They'd tried to turn the farmstead into a kitschy museum by one of the main highways. Honestly there wasn't much to see there, weird plastic things that had once probably been farm animals of farmers but they were too worn to properly tell were perhaps the least eyesore part of the whole damned place.
As you can guess it was rarely visited on purpose. Most saw the sign saying "Old McDonulds Farm" and cheerfully ignored the apparent spelling error in favour of seeing a hidden gem that they could boast about to their friends and say they discovered it on the way to such and such and how wonderful it was and little Timothy had such a nice time. Needless to say they were quite mistaken.
It had the usual home, barn and feeble attempt at carnival style rides aside, it also had a maze. I mean of course it had to have one of those corn mazes, a pretty tall one made from conifer trees - a clear knock-off from Wragby but less child friendly. In fact the whole place wasn't particularly child friendly. The information plaques read all sorts of harsh farming truths and the images of freshly slaughtered chickens in the barn were enough to put most adults off too.
The maze itself was closed off unless you spoke to the tired looking guy wearing a shoddily made badge with "Jay McDonuld" scrawled across it. He'd give you a flag on a stick and tell you that the "secret to solving all mazes" was to keep your hand on the right wall at all times and to never touch the left side. He'd say that the left was for the devil (much to parental dismay).
After this nugget of advice he'd unlatch the tall iron gate that had been cable tied to the nine foot conifer walls. Children always listened at first, keeping their sticky little hands on the right wall, dragging their palms along until they felt conifer needles prick harshly into their skin. The fearful ones would ignore the pain until they made it to the centre but the weaker ones would let go. They always let go.
In a place that far out of the way and in a maze built on bad grounds, it was so easy to lose people. The cars they left behind would mysteriously end up sold from person to person until the trail led halfway around the country, family nowhere in sight and nothing that led mack to the McDonulds.
Meanwhile the things that rustles between the conifer branches all along the left side (as per The Agreement) waited patiently, following the visitors around until someone slipped up and someone always slipped up. Sixty years and they'd never gone a day without food. Bless the McDonulds.
The maze itself was closed off unless you spoke to the tired looking guy wearing a shoddily made badge with "Jay McDonuld" scrawled across it. He'd give you a flag on a stick and tell you that the "secret to solving all mazes" was to keep your hand on the right wall at all times and to never touch the left side. He'd say that the left was for the devil (much to parental dismay).
After this nugget of advice he'd unlatch the tall iron gate that had been cable tied to the nine foot conifer walls. Children always listened at first, keeping their sticky little hands on the right wall, dragging their palms along until they felt conifer needles prick harshly into their skin. The fearful ones would ignore the pain until they made it to the centre but the weaker ones would let go. They always let go.
In a place that far out of the way and in a maze built on bad grounds, it was so easy to lose people. The cars they left behind would mysteriously end up sold from person to person until the trail led halfway around the country, family nowhere in sight and nothing that led mack to the McDonulds.
Meanwhile the things that rustles between the conifer branches all along the left side (as per The Agreement) waited patiently, following the visitors around until someone slipped up and someone always slipped up. Sixty years and they'd never gone a day without food. Bless the McDonulds.
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