The Scarecrow (Completed)

A rattling creeps over the cornstalks...

Carried by the wind and heralded by the setting sun, the farmer pauses in his work as he hears the rattling. Picking up his basket of fresh corn, the farmer takes a quick look around his field only for his eyes to rest upon his scarecrow.

It had been a small tradition in town that the only good scarecrow a farmer has is one they build themselves. He had built it some years ago but only brought it out every fall when the pumpkins came in fresh and ready to be carved for it.

When he built the thing, it looked more like a straw practice dummy than anything else. Years of bitter winds, rats, rain and hail had seen to it that it became emaciated and hauntingly thin. A small set of chimes hung in the empty hollow of its pumpkin head, something he put in two years ago to help scare the eager children and teenagers at the state fair.

Setting to home with a tune that carried over the wind, the farmer held his prizes close in his basket while casting glances up at the birds that circled overhead. Each minute that ticked by brought the sun lower and it had almost fully set by the time he arrived home to his solitary house.

"Be a nice surprise for the wife to have some corn ready." He muttered to himself, grabbing an old pot and filling it with water before he began to shuck the corn.

As the sun finally retreated from the view of the world, the night began it strangle hold on the property. A shrill wind howled through the cornstalks and barren branches of trees while the nightlife fell still.

The farmer knew something was amiss. The night was too quiet, aside from the rising and lowering of the wind. His mind turned to either pests or trespassers. Either way, he would see them gone.

He grabbed his rifle from the safe it was kept in, loading it yet never turning it off of safety. If it was trespassers on his property, he'd just give them a warning with a bullet in the air. If it was pests, well he had no qualms about a new pair of socks.

Opening the creaking screen door of his house and stepping on to the porch, his tired eyes looked over the land he owned before he would step on to the dirt path that extended from the steps of his porch.

He didn't see any trucks or cars that might hint at troublesome folk though he knew they could have walked here. He only wished he still had his bloodhound to help him with this.

His footsteps were the only sound aside from the wind though his skin began to crawl as he heard the distant wind chimes. He quickly raised his gun out of instinct, only for the barrel to be pointing at the distant scarecrow.

He chuckled at himself for being so jumpy at the raggedy thing, though it died off once he saw that it's pumpkin head was staring at him.

"Eh, wind must'a shifted it is all." He said aloud to himself before he trudged back up to his porch. Before he went in, his gaze turned back out to the scarecrow in the field, it's chimes still chiming away with the wind. Above him and in the distance, he saw some dark clouds crawling across the horizon.

"Storms a comin'." He sighed to himself before he went back inside to finish his task with the corn. Filling his pot up with water, he set it on his stove to start bringing it to a boil. As his corn began to boil, he heard the near thunderous crash of the door to his distant barn swinging wide open and slamming against the wall.

He uttered a cruse and an apology to on high before he rushed back out to deal with the door. It was a fairly quick thing to shut the door but as he did, the wind died down to the softest of breezes. That's when he heard it; a slow, deliberate yet ever present chiming.

He saw a light shining through the stalks of his corn, dim yet very present in the dark. His aged eyes squinted at the light only to widen when he saw a twin to the light blink into existence. His heart began to race as he ran as fast as his aged legs could carry him back to his house.

He felt his hands shaking as he grabbed his gun before he looked out of the door. His query as to what lay hidden in the corn was answered by a brief patch of pale moonlight. As the beam illuminated row after row of corn, it rested upon one lone figure: thin and emaciated, standing with their back at an ill angle and legs crooked in with their head out of view.

The farmer was about to shout at the figure but felt his voice becoming choked by his fear as it began to stand straight. Wire hands, the ends gleaming like gems while the tattered remains of an only coat fluttered around the mangled amalgamation of wire and wood. Yet the farmer felt no fear like the fear he felt now till he saw the eyes: a baleful, malicious and unflinching color of pale purple rested in the one empty sockets of the pumpkin head while the carved out wicked grin shone brighting with the same purple.

It took a step, then another with its twisted legs while the creaking and groaning of wire on wood was drowned out by the chimes jingling with each step. Each step matched the chimes and each chime match its malformed steps as it began to walk to the house.

If the farmer could scream, he would. His fingers betrayed the trigger of his gun as he threw it aside in favor of slamming both the screen door and the wooden door of his home and locking every lock he had on the door. His heart pounded in his chest as his legs quaked with fear as he heard the chimes grow louder and louder before they suddenly stopped.

The only noise that disturbed the peace was his heavy breathing and the bubbling of his corn. A hideous screech drowned out all other noises as the scarecrow dragged its wire claws down the door, making the farmer grit his teeth and cringe. He grabbed his gun again and held it in front of him, his face paling.

He heard a wheeze and a shallow breath, followed by another wheeze and a ragged breath. His ears heard each inhale and exhale that was taken before he heard a voice. To him, it felt as dry as kindling and as horrid as glass against glass.

"Farmer...."

Is all he heard before his horrified eyes saw the baleful face of the scarecrow leering through his window.

"Farrrrrmmmmmerrrrr...."

It said again, wheezing out the word before placing its claw like hands on the glass. He felt his nerve give out on him as he pulled the trigger, his world momentarily stunned by the sound of a gunshot and the banshee like cries of the scarecrow.

He quickly ran up the stairs to his room, hiding himself in his closet and offering a prayer for his safety. His breathing quickened yet became near silent as he heard the glass shattering, being followed by two creaking thumps and the wheezing of the scarecrow.

"Farmer...."

It said, calling him out in it's horrendously dry voice. The chimes picked up again as it walked in its awkward and unnatural gait, it's back bent at an unnatural angle so one of its hands dragged across the floor with horrid scratches.

The farmer almost pulled the trigger again though he stayed his hand, praying mightily that it would not find him.

"Farmer...."

"Farrrrmeeeerrr...."

"Faaaaarrrrrrmmmmmeeeerrr..."

Each time it spoke, it got louder and closer, its footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Then its steps stopped as its breathing did not.

The farmer almost let out a cry as he heard the wire hands being dragged down the closet door, his back almost arching in recoil of the sound.

His world drained of everything else as he heard the soft clinks of metal against metal, the creak of the handle slowly turning.

"Found yoooouuu...."

Was all he heard before he screamed and his world was deafened by the sound of a gun.