The Scarecrows in My Town Are Trying to Kill Me | Part 1
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It was in the shade of an oak tree my great-grandfather had apparently planted when he'd bought the land nearly a century ago. I had swung from the branches of that tree on a tire swing my dad installed when I was a child. The frayed rope still hung from a thick lower branch, swaying in a cool wind permeated by the smell of smoke. I stopped digging for a moment, wiping sweat from my face with the back of my forearm.

The clouds were thick this afternoon, and the sun seemed to be giving up, retreating from the darkness now approaching from the east. It was a cool day, but the digging was hard work. The shovel's blade sunk into the dirt with a gritty, metallic sound as I jammed it next to the half-dug grave. I left it wobbling slightly as I removed what I called my "Halloween jacket." It wasn't a jacket, just a flannel shirt.

but it was night black and pumpkin orange and i wore it all throughout october much to my girlfriend's dismay walking over to the other two crosses nearby i thought of the other dogs i had buried here over the years even when chugger died when i was only 10 years old dad had insisted that i bury him myself he was your dog my dad had explained to a much younger tear-filled me

"You agreed to take responsibility for him. That means seeing him to rest. You'll be glad you did it later. Trust me on that one, Eddie." And he was right. As I stood over Chugger's grave, I felt a sense of bittersweet pride. I felt proud of the wooden cross I had made for him, complete with his name engraved in the crossbeam. The construction and engraving both spoke to the amateur nature of the hands that had crafted them.

but at least the thing had held up over all these years. The other grave marker had been built and engraved with "sure" hands. That was for my second dog, Reese, who had died when I was 15, just three years ago. Both of them had died of old age. I'd adopted both dogs when they were already full grown. My parents refused to buy from a puppy mill, but I was thankful for the years I'd had with them.

As I looked over at the wheelbarrow that held my third dog, Macy, the bitter sweetness brought on by memories of Chugger and Reese were replaced by a seething and righteous anger. Macy hadn't died of old age, she'd been killed. And not by any other animal or a passing car. She'd been killed by someone, a person with a blade of some kind.

The fact that I would probably never know who killed her only added to my fervent anger. I laid my Halloween jacket over Reese's cross and stepped back over to the half-dug grave, only ten feet away. A wall of corn stalks swayed restlessly in a breeze. I thought I heard something deeper in the corn, like someone moving through the tall plants.

Pausing with my hands on the shovel, I listened intently for some moments. Hearing nothing but the far-off cry of crows and the distant bark of my neighbor's dog, I resumed digging, allowing my dark fantasy to resume with it. I imagined I wasn't digging a grave for Macy, but instead digging one for the psychotic asshole who killed her.

Fancying myself as a John Wick character, I lost myself in childish imaginings of exacting revenge on a Russian gang who'd messed with the wrong dog owner. Of course, it was nothing but the daydreams of a person poised between childhood and adulthood. I still had the rest of my senior year to finish before I would be free of the fresh hell known as high school. But that wasn't the only thing keeping me from living my daydream.

I had only ever been in a fight once in my life, and that was with my on-again, off-again best friend, Danny. The fight had been when we were both 16, and had anyone been there to see it, they probably would have laughed at the flailing punch slaps or the huffed exclamations when one of us finally landed a decent hit. Thankfully, no one had been around to see it.

Because it happened in my family's barn and had been over something so stupid we often laughed about it whenever the fight came up. We'd been fighting over who was going to ask out our friend Andrea. This was back before we knew she liked girls. Even if she had been into one of us, it would have been stupid and not anything worth ruining a friendship over. Still, I managed to keep reality away as I dug.

transferring shovelfuls of dirt into a pile nearby. I had already gone over any of the ways I could think of to find out who'd been on our property last night, but they'd all been exhausted. Our doorbell camera hadn't caught anything because the person apparently had been out here, near our southern cornfield. Why was a question I hadn't yet ventured a guess at. Our dogs always had free reign of the property once I got them trained up,

So it was no surprise when Macy took off last night, barking madly and headed south. I didn't think much of it at the time, figuring she would come back through the doggy door like she always did. But she never came back. And I found her this morning in the cornfield, near Scully the Scarecrow, with multiple stab wounds up and down her white and brown body. More than anything, I wanted her to have died for a reason.

