Farmer's Market

Glass Shards

Imagine being in a field. Next to you, is a scarecrow. A young man, who we will later find out is named Terrible Toby, but who for now remains unnamed. He has been cruelly named that by the old farmer's children, simply because they disliked him down to his bones.
   This young man is wearing a worn down suit jacket, who once was a deep blue, and a pair of jeans, in the same condition. His makeshift face was painted, and sewn, on a sack, and so where his hands, and feet.
   Said face is now being turned toward the glass statue of a young woman, who has been out there unmoving for quite some time. A long time, and any time soon she must understand that hiding is no longer necessary. The farmers are long gone, never to come back. They have made sure of that. The sun sends light, straight through the woman's chest, and that is where the glass shell first cracks. Crack. Snap. Crack. Her right hand is free and moving, and working quite steadily on her other arm, speeding up the cracking process. She is down to her ribs now, and, as it is custom, our unnamed boy sat and watched,  as it would have been terribly offensive to offer help. The process is for each to complete on their own. Although, he did crack his own fingers a bit at the end, just to make sure she knows of his presence. One of the benefits of still having bones, he thought. Bones that actually belong to him, he continued, a strong sense of pride in his heart. Well, not heart, as he didn't have one of those, but his general being.
   The moving shards of glass, who formed a face, and the two glints of light serving as her pupils, turned towards him, and extended a hand.
   -Do you have a name? she asked, voice not exactly coming from her mouth, but more from around her head. Mine is Miss Monday.
   -I'm, he began, giving her his left hand, as his right has been behind his back for some time,  Terrible Toby, ma'am. Pleased to meet you.
   That seemed to send her into a trance, as she continued very softly:
   -Are you sad, Toby? Do you know how to be sad?
   Said questions, of course, confused him, even more as the asker did not wait for an answer, but promptly began collecting small wild flowers from the field.
   -What are you making? he piped up, trying to maintain the conversation.
   -I'm not sure, but I trust that it will be beautiful. Until it wilts, at least. Can you feel emotions? Complex ones, I mean.
   -Why are you so fixated on emotions? Are you unable to have them? Is this some sort of jealousy? You're making me so confused, honestly.
   -Not really. It's just that I feel weird now. A lack of memories, and the time passed, I feel weird. I was very young, and very beautiful, when I was trapped. I am old now. Are the farmers Gone?
   "She's right," thought Toby. "She does sound old. And very, very tired."
   -Yes, they are. They've been Gone for a long time. You coulda' come out earlier, although I think healing takes some time, so it's understandable.
   -Makes sense, although I don't remember much prior to waking up. My name, and very faint lines. It's all silly.
   And suddenly, Toby did realise it was all very silly. Yes, if you think about it, she was right, which made him go silent for a bit, as the glass form circled him, gathering quite a handful of flowers. When it was all finished, she plopped down next to him, or more accurately clinked, as that was the sound the glass made. Miss Monday, with an accuracy you wouldn't think glass was capable of, began braiding flowers together.
   Being with someone else, even with a confusing girl made of glass shards, was one of the things Toby missed most about being human. Sure, it was Them, but They were awfully professional, and didn't stick around long.
   The feeling of something being plucked into his hat was what brought him back to reality. Two pieces of glass stared into his eyes, a circle of flowers now on Monday's head. He brought his hand to his hat, feeling a flower.
   -Now we aren't quite as hideous as before, I think, came her reply.
   -I'm hideous? he asked, taken by surprise, and a little hurt, if we're being honest.
   -Well, yes, but I think it's ok. Would you feel bad about missing teeth if you're with someone who is also missing them?
   And with that, her attention dissipated from him as long glass fingers gathered a mixture of half-dried mud and began shaping it, a little more clumsier. Another few minutes spent in silence. Another flower, plucked into the head of what might have been the mud sculpture of a little man.
   -Do you think he's beautiful? asked Toby, thinking that if he's stuck with this confusing girl, he could at least indulge in her antics. He's- quite shapeless, he tried to explain, wondering if he wasn't being a bit too rude.
   -Don't be foolish, he's exquisite. He has always been, just needed a little help.
   And then again, Toby came to admit to himself that yes, she was quite right. And it all made sense. Didn't he water the flowers in front of the old farmhouse everyday, since they were a seed? And the seed itself, yes, the seed itself was ugly. Or, maybe the seed had some beauty in it too? Toby tried to stop thinking about flowers, as he found it a topic that made his head hurt.
   When he came back to his senses, he found the glass silhouette a few steps away from him. He thought it would be polite to ask her if she wants to see the house. After all, she also had the right to live in it just as much as he did, now that the farmers were Gone.
   -Would you like to come inside the house? he piped up, trying to get her attention.
   Miss Monday didn't respond, but a nod and a glass hand placed on Toby's upper arm was enoughto be taken for a "Yes", so they began leisurely walking. Through the small wheat field, the little forest around the house, and then they were there. The house seemed to cause a certain emotion inside dear Monday, as her entire glass form shook a bit. "Maybe she wasn't fully healed? No this couldn't be it, the process is finished once you come back. It must be something else." 
   -This is a lovely house, came her voice, softer then ever. You care for it. Do you love it?
   -Well, miss, had to admit Toby, I don't think I'm exactly capable of loving- pros and cons of being a scarecrow, you know? -but I do take care of it. Since I don't need food, or to grow animals, I just take care of the house.
   -Why wouldn't you be capable of loving? she asked. Who told you this, your heart, your brain? From now on, dear Toby, please try not listening to things- especially organs -that you don't have.
   She sat down on the porch, plucked a rounder piece of glass from somewhere on her arm, and tied it with the thin, worn out strip of leather she was wearing around her neck since her statue days. Some weird farm kids placed it there some time ago, remembered Toby.
   -Here, have this, she said, and passed the little makeshift necklace to him.
   -Why? Toby couldn't stop himself from asking. He'd met other glass shapes before, this was a symbol of  friendship, and very important, as glass figures couldn't give out too many, for the glass was vital to them. He'd met Monday only some time ago, and for a boy who lived a pretty lonely life, being considered a friend was quite flustering.
   -I just think we'll get along, I like you, shrugged Monday.
   And with that, she started walking towards the door. But before she could open it, a sharp pain went through her chest. She remembered, a bag, the field, winter, green scales and an enormous red hat, cigarette smoke enough to make her windpipe close. She used to be asthmatic. And then, nothing. She fell, but didn't hit the floor.
   -You alright? Almost shattered your head even more, missus. Your memories must be coming back, right? asked Toby, who somehow managed to get to the door and catch her before she knocked herself out on the ground.
   -Well I, yes, I- I think that, they did. Some of them. Horrifically vague, I'm afraid. But still, unexpected,  stammered Monday, while being helped to stand. They confused me, more than anything. Could we get inside?
   Toby didn't press her anymore. It was clear that something shook her, but memories come with time. She will be alright.
   Now, we shall leave these two characters to rest, and explain, just what in the world is going on in here. Surely you must have been confused, at all this talk about coming to life, memories and such. There's no way to make this all sound better. See, if someone were to, well, die, in a traumatic event, or before their time, or just in a circumstance that left a deep mark on their mind, their soul will have moved on, in a vessel that