Scaring Fields

the ground. "Um, some help, maybe?"

  He doesn't know what to do. He picks up the flashlight and tries to hit the scarecrow, but it doesn't seem to notice.

  The scarecrow wrestles one of her arms down and pins it to the ground. Its impossible strength means exactly one thing: She's fucked.

  Matilda squeeze her eyes shut. She waits for that first painful bite that will shred her neck.

  Instead, a pile of straw envelopes her face. She coughing and spitting out straw and dirt and spiders. The weight keeping her down vanishes. She digs her face out. The flashlight lays on the ground, sending its beam out into the wood. She grabs it and uses it to search.

  Finally she finds Warren. He holds the burlap head of her attacker in his hands. The contents have all fallen out. It looks like a sad, deflated balloon.

  He looks at it, illuminated. He throws the sack to the ground and backs up into a tree.

  "Oh geez, oh geez," he says.

  "Warren?"

  "Did you see that? I killed it. I actually killed it!"

  "Well, no. But thanks."

  Feeling braver, Warren looks at the rest of the body. He even ventures a kick. "It's really dead. I did it!"

  He looks so pleased, Matilda thinks. For a moment, she almost feels bad that she brushed him off. He came out in the dark for her. He was risking his life. If he hadn't been there to save her, she would have been dead meat. She might as well have been that poor deer.

  But is she obligated to like him? It's not that she doesn't like him, she decides. She's just not sure if she should reward his heroics with some kind of emotional consideration.

  Now is not the time to make such hefty decisions. No, Emerson is still out there and who knows how many others.

  As if on cue, the leaves begin to tremble in the direction the Emerson scarecrow fled. It comes back, slowly, as if it were scared.

  "Matilda?" Warren glances at her. Unsure.

  "No, it's fine. I think it's Emerson."

  The scarecrow stumbles forwards, gets closer. They watch it approach, the occasional grunt and groan coming from somewhere behind its burlap face.

  "How can it be Emerson?"

  "I don't know."

  "He's dead, Mattie."

  "I know, but he's also that."

  Warren's body shudders as he considers this. "Ugh, you mean we could turn into one of these creeps?"

  Matilda shrugs. Emerson has gotten so close he's almost in their little social circle. There's no mistaking it. He may be all burlap and straw now but this creature was her former lover.

  She holds a hand out to it, out to him. He seems so lost, she thinks. She wonders if she can save him. If, somehow, she can give his life back to him.

  His straw-stuffed hands clasp her own. They are rough, lumpy, and smell like mildew. His face, the one with no eyes, looks distraught.

  "It's okay, Emerson. It's me," she whispers.

  He stops struggling to move ahead. For a brief moment, the scarecrow stands among them. They almost let a feeling of ease settle over them. Almost.

  Like that, it's over. The facade of peace is disrupted when Emerson's wicked hand shove Matilda back and he lunges at Warren.

  Warren screams.

  Matilda springs to her feet. She tries to pull her ex-boyfriend off her...whatever he was. Friend? Accomplice? She didn't want to think about it. Emerson has that awful super-strength the other one had and no matter how hard she tugs at his shoulders, he doesn't seem to notice.

  Desperate, she grabs his head. She gives it a sharp yank. Half the stitches keeping his head on break, but the others hold steady.

  Now he minds.

  He turns his attention to her, his mouth all teeth and anger. She shrieks, but grabs the top of his head, twists it around. This seems to disorientate him as his limbs flail helplessly around. He keeps smacking Warren in the face.

  Matilda brandishes the useless steak knife and suddenly understands. She uses it to saw at the stubborn stitches. Its tough going, but she eventually saws through them all. As the last one breaks, Emerson's head pulls free and his body flops over. A gush of straw empties out of his head.

  For a long while, the only sound is that of their panting. Matilda throws the steak knife to the ground. Warren pitches Emerson's body over with the other one. They look at their handy work.

  "Well, that's two."

  "And how many scarecrows were in the field?"

  Warren counts on his fingers. "Um, maybe like a dozen?"