Death had been on my mind even before Macy's unexpected murder. I'd been struggling with an ever-expanding chasm of nihilism in my life. My mom said it was because I had no plans after high school. Maybe that was part of it. And maybe it was just a byproduct of growing up and learning about the world. But now that I was burying my dog, the absurd chaos of life had me both seething in a raging forest of anger and drowning in dark waters of depression.

Macy's death seemed so senseless. I wanted her to have died protecting us from something, but that didn't seem to be the case. Nothing was missing, and anything of value was on the other side of the property. I couldn't imagine what anyone would have been doing in the southern cornfield that late at night. I kept working. The dirt came out of the ground stubbornly. I dug until the hole was deep enough that she wouldn't be bothered by scavengers looking for an easy meal.

Once again, I stuck the shovel in the ground and took a break. This time, I knelt next to the wheelbarrow that held Macy's body in its cold, metallic embrace. I placed one hand on her tarp-wrapped body and bowed my head, replaying some of our memories together as a way to say goodbye. Tomorrow, when my parents got home, all three of us would come out and have a little ceremony, but the burial was mine, and I wanted it that way.

I wanted to be alone with her. While I was still taking a few moments, I heard that sound again, like someone moving through the corn. This time, it wasn't so easy to dismiss. I listened to the rustling for a good 30 seconds before deciding what I would do. I looked up at the oak tree under which I'd been working. Brilliant orange-yellow leaves still clung to the tree. They would provide some manner of camouflage, and the branches would allow me to see over the corn.

With a confidence that only came from knowing the tree as well as I did, I ascended to the thick branch from which the tire swing had hung and peered out over the sea of corn. I could see my house in the distance, about 200 yards away. I thought briefly about the guns in the house, a little of my revenge fantasy seeping out into the world. I dismissed the thought as patently ridiculous. I wasn't going to shoot anyone, not even if they had killed my dog.

Instead, I trained my vision on the corn, looking for any evidence of movement not caused by the breeze. Scully the scarecrow stuck up out of the corn about 50 yards away. I could also see the other scarecrow in the southern field, Sad Simon off to the right, protecting his quadrant of the field. Both scarecrows faced away from me, toward the long driveway that divided the southern and northern fields. Peering around, I searched for the source of the noise.

Then I saw movement. Something was moving through the corn, towards Scully, where I found Macy this morning. Some leaves blocked me from getting a good view, so I shifted, looking through a gap between the branches. A man in a tan-colored hat and a dark handkerchief pulled up over his nose, slowed as he came into the small clearing around Scully the Scarecrow.

The distance, the brim of his hat, and the handkerchief all colluded to prevent me from seeing his face and possibly identifying him. He wore a backpack, which he slid off his shoulders before ducking down out of view. A moment later, Scully the Scarecrow shook on his stick, as if the guy was messing with him. "Is he trying to steal Scully?" I thought. The Scarecrow wasn't much to look at, and certainly wasn't worth stealing.

The only notable feature was the fake skull I shoved in place under his straw hat every spooky season. Otherwise, he was your typical scarecrow: old overalls and a ragged plaid shirt stuffed with hay. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want him, but I also wanted to ask this guy a few questions about why the hell he was here and maybe see if he carried a knife with him. I eased back down the tree branch.

When I got to the trunk, I swung down and dropped, landing softly below with barely a crunch. After grabbing the shovel out of the ground, I started into the cornfield. Sneaking towards Scully, I tried to keep from stepping on any of the drying stalks or fallen corn leaves. This field, like our northern cornfield, was grown to feed livestock or for ethanol production, so it wasn't quite ready for harvest.

We let the corn dry on the stalks before harvest because too much moisture is a bad thing in feed corn, unlike the sweet corn that people eat. This meant that creeping through the field without alerting the guy to my presence wasn't all that easy. To make matters worse, the closer I got, the more I doubted myself. My hands started to shake as my heroic daydreams evaporated like morning fog. What if this was the guy who killed my dog?

