Into the maze, we fall- a lead in (explicit)

“TIMOTHIEEEEEE!” The voice was raspy and hoarse, but yielded a certain childlike feel from the thing’s terrible stutter. Timothy turned right, into a glass pane separating him from the field outside. He slammed his fist, hoping for a give. “TIMOTHY?” it wouldn’t budge. A high-pitched scream echoed through the dim-lit hallway and resounded. At the end was a hanging light, beside the creature’s silhouette. Timothy backed into the dining table, where there sat breakfast prepared for three days earlier. The eggs and ham had molded and the grits had something growing. He grabbed a chair and heaved it over his head, and it crashed through the wall of glass. Timothy checked down the hallway one more time. “You-you’re a b-bad boy Timothy. Margaret wou-would not be happy wi-with you.” The thing’s voice was distant and deep, and soon it picked up speed. He watched as it came from Harriet’s room and swung the kid’s baseball bat over its head and smashed the light bulb.
The whole room was dark as pitch, and the creature had disappeared. Timothy ran for the field. At least on the outside, he had the light of the crescent moon. But the voice did not stop beckoning. He looked back, and he saw the creature emerge from the darkness of the house. “Join the rest Ti-Timothy. It’s wh-what M-Maaah” Moaning into the long A sound, “Mar-Ma-Mar-Marg—F-F-F-F-FUCK.” The creature’s head twitched as it tried desperately to pronounce Margaret.
Timothy jumped into a sprint, and the creature chased after him. He aimed for the wheat field. There, he might have a chance of loosing the thing. Timothy passed the first row of wheat, and he was in foreign grounds. LEFT RIGHT RIGHT STRAIGHT LEFT. Timothy had no clue where he was going, Randy had told him the safest way though, but now it all meant nothing to him. He could make no sense of his mind; the adrenaline stopped any sort of passage for memory.
Dead end. Timothy looked back, he could now see two bald, grey heads bobbing through the field. One back north, the other coming from the east. “Timothy!” The second raspy voice called out to him, “We-we don’t want to hu-huh-hu-hurt you, we ju-jus- we just want you to fu-fucking die.” The voice was calm and somehow bearing condor. A third head started bobbing at him from the southwest. He had to get out of there. JUMP STRAIGHT FUCKING THROUGH THIS BITCH. He shielded his eyes and ran through the wheat—aligning perfectly with the third creature. They stood still, his legs wouldn’t cooperate—eyes locked. He couldn’t bear to look anywhere else, the creature’s synthetic skin had taken a beating, it was rotting away, and the skin where the eyebrow should’ve been had drooped in front of its eye like the thing’s eyelids were a dog’s scrotum. Timothy’s eyes darted down to the thing’s hand, it was loosely holding onto a bundle of wheat shafts. The skin was sagging off of the meat, about a quarter inch lower. It was using the wheat as a crutch, and its leg lagged two feet back. Timothy looked back at the coal-dark eyes, and bolted.
He chased off to the left, further into the mess of a plantation, which could only be called a maze. A maze like those corn ones you’d find at fairs at night, and you and your friends would sneak in, and later, they’d jump out and scare you. This was a lot like that, except here they were bearly living and wanted nothing more but to bury your fading brains in the wet soil.
Timothy checked the heads again, three. He counted three, and let a sigh of relief. Then turned again, and continue away. In minutes he’d find the beautiful gravel road, and he’d steal Randal’s car, and he’d finally get away from this fucking hellhole. He turned one more corner, and there it was, Randal’s Model T sitting serenely like a chivalrous knight and his dark steed. He sprinted for the door, pounced on it, threw it open, swung it closed. He was safe. For god’s fucking sake, he was safe. Timothy grabbed the key and turned counterclockwise. It didn’t start. He jerked it to the left again. NOTHING. Timothy looked back into the field; the heads were getting closer, bobbing up and down through the maze.
“Start damn you.” Timothy growled. He pounded his fist on the wheel, shoved the key in its place, and turned it clockwise this time. It sputtered twice, and lurched into motion. He stepped on the gas and threw on the headlights. Finally, he traveled down the road in safety. Timothy paused. He rested his hand on head and laughed. He couldn’t stop laughing. “Counter clockwise? Are you kidding me, Timothy? You turned it fucking counterclockwise?” He threw the ignition: “Oh well, Margie. I’ll see you in a day and a half.” He placed his hands back on the wheel. It now had a small, maroon stain. WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? Looking down at the wheel, he touched his head one more time. It was sticky. And now, it was smarting with intense pain. “What the fuck is wr-“ His eyes darted back to the road, mid-sentence, the creature was standing there; right in the middle of the road, looking directly at Timothy. In one moment, the creature knew everything about Timothy, like he had grown up with him as a child, because in that moment, he could watch Timothy die.
Timothy jerked his car to the left, it swerved on two wheels, and the creature’s sickly blue blood leapt up onto his windshield, and became road-kill as a sacrifice for Timothy’s life. The Model T collapsed on the side of the road, and the last three creatures pulled Timothy’s dying body from the broken window.