The Scarecrow

The wind felt different this week, maybe it was just the fact that it was now Autumn or maybe something more sinister. But I felt a sense of foreshadowing the moment I stepped out of the house. The rusty, burnt orange leaves squatted in an irritable sort of swamp at the door step of my cottage and sighing, I grabbed my wellies, a wooly hat and rake and began to get to work.

Two years ago, after a dramatic breakup with my boyfriend, Joshua, my world was left shattered in pieces. I’d relied on him too much, so when he’d left me for my own best friend, I was an emotional, feeble and penniless wreck. But that summer, I moved into the uninhabited cottage on my grandpa’s ranch/farm where he said I could live rent-free as long as I helped out with work every now and then. Upon my arrival, it turned out that the so called ‘uninhabited cottage’ was more of a dilapidated mess than I thought I’d signed up for but four months of repairs, painting, sanding, binge-listening to podcasts and way too many cups of coffee had provided me with a lovely place to call my own and the fulfilling feeling of just me doing it. It’d been almost a year since then and I was still living in peace and contentment.

Once all my normal morning chores were done, I made myself two fried eggs on toast and headed up the long tree tunnel towards my grandpa’s main farm. My eyes relished at the picturesque beauty of the amber leaves, like bars of nature’s gold strung up high in the branches. Once I’d made my way up to the old 1900s-style barn, I noticed that Grandpa wasn’t there so I made my way inside and climbed up a couple of sweet-smelling haystacks to have a look at the notice board. A crumpled piece of lined paper was pinned up with the date at the bottom. It read: ‘Just out in the fields harvesting the corn. Could you take out Atlas for a hack around the block. Thank you – Grandpa x. Typical Granpa, I thought, never wanting to really absorb in conversation, instead finding any means to not have to verbally communicate. It suited me fine though. And although I trusted his note was the truth and even though this was the norm, my paranoid self still had to check. So, I stepped outside, clutching the paper note and peered out towards the corn field and sure enough, his little red tractor was out cutting and harvesting, he’d probably be out there all day. Reading over his letter one more time, I set it down and made my way towards the stables.

Atlas was my favorite of Grandpa’s horses, a massive, sixteen hand, red chestnut, Quarter horse; with his most prominent feature being most definitely a huge, perfect marking, the exact shape of America. Despite his size, he was a gentle giant and loved nothing more than happy hack around the many acres of farmland that my Grandpa owned, we would spend hours just riding through the crop fields without a care in the world. Since I’d moved away from my old town, haunted by bad memories of Joshua, I’d felt a lot calmer and most of that was due to Atlas and the peaceful time we spent together.

As I opened the gate to the yard, I heard the familiar and reassuring nicker from his stable and I felt a huge grin spread across my face which probably made me look like an idoit but why should I care, it was just me and the horses. My feet crunched across the gravel and I led him out of his stable tying him up on the metal ring by his stable door to tack up. I gently threw the saddle over his back, did up the girth and then put on his bridle doing up all the straps and clasps with a satisfying click. Finally, I eased the bit into his mouth and swung myself on. Atlas shifted around for a moment, getting used to the odd feeling of having a rider on his back and then set off at a steady trot his fiery coat rippling in the Autumn sun. A rabbit darted across our path as we headed into the forest and the leaves crackled under Atlas’ huge hooves as we darted between the trees, dodging stray branches. My heartbeats synced up with his hoofbeats and it felt like we were flying as Atlas cantered smoothly beneath me. The trees were a brown and gold blur and I pulled him to the right so we came out of the forest, and into a shining wheat field that Grandpa hadn’t harvested yet. I gave Atlas some head and he steadily bobbed through the field, butterflies every colour of the rainbow lazily drifting out of the wheat when his knees brushed against it.

Slowing down to a walk as we reached the gate, I managed to give it a shove, and tapped Atlas on, into his turnout field – we’d done a full loop around the west forest and were now back at the field by the stables. I used the fence to dismount (Atlas was so tall) and undid the tack buckles, sliding off his saddle and bridle. I watched him gallop around the misty field, kicking and jumping for joy, then drop to the ground for a good roll as a wave of emotion washed over me. As he took a deep glug out of his water trough, I quietly opened the other gate, now back in the stable block where I hung up Atlas’ tack and began to make my way back to the barn and down the tree tunnel to my cottage where I had a lot of Reality TV to catch up on and a blog post to write.

Just as I was unlocking the front door, I got the horrible feeling of someone watching me and so, instinctively, I spun around. Nothing apart from a scarecrow, and a few magpies hopping around in Grandpa’s prize pumpkin field opposite the cottage. Suspiciously, I glared around one more time before quickly stepping inside and locking the door behind me. I hung up my coat and threw on a pair of thick fluffy socks over my cold feet. The living room was still cold, so I put on the fire and grabbed a fresh blanket from the laundry. I couldn’t have been happier, sat all wrapped up, typing my blog with the content mummering of the TV and crackling of the fire going on in the background.

At around one o’clock, I closed my laptop and headed back outside to find my Grandpa for lunch, the air was slightly warmer than it was earlier in the morning but I still grabbed a scarf as I headed out the door and up the hill towards the old barn once more. Seeing that there was no tractor in the field, I walked past it and towards the much larger house where my Grandpa lived by the stables. I knocked and a couple seconds later, sure enough, a gruff old man that smelt like tractor oil and hay answered. My Grandpa. He grunted towards me, gesturing to come in and I was immediately greeted with the incredible smell of his signature soup coming from the kitchen, I never knew what was in it but each time, it tasted a little different and even better than it had before.

As I sat down, he began to dish it out into a small bowl in front of me, this time it smelt like tomato, mint and cashew nuts.

“So, how’s it going out in the fields?” I politely asked.