Would he hesitate to kill me to cover up whatever he was doing? Was he a bank robber hiding his loot in our field? Or maybe a guy from the massive agricultural corporation that had tried to strong-arm my parents into selling our farm to them? Was he here to sabotage our crops? What happened next was either a product of my dread or distraction. I stepped directly on a broken corn stalk. The dry cracking sounded like a firework going off. I froze and listened.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then there was a rush of movement as the man darted through the corn. I tensed, thinking he was coming directly for me, but it only took me a moment to realize he was running toward the road off to my left. His flight returned my confidence, and I bolted after him, my early trepidation gone. The only sound was that of my huffing and my feet crunching through the field as I ran,

I couldn't hear him over the noises I was making, but I figured he wouldn't stop until he got to the road, and I was right. When I was still 20 yards from the road, I heard an engine start up. A few moments later, as I burst out of the corn, I saw a nondescript, dirty white truck hauling ass down the two-lane country road. I thought of getting the license plate, but there wasn't one. I stood in the middle of the quiet road and watched the truck fade around a bend.

"What the hell was that about?" I asked myself, chest heaving as I caught my breath. After a minute, I made my way back through the corn and up to Scully the scarecrow. I inspected him, trying to figure out what the man had been doing, but nothing looked different. Maybe Scully's arms and legs were a little bigger, a little fuller, but that made no sense. Why would some random guy come repair our scarecrow? Was this some kind of clandestine scarecrow maintenance service?

That was ridiculous. I looked up into Scully's face and said, "What was he doing with you?" Scully grinned back at me, teeth clenched in resolute silence, dark eye sockets staring past me as if I wasn't even there. "Fine," I said, "keep your secrets." I headed back to finish burying my dog. Danny was the first to arrive, followed shortly after by Christian and Andrea.

Grace was last to arrive, barking around the side and walking up to greet the rest of us on the front porch. She came up to me and sat on my lap, pecking me on the lips and then making a face at my Halloween jacket. "Are you going to wash this thing before Halloween?" "Don't listen to her," Danny said from his spot, sprawled on the wicker love seat. "A man's not a man unless he smells like sweat and cow shit." "Well, you're too much man for anyone then," Grace told him with a smirk.

Danny flipped her off jokingly. At least, I thought it was jokingly. Sometimes I wished my best friend and girlfriend would just get along. Christian, a 17-year-old farm boy and one of only a dozen black people in town, leaned against the porch railing with a vape pen in one hand. He puffed out clouds of sweet-smelling vapor that were dispersed by the wind.

Next to him, Andrea sat on the railing with her legs dangling. She wore striped black and bright green leggings that complemented the rest of her witchy outfit. Grace wore skinny jeans, boots, and a baggy brown sweatshirt. Danny, Christian, and I all pretty much wore the same thing: jeans, boots, t-shirts, and some kind of utilitarian jacket. We weren't much for fashion.

Since my parents were away at a farm equipment auction for the night, I had agreed to have my friends over, only after making it absolutely clear I wasn't in the mood for a party. They all knew about my dog and so, for a change, they actually listened to me and didn't invite anyone else over. I was thankful for that. It was good to be with my close friend group, but I didn't want to do any more socializing than that. Danny pulled out a vape pen and took a hit.

Unlike Christian's, this one wasn't exactly legal. At least, not the substance in it. He took a big hit and then passed it to Andrea, who did the same. Christian passed and so did I, but Grace took a hit. "'So you buried your dog?' she asked, getting out of my lap and sitting in the empty chair next to me. "'Yeah,' I said. "'She's in the ground. "'But something weird happened while I was doing it.' Danny perked up in his seat. "'Weird?'

I sighed. This was why I hadn't said anything about it so far. I knew exactly what Danny's reaction would be. Then again, a part of me wanted him to take the reins on this thing. It had been bothering me the whole time, as afternoon turned into evening. Yeah, I said. Some dude was sneaking around in the cornfield. I chased him away. What was he doing? Danny asked, his freckle-strewn face lighting up.