  "Then we better get started."

  ///

  The trek back to the path is quiet. They only sounds are their own foot falls breaking through the underbrush. The path is equally deserted. They crest that hill again to find nothing at all.

  Warren scans the flashlight across the scaring fields. It's not high powered, but it's strong enough to reveal twelve empty posts out in the distance. It's a little disheartening to realize every single scarecrow that helps protect the fields is a person-eating night terror.

  "Where'd they go?" Warren asks.

  "Don't look at me. I was with you."

  They listen. No rustling nearby. No movement in the dark. They are alone.

  A distant screams carries over on the wind. They whip around, look in that direction. It came from the village.

  "I guess they went that way." Warren's smile is grim.

  "Super."

  "I guess the stories were right. About devouring the village, I mean."

  "Yeah. Oops."

  "We should go save them."

  "Probably. "

  The walk back is much faster than it had been just a few hours earlier. Maybe she wasn't trying to avoid arriving anymore. Maybe having a friend helped things move along..

  Back in town, Matilda frowns. Everything is still and quiet. There are no more screams. "Are we too late?"

  Warren doesn't answer. He's too busy stealing a pair of oil lanterns that were left outside the Johnson's house. He lights them and hands one to Matilda.

  "No sense in wasting the batteries."

  She smiles. "And here I thought you were a rebel."

  They make their way towards the center of town. Every once in awhile, Matilda thinks she senses something move nearby. When she looks, there is nothing.

  "We did hear a scream, right?" She asks.

  Warren nods. "Should we just wait for one to come by?"

  "What if they went somewhere else?"

  "Like where?"

  Matilda doesn't have an answer for this. The stories her mother had told her as a child always ended with the scarecrows overrunning their little village of a sacrifice was missed. But no one had ever killed one of them, either. Or at least not that anyone ever talked about.

  A scraping sound coming from one of the streets makes them both look. It gets louder as the scarecrow approaches.

  "There it is," says Warren.

  Matilda put down her lamp. "I'll take care of this one."

  Warren nods. But another shuffling causes them both to look in the other direction. There is yet another scarecrow. This one wears a hat.

  And then the rest of the scarecrows arrive. They descend upon the village square, all gnashing their teeth. Matilda tries not to look at the so-very-small one. That one would be Beatrice from last summer. She was ever so young. The entire town had been shocked when the eight-year-old's name had been called. But it was what God had demanded. At least, that had been what the mayor had said. All because she had gone swimming in the lake, naked, with other little boys.

  "We didn't think this through, did we?" Matilda asks.

  "Nope!"

  She reaches for her lamp again. "Well, what should we do?"

  "Not a clue."

  "I didn't walk all the way back just so I could die here."

  He almost laughs. "Yea well, I thought we'd be fighting dirty old men."

  The scarecrows close in. Their straw feet crunch in the dirt. Warren looks for a way out, but they are surrounded. Matilda bashes one upside
the head with her lamp. Its face smolders. Still they come.

  Warren follows her leave and swings his lamp at the one in the hat. The hat gets knocked to the ground. It bursts into flames.

  Matilda watches. She shoves the little Beatrice scarecrow into the burning hat. It lights up like a candle. Then staggers into another one.

  Warren continues to beat the monsters back with his lamp. Matilda has a better idea. She puts out the lamp, then throws the oil in a wide spray at the rest of them.

  They burn. They all burn so brightly.

  Warren laughs as those who live closest to the square rush out to see what's burning. Without exception, everyone gasps when they realize what is happening.

  Matilda glances at her friend. He who had saved her. Now that it is all over, she can think about it. She can think about how she feels about him.

  Without him, she knows, she would have died. She would have never realized the way to destroy them. She would have been eaten in the scaring fields without a second thought.

  But, she realizes, she doesn't owe him anything.

  ###

  A Note from the Author

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  About the Author

  Wren lives outside of Chicago with three naughty kittens and her partner. When not knitting or trying to learn Russian, she spends probably way too much time watching