In The Tall Grass -

“Help. Please, I’m lost.”

Somewhere in Kansas, a granite stone lists the names of the lost. And if you listen close, past the highway’s hum, you can hear a woman’s voice, patient now, inviting. In The Tall Grass

“We’re walking in circles,” Becky whispered. “Help

And somewhere deeper, a baby made of roots suckles the dark soil, growing fat on time, waiting to be born wrong. “We’re walking in circles,” Becky whispered

Becky tried to run. She shoved past Cal, tore through the stalks, felt them whip her arms raw. But every path curved back to the stone. Every time she looked up, the sky had shifted—not clouds, but a ceiling of pale green, woven tight.

Help. Please, I’m lost. Just one step in. What’s the harm?

She found Cal standing perfectly still, facing away. When she touched his shoulder, he turned with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Look,” he said, and pointed down.