He smelled mischief, and Danny loved nothing more. "That's the weird thing," I said. "I don't know. He was messing with one of our scarecrows, but I don't know what he was doing. I didn't see anything wrong with it." "You're kidding me, right?" Christian said. Serious brown eyes fixed on me. My brow furrowed. "No, why? My dad chased someone off our property last night. He was near one of our scarecrows."

My dad thought he was trying to steal it, but I have no idea why anyone would. "That is weird," Danny said, standing up. "Did you see what he looked like?" I shook my head. "Not really. He had a hat on and a handkerchief. Couldn't see his face. But he was driving a white truck without a license plate." "What kind of truck?" Danny asked. "Ford? Chevy? Ford, I think. It had one of those covers over the bed. Extended cab or regular."

"I don't know, man. Why are you asking? It's not like we're going to do anything about it. How could we?" "Why the hell not?" Danny said. "If he's out there stealing scarecrows, I bet we can find his ass. Maybe he's the one who killed your dog." "What? You want to drive around looking for a white Ford truck?" Grace said. "Sounds like a blast." Danny ignored Grace's sarcasm and turned to Andrea, who'd been quiet on the subject.

"Andy, you mentioned driving around and checking out Halloween decorations, right? How about we do that? And if we happen to come across some asshole stealing scarecrows, we'll tell him politely to fuck off." I considered this. I had only been in one fight, with Danny, but he had been in several. It was something he enjoyed, for some strange reason. Maybe because he was tall and muscular and rarely lost. "I'm down," Andrea said.

Everyone looked at me, knowing I would be the deciding vote after Andrea and Danny. That was the group dynamic. Grace and Christian were just happy to go with the flow most of the time. "Screw it," I said. "But you're driving, Danny." My friend smiled, and I got a flash of Scully's grin that sent a cold jolt up my spine. "I wouldn't have it any other way," Danny said.

"Think about it," Danny said from the driver's seat of his 12-year-old Ford Explorer. "If he hit Christian's place last night, and tried to hit your place but was driven off by your dog, then he's probably working away from town, right?" I shrugged from the front seat. "Who knows? That's a lot of inferences to make from limited information." "Fair point," Danny said. "But we have to start somewhere."

We had been stopped at the end of my driveway, but now Danny pulled out onto the two-lane road and headed right toward town. "Trust me, I've got a feeling about this. Who else has scarecrows on this road?" "I don't know," I said. "Parkers, maybe? The Simmons have some," Christian said from the back. He sat on the driver's side, with Grace next to him and Andrea behind me. "They have a couple in the field and a couple more as decorations outside their house.

"Oh yeah," I said, recalling seeing them from the road. "Okay, let's check the Parkers first, and then the Simmons. That would only make sense, right?" "Sure," Andrea said. "But when we don't see anything, let's go under that new subdivision. I hear some of those people have gone all out with decorations. Ye have little faith," Danny said, shaking his head. Off to our left, the sun was little more than a weakening light bulb on the horizon.

The shadows stretched out, darkening the ground between the crops we passed. The occasional copse of trees seemed drenched in impenetrable darkness. Suddenly, I wanted to be in town, like Andrea said, where the street lights kept the deep dark at bay and the silly Halloween decorations were a far cry from the stiff, human-shaped scarecrows that seemed to take pleasure in hiding in the night. By the time we had driven past the parker's farm and seen nothing,

The last vestiges of sunlight were creeping away like beaten dogs. The Simmons farm was located down a narrow dirt road that I had often used as a shortcut to get to school back when my only means of transportation was a bicycle. I could cut across one of the fields at the far end of the farm and take five minutes off my ride. But now that I had a car, I hadn't been using Bullock Hollow Road much lately. As Danny turned onto Bullock Hollow, he turned his headlights off.

"What are you doing?" Grace asked. "Relax," Danny said. "I can still see fine." We followed the road around a bend, bringing into view the back of a white truck parked on the side of the road, right next to a cornfield. My throat seemed to shrink, my palms going clammy. Danny laughed a low, mischievous laugh I knew well. "I told you!" The truck sat quietly about forty yards away. "No way," Andrea said from the back seat.