“Meh, it’s ok but if I want to get them all done by sundown, then I’ve gotta up my game.”

“I noticed that scarecrow you’ve got in the pumpkin patch isn’t doing very well,” I giggled, “Magpies all over the place!”

Grandpa huffed, “What scarecrow, I aint got no scarecrows, the birds just fly away when I storm up with my big ‘ol gun!”

Hmm, that was odd, I thought, I could’ve sworn there was a scarecrow but Grandpa was getting older and had started to forget things or perhaps I was just going mad and there was no scarecrow after all. Once we’d finished the soup, we headed our separate ways, Grandpa back to the fields and me to cottage.

As I stepped onto the doorstep, I took a moment to look in the pumpkin patch again and sure enough there, by the gate was a handsome scarecrow staring in the direction of my cottage. I wasn’t going mad! But something struck me as different from the last time I’d seen it, I squinted my eyes and gazed hard at the field and then I realized. The last time I’d seen the scarecrow, he’d been up at the top of the field. Standing on the hill, under the golden oak tree but now he was down by the gate, watching my house but no, that could only mean…

No wonder Grandpa hadn’t known about it – this wasn’t a scarecrow made of straw and sacks, it was a human. Flesh and bone. Watching my house. And upon closer inspection, I noticed the curve of his jawline, the deep, dark, melt-your-heart-if-you-stare-into-them-too-long eyes. The hair was different but still the same shade of brown. No, it couldn’t be. But then the scarecrow turned and winked at me. Suddenly, it felt like a strong iron fist was tightly clenched around my throat. My breathing was shallow and I could feel a bead of sweat dripping past my eyebrow. This just couldn’t be. Joshua. Joshua was here. My safe place. I lived hundreds of miles away from our old village. How the hell did he find me? Not off my own accord, I could feel tears spring out of my eyes as I stood in a trance like a deer in headlights. After staring at me with a sick grin on his face for a moment, he lunged, leaped over the fence and tried to grab my wrist but I darted to the left, screaming. Piercing the silence with my shrieks and shouts for Grandpa.

Just at that moment, as loud as thunder, I head hooves clattering and crunching on the gravel along with angry wheezing and muffled shouts. It was Grandpa! I cried aloud for him as I dodged the angry grabs from Joshua. Grandpa jumped off the gorgeous flea-bitten grey mare, Whim with Atlas’ bridle tied up to hers.

“Grandpa please, help!” I screamed in distress as Joshua caught hold of my ankle, sending me tumbling to the ground, cutting my hands open on the sharp rocks. The key to my cottage fell by my hip with a pathetic jingle. Just out of reach. Joshua followed my gaze to them, but just as he lunged, I screamed and kicked him hard across the face. Whilst he nursed his seemingly broken nose, I snatched up the keys and threw them to Grandpa, who caught them and quick as a flash, unlocked the door. Thank god, he was going to call the police; but seconds later, he came out with not a phone in hand, but the sharp rake I’d used just that morning to clear the leaves by my doorstep.

“G-Grandpa, what are you going to do? P-please d-don’t do anything y-you’ll regret,” I pleaded.

“I won’t regret it in the slightest,” he roared and in one swift movement that I hadn’t expected capable of such an old man, Joshua was pinned to the ground, the rake at his neck, causing pinpricks of ruby-red blood to form. My mauled hands throbbing, I shuffled out of the way and watched in horror as Grandpa angrily interrogated Joshua.

“What are you doing here?” he shouted, spit spraying on his face, digging the rake further and further into Joshuas neck causing him to scream in agony.

“I just wanted to be with you again – please help this man’s crazy!” he cried in my direction. I did nothing but stare with a blank expression face.

“How long have you been looking for her?” Grandpa growled angrily, turning the focus back to him.

“I-I don’t know, that girl. Who I’d ch-cheated with, she broke up with me less than a week after your Granddaughter had left. Please – I just want her back. Let it be like old times!” Joshua wailed.

“That’s not my decision young man, and if it was, I’d beat you to a pulp! What are you planning to do when she says no? What was your idea then, to kill her! It’s not up to either of us now if she wants a rat like you back, but if I were her, I know what I’d be saying.”

I felt the air grow thick with decision and the iron fist clamped stronger around my throat. Every noise sounded ten times louder, from the gentle pawing and snorts that Atlas and Whim were making, to the raggedy, manic breathing of Joshua. I took a moment to look at him, laying on the ground looking somewhat defenceless as Grandpa had the rake pushed up against his neck but I knew all wasn’t as it seemed. That man had controlled me, I relied on him for everything and once he was done with chewing me up, he spat me out again like a cat chewing and toying with its prey. The fact he had the ability to somewhat play god, taking away my whole world still felt scary, even in that moment. Black scarecrow makeup was smeared down his face, his hair tousled and sticking out in clumps and I noticed a sort of evil glint in his eyes that I’d never spotted before and that’s when I realised.

This wasn’t the boyfriend that I’d loved for three years, who I’d told all my worst fears and darkest secrets too, who I’d watched the sun set and rise many a time with, this was a complete stranger. A complete psychopathic stranger.

“No,” I said turning away from him and Grandpa.

“W-what do you mean no?” Joshua stammered and then screamed as Grandpa dug in the rake further, sickening blood tumbling down his neck, a cursed waterfall of pain, anguish and suffering.

“I mean no, I’d never make the mistake of being your girlfriend ever again!  Not after what I’ve experienced, you have no idea what it feels like to have everything taken from you at once! You, Joshua, you took away my hopes my dreams, every chance I had of success and then dared to crawl back like a coward, stalking and attacking me! You are pathetic Joshua! Grandpa can do what he likes with you! What you reap, you sow!”