“The cornfield is the doorway,” said the ghost. “It’s a maze, a corn maze. The scarecrows exist here and there. They are neither flesh nor spirit; they hold the door open for him. They are his servants in this world and his gatekeepers in the other.” Big tears, as horrible as her laughter, ran down her bony nose. “And I am only a ghost, and my love is a scarecrow, and the servant of that horrible man.” Her sad mouth seemed to droop down her face, as though the skin was rotten.