I doubt it's the same one. It's probably some farm worker, one of the Simmonses' employees. Look at the license plate, Danny said, voice low and slithery. He put the vehicle in park and shut off the engine. I sensed everyone leaning toward the windshield, looking through the gloom at the dark rectangle where a license plate should have been. A tense silence fell over the vehicle. Danny reached up and clicked off the dome light so it wouldn't come on when we got out.

You coming? He asked me. Ed? Grace pleaded from the back seat. My body was alive with fear, like they were insects crawling under my skin. I was taking shallow breaths, but I couldn't stop thinking about Macy and how she'd been stabbed and left to die alone in that field last night. Yeah, I said. I'm coming. Who else? Danny asked. Everyone else was silent. I couldn't blame them.

"'There's a baseball bat and a golf club in the back,' Danny said. "'Christian, would you mind?' "'What are you going to do with those?' Grace asked. "'They're just for self-defense,' Danny said. "'Or did you forget that someone fucking killed Eddie's dog last night?'

This is stupid, Andrea said, while Christian handed the two items up to us. We should call the cops. We will, once we see what this guy is up to. Right now, there's no evidence he's done anything wrong, except maybe trespassing. Ed, please, Grace said, reaching forward and gripping my arm. Don't do this. I looked at her in the dark car and said, I just want to talk to him. Ask him what he's doing out here, that's all.

"Jesus Christ, you guys are idiots. What if he has a gun?" Grace said. "If he had a gun, he would have used it on Macy," Danny said, baseball bat in hand. "Now, let's go." He opened his door and stepped out. I did the same. We met at the front of the SUV and then started forward. As we got closer, we could see that the truck was empty. The guy was out in one of the cornfields, lining either side of the road.

It was too dark to see where the scarecrows were in the fields, so I figured we would just wait for the guy. But as soon as we got up to the truck, Danny pulled a pocket knife out and jammed the blade into a back tire. The air escaping let out a hiss that was swallowed up by the rustling of the corn on both sides of the road. "What the fuck, man?" I whispered. Danny ignored me, moving up to the front tire on the same side and puncturing it. "Now let's see this asshole get away."

So what now? I asked. Despite my fear, Danny's brash behavior was giving me confidence. If I had been on my own, I wouldn't have had the balls. But with Danny here... Now we wait, Danny said. Let's get down in the ditch over there. He pointed to a ditch about 15 yards behind the truck. We crouched in the ditch and waited. I glanced back at the Explorer, unable to see anyone inside from this distance. What if he sees your SUV? I whispered.

"So what? It's not like he can go far on foot. We'll catch him if he runs, 'cause he's not going anywhere in his truck." The sun was completely down and the moon had yet to come up. The clouds blocked the starlight. We sat in the ditch, peering through the dark and listening to the eerie scraping of leaves rubbing against each other in the erratic breeze. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and saw a text from Grace begging me to come back to the SUV.

"Put that shit away!" Danny hissed. "He's coming!" I realized he was right. That same sound I'd heard while digging Macy's grave filled my ears as the man moved through the cornfield across the road. Danny tensed next to me as the man neared the road. A vivid sickness twisted my stomach as I gripped the golf club in my sweaty hands. The same man I'd seen before stepped out from the tan-colored corn, still with his baseball cap and handkerchief on.

He had a medium-sized backpack strapped over his shoulders that looked as if it was half full. On his right hip, he wore a combat knife in a sheath. Having come out across from his truck, he now headed directly for it. He stopped in the middle of the road, his eyes going between the two flat tires. Then his head whipped up and looked right past us at Danny's SUV parked down the road. Danny jumped out of the ditch just as the guy turned and darted back into the cornfield.

My friend didn't say a word as he ran after the guy. His long, powerful legs pumping and bat-whipping back and forth in his right hand. I wanted to run back to the SUV to forget the whole thing, but I couldn't let Danny go after the guy alone. So I darted after the two of them. Leaves and heavy ears of corn hit me as I ran. Ahead, Danny let out something between a grunt and a shout.

