Midnight's Chilling Tales

Scarecrows Don't Lie

Welcome to Havenfeild, Kansas, a small, isolated town where time seemed to stand still. Encircled by endless fields of shimmering golden wheat and lush green corn, this quaint little haven was a world apart, with crops that could never possibly run out. The scent of fresh earth mingled with the crisp autumn air, and the distant hum of cicadas filled the quiet afternoons. It was Friday, October 28th, 1985, when an ordinary evening unfolded, seemingly just like any other—until it happened...

Twilight descended over the rural town, painting the sky in vibrant shades of red and pink. A young teen named Owen Merrick hurried down the creaking wooden stairwell from his room, emerging into the small living room that greeted him at the front door. The floors were carpeted in a muted gray, contrasting with the freshly painted white walls. A worn brown leather couch occupied the center of the room, facing a silver steel television perched atop a wooden table. Black antennas sprouted from the top of the TV, their faint buzzing filling the air as the screen faintly flickered.

An archway opened from the cozy living room into the kitchen, inviting warmth and familiarity. The large kitchen featured black and white tile flooring, each square gleaming softly in the faint light filtering through the window. A sturdy metal refrigerator stood against the wall near the entrance, it’s chrome surface reflecting the dim glow from the overhead lights. Beside it, a white floor cabinet provided storage, while a row of similar cabinets lined the wall above the countertop, their cheerful hues brightening the space.

The black marble countertop, polished and clean, showcased a lone vintage radio, it’s dials worn from years of use, standing as the sole keeper of cherished melodies and memories. The thin silk curtains billowed gently in the light breeze, casting soft shadows that danced across the room while twilight deepened outside.

Owen still donned the same outfit from school earlier that day: a black collared t-shirt that had once been neatly tucked into his blue jeans but now hung casually, swaying gently in the soft twilight breeze. His feet were clad in black sneakers, their vibrant red laces knotted tightly, ensuring they wouldn't come undone during activities with friends.

Owen’s black hair formed a striking mullet, the shorter front strands styled to the right, accentuating his hazel eyes. The back of his hair cascaded down to just above the nape of his neck, creating a layered look that added a hint of defiance to his otherwise friendly appearance. The slight tousle of his hair caught the dim light, giving it a subtle sheen, and adding to his youthful charm.

Just when Owen prepared to step outside, his father, known to many as Mr. Merrick, abruptly pushed open the door, catching him off guard. Owen stumbled back, his foot landing awkwardly upon the first step of the stairs, instinctively gripping the smooth, polished railing for support. The unexpected interruption sent a rush of adrenaline through him, causing him to zone out for a brief instant.

Mr. Merrick was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a presence that filled any room he entered. He wore his usual blue-and-white checkered shirt, the sleeves neatly rolled to his elbows, and a pair of well-worn blue jeans that were tucked into sturdy brown boots. A polished silver watch adorned his left wrist, catching the faint light from the nearby window. His short black hair was combed precisely to the side, framing his strong features and hazel eyes with a stern, almost formal look that hinted at both kindness and authority.

The grown man blocked the doorway, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the dimly lit living room. Mr. Merrick crossed his arms, his hazel eyes narrowing as he fixed his gaze on Owen. “And just where do you think you’re going at this hour, young man?” His tone was stern, an edge of concern laced through it.

Owen hesitated, feeling the weight of his father’s scrutiny. “I-I was just heading outside for a bit, Dad. I won’t be long”

“Outside?” Mr. Merrick raised an eyebrow, his expression unwavering. “You know better than to wander around after dark. There’s a chill in the air, and you don’t want to be caught out there alone”
 
Mr. Merrick’s face darkened, his voice growing into a hushed tone. “Have you heard the legend before Owen, about the scarecrow that haunts these fields? It’s been around since your grandfather first moved into this farmhouse. They say he only appears around Halloween, when the nights grow long and shadows stretch like fingers across the cornfields.

“He’s not just a simple scarecrow, either. He’s something far more sinister. The legend says that he only comes for children who lie. Each time you tell a lie, he leaves a sign—a broken branch, a misplaced tool, something to let you know he’s watching. By the third lie, it doesn’t matter who you are or how old you are; he comes for you. And when he does, Owen, it’s not just to take you away.

“It’s said that he changes you... Folks out in the deeper reaches of the fields have seen strange, twisted scarecrows, with faces frozen in terror—like they’re trying to scream but no sound escapes. Some of ’em wear old attire, clothes that belonged to loved ones, friends, people who thought they could get away with a false life, Owen, a life built on lies”

He let the weight of that sink in, his eyes serious and steady. “So remember, son. Be honest. ’Cause the Scarecrow…he don’t take kindly to liars”

His father’s expression softened, yet the seriousness remained. He lowered his head, as if the weight of memories pressed down upon him. “You know, my father used to say a nursery rhyme each Halloween. Sometimes he’d whisper it to himself, other times he’d share it with me as a young boy. It goes:

“In fields of corn where shadows creep, 
A scarecrow stands while others sleep. 
With tattered clothes and a hat so wide, 
He guards the crops from things that hide.

When harvest comes and lies take flight, 
The scarecrow grins—it’s time for fright. 
For every fib that people weave, 
A sign will show, but don’t believe.

Whispers of deceit will fill the air, 
A truth once told will spare your scare. 
So, heed these words and speak them right, 
Or join the scarecrows on Halloween night...”

His voice trembled slightly before he finished, the rhyme hanging in the air like a heavy fog. “I don’t want you to find out the hard way of what happens when you ignore it”

A brief silence enveloped them, the tension palpable while they processed the unsettling tale. Owen felt the weight of his father’s words pressing upon him. Finally, he nodded, his voice trembling while responding, “I—I’ll make sure not to lie, Dad. I’ll be home before dark”

Without another word, the boy dashed out the door, the cool evening air greeting him like a sudden gust. With the door creaking shut behind him, the echoes of his father’s warning lingered in his head, a haunting reminder of the shadows lurking just beyond the safety of home.

Owen stood just outside the farmhouse, the white wooden porch behind him creaking softly in the evening breeze. He found himself on a dirt path, a red mailbox marked with the bold black numbers "1226" perched beside him. To his left and right, a barbed wire fence stretched endlessly, enclosing their farm and standing as a sentinel against the encroaching dusk.

Beyond the fence, towering cornfields rose like a green foliage, the stalks reaching nearly seven feet tall. The maze of crops loomed ominously, a labyrinth that seemed to whisper, though potential to get hopelessly lost within it’s verdant depths were apparent.