a quiet confession that the world had broken in a way she couldn't comprehend.

“I know,” he said softly. His gaze flickered past her, to the edge of town where the road dipped and the silhouette of a large barn and silo stood starkly against the sickly yellow sky. The cornfields pressed in on it from all sides, a rustling, living wall. He could almost feel the presence of the scarecrow from the fields, its painted smile watching them from a distance.

“Attention, class!” Mrs. ClearField called out, her voice cutting through the frightened chatter. Her smile was wide and fixed, a terrifying rictus of normalcy in a world gone mad. “Our host is waiting for us! Let’s not be rude. It’s just a short walk to the stables.”

She turned and began walking down the empty street, her sensible heels clicking on the pavement with a sound that was unnaturally loud in the dead air. The students hesitated, a frightened herd of sheep.

Then the bus driver moved. He took a single, deliberate step towards them from behind, and the unspoken threat was enough. One by one, defeated and terrified, the students began to follow Mrs. ClearField.

Travis felt Grace move beside him, falling into step. They walked together, a small island of shared terror in the larger sea of confusion. They were trapped. Not just by the lack of cell service or the strange, looping road, but by the town itself—a perfect, silent prison.

As they walked, Travis looked back one last time at the empty main street, at the pristine buildings and the lonely, cycling traffic light. It wasn’t a town time forgot. It was a town that had been fed to something, preserved like a fly in amber. They weren’t visitors. They were the next meal.

Ahead, the barn loomed closer, its dark, open doorway looking like a mouth ready to swallow them whole. They were walking towards the harvest.