Then there was a loud thrashing sound, and I knew my friend had tackled the man to the ground, knocking down a bunch of corn stalks in the process. I came upon the area of flattened corn a moment later to see that Danny and the man were fighting over the combat knife, which was now out of its sheath. They were facing each other on their sides, fighting with the knife between them.

I stepped over to the man and raised the golf club, hesitating as I sent it down into his ribs. He grunted with the weak impact, but kept on fighting over the knife. His hat had come off, and I could see the top of his head. He was balding, with short black hair and a horseshoe around his skull. I didn't recognize him. "Hit him harder!" Danny shouted. There was fear in his voice. He was losing.

I raised the golf club and then brought it down on the side of the guy's head. I didn't use my full strength, but it was enough. He slackened for a moment, allowing Danny to yank the knife away. My friend scrambled to his feet and kicked the man in the chest twice before I yelled for him to stop. "Asshole was trying to kill me!" Danny said, voice high with a kind of fearful rage I hadn't heard from him before. Grace called from the road. "I called the police!"

"Oh, great," Danny said, looking at me. "The cops are coming." "So?" I said. "Isn't that a good thing?" "I guess it'll keep me from killing this asshole." Danny kicked the guy again. "Stop!" the man gasped. "Stop, please! We need to get out of here or we're all dead." Grace, Andrea, and Christian were waiting by the guy's truck as we came out. Danny had one hand on the back of the guy's neck. His other hand held the knife poised just under his right ear at the jaw.

I carried both the baseball bat and the golf club. With his handkerchief down, I could see him clearly. He was in his early 40s, just starting to develop the lines on his face that would be more pronounced in old age. He was clean-shaven and had a fold of slightly floppy skin under his chin, indicating he'd probably lost a significant amount of weight lately. When we reached the truck, Danny took the knife away and shoved the guy to the ground. Sit down! Ankles crossed and hands on your knees!

Please, the guy said after landing on his hands and knees next to his truck. We don't have much time. If you and your friends want to live, we need to go. You can take me in your vehicle. I don't care. Take me to the police station. We just can't be here. Why not? Andrea asked. What's going on? Don't talk to him, Danny said. He turned his attention back to the guy while sliding the knife between his belt and waistband. What's your name?

"Please, you need to believe me. Something bad is going to happen very soon." "Give me the bat," Danny said, holding his hand out to me. "I'm going to break one of his arms. Maybe then he'll talk." "Danny, don't do-" "Shut the fuck up, Grace!" Danny snapped. "Hey man," I said. "Calm down." Danny stepped over and snatched the bat from my hands. "This guy killed your dog and he tried to kill me," Danny said. "And you want me to calm down?"

"Listen," the guy said, "my name is John, okay? I'm John Halverson. Let's go to the police station right now. I'm in their system. I've been arrested before. Please, let's just go right now." "What's in the backpack?" Danny asked. John shook his head. "Please don't do this. Give me the backpack." "Hey, Danny, we need to chill until the cops get here," Christian said.

Danny ignored him and yanked the backpack from John's shoulders. "Don't open it, please!" John said. I didn't know this man at all, but his words, and the fear that soaked them, struck me as genuine. He was growing more terrified with each passing moment. Danny knelt on the road, set the bat down, and unzipped the backpack. He reached inside and pulled out a handful of hay. "What the hell? Why is this slimy?" Danny said, tossing the handful of hay onto the road.

The stuff was coated in some kind of black goo, like old motor oil, and it seemed to reflect little bits of orange light from somewhere. He wiped his left hand on his pants, trying to get the stuff off. "Oh Jesus," John said, staring at Danny's hand. "Oh Christ," staring wide-eyed, I noticed that John was wearing heavy work gloves, which also seemed to be covered with that strange goop.

A rustling noise came from the cornfield behind us. Everyone looked that way. John screamed, "Oh no! We need to leave!" He lurched to his feet, but Danny was too quick. Whipping out with the bat and cracking John in the head with it, the man fell to the road, smacking into it so hard I knew he was unconscious, or worse.

