The Scarecrow

Chapter One

1970.

The scorching sun shone down on the entirety of the tranquil Florida countryside. The dirt roads were clear of any cars, birds chirped merrily as they flew around within their flocks. It was a place of peace and quiet, almost completely cut off from the loud, outside of world.

One car turned down the main dirt road, flying past an old sign that said, 'Road 7'. The sign was old and wooden, almost completely falling apart. It reflected the surrounding land itself; almost unseen too and alone, apart from the few scattered farms. The countryside was located three miles from the nearest town and even then, the neighbouring town had only six-hundred residents living there. It was a place for people who wanted to get away from the big cities. The endless miles of lush country provided lots of beautiful scenery, but it still wasn't enough to attract very many tourists. It was a hidden gem.

The faded yellow car sped past the rows of fields, until it finally started to slow down, turning into a driveway leading to farmhouse and a barn. Close to You by the Carpenters played softly on the radio as the man bopped his head in tune with the beat. He had tanned skin, brown curly hair that was sagging due to the sweat foaming on his forehead, and his eyes were a sharp blue color. His build was masculine and broad, as well was his voice as he began singing along to the song. He finally reached the white farmhouse, slowing the car down in front of the newly painted porch.

The engine quickly died down as the man stepped out of his truck, the door squealed as it was shut behind him. He began plodding over to the house, hopping up the three stairs that lead to the porch.

"Honey," the man said as he swung open the front door, the sweet smell of freshly baked bread wafting up his nose, "'M home!"

He set his denim jacket down on the counter beside him before he wandered over into the kitchen, the delicious aroma only getting stronger. Leaning forward over one of the kitchen counters, he reached towards the freshly baked buns when suddenly a hand appeared from behind him and slapped his large hand away.

"They're still hot," a woman's voice said. Her voice was kind and gentle, with a playful edge to it. The man smiled as he turned around slowly.

"Well, hello to you too, Marie," he greeted, his smile growing bigger as he went in for a kiss. Marie's hands slithered around his waist as she gladly met him half way, her plump lips landing on his.

"How was the trip into town?" Marie asked, pulling away from her husband. She moved around him, collecting the plate of buns and moving them over to the window. "You took quite a while."

"After I went and sold some of that wheat, I saw that some folk were setting up some kind of fair," he replied as he poured himself a glass of cool water, the sound of the ice cubes rattling around was enough to make his mouth run dry. "Thought maybe we could take Simon. Maybe even Johnny, if he wanted."

"Andrew," Marie said sternly, "you know that Johnny wouldn't want to be seen at an event like that."

"I know," Andrew said. He gulped down the water in a matter of seconds before setting the glass beside. "I just miss him spending time with us."

Marie chuckled, collecting the empty glass and put it into the sink. "He's a teenager, Andy. That's how they all are. Remember when we were kids?"

"Boy, do I remember," Andrew smirked and walked over to his wife, pulling her into another kiss.

Their moment was quickly interrupted when the sounds of feet tapping against the floor came speeding through the house. Stood at the entrance of the kitchen was their youngest son, Simon. He was small and thin, covered in dirt and petals. He resembled his father with the piercing ocean blue eyes and the brown curly locks.