The rustling continued. There was someone out there, and they were coming toward us, taking sure, steady steps. "I've got a gun, asshole," Danny said to the cornfield. "Your buddy already told us who you are, so you might as well give up now." As he spoke, he pulled the knife out of his belt with his left hand, baseball bat still in his right. The rhythm of the steps didn't change. Whoever was out there was still coming. They didn't seem scared of Danny's lies.

I backed away until I was next to Grace. Christian and Andrea stood nearby. The figure emerged from the cornfield and stopped, looking at us. Danny laughed. "Seriously? A scarecrow costume? Is that supposed to be scary?" Eyes that were just holes and tattered burlap turned toward Danny, who stood about ten yards from the scarecrow. It wore a floppy-brimmed black felt hat with straw sticking out underneath.

An old brown work shirt covered its torso and arms. Again, straws stuck out of the various holes. Same with the sun-bleached brown pants. I was sure it was a man wearing a costume at first, but that didn't make it any less scary. The wrongness of the situation caused my skin to go clammy and my mouth to go dry. Then I looked at the scarecrow's feet and saw no boots or shoes.

Instead, sticking out from each pant leg was a tangle of dark roots in the shape of a foot. As the scarecrow moved toward Danny, my eyes darted up to its face. Its mouth was nothing more than a skewed tear in the burlap. But somehow, that mouth moved with intention. The scarecrow smiled. I wanted to believe it was just the wind stirring the mouth flap, but the way the burlap moved told me otherwise. It moved as if there were muscles underneath.

Danny must have seen it too, because he backed away from the thing, just not fast enough. I only noticed that the scarecrow's right hand was made of a rusty old three-pronged garden cultivator when it whipped it up into Danny's head. My friend spun around from the blow and staggered away from the scarecrow, dropping the knife and gripping his injury with his left hand. Three jagged gashes went from just in front of his ear down to the side of his left eye socket. They poured blood over his fingers.

John was regaining consciousness, and he was now the closest one to the scarecrow. The rest of us backed up, including Danny, who was cursing vehemently as he stumbled toward his SUV.

John looked up from his spot on the road, his hazy eyes going clear and bright with fear. He screamed and tried to scramble away, but the scarecrow stopped up to him and shoved him back down to the dirt road with one root foot. "I made you!" John said, pleading. "I'm the one who brought you to life! It was me!" The scarecrow didn't seem to care. It whipped the metal fingers of its right hand up, jamming them through the bottom of John's chin.

Blood spewed out of John's mouth as one of the prongs emerged through the bottom of his jaw. The other two prongs were on either side of his chin. Still holding him down with one foot, the scarecrow yanked on his hand. John's head came up, spine crackling loudly. Then his jaw started to separate, skin stretching, tendons creaking.

with a bowel-loosening tear. The scarecrow ripped John's lower jaw away from his head. Blood and saliva splattered the road and John's nearby truck. Andrea and Grace screamed at the gruesome and near-impossible sight. We all turned to run back toward the SUV, which Danny was just getting into. Before we'd made it halfway back to the vehicle, its engine came to life, and the headlights came on. For a moment, I thought Danny was going to leave us.

As I ran toward the SUV, I looked over my shoulder to see the Scarecrow coming toward us. John's lower jaw still skewered in its right hand. The Explorer's engine roared as Danny drove toward us. We separated as he came to an abrupt stop and we climbed inside. This time, I ended up in the back behind Christian and Shotgun. Grace sat in the middle and Andrea behind Danny.

"Turn around!" Grace said. Danny ignored her. I couldn't see his injuries because they were on the left side of his face, but I could see the expression of pure rage he wore. He hit the gas, and we barreled toward the scarecrow standing in the middle of the road. It didn't move, and its ragged smile didn't falter as we picked up speed. Grace shrieked, and Christian jammed his hands into the dashboard to prepare for the impact. Andrea sat silently and leaned over to see out the windshield.

The SUV jolted as it struck the scarecrow, sucking it down under the grill. The tires on the right side bumped over it, one after the other. It wasn't like hitting a dummy made of straw. It was like hitting a real person, a big person. I spun around and looked out the back, seeing the scarecrow illuminated in the red taillights as we drove away. It pushed itself off the road and started to get to its feet, but soon it was lost from sight in the dark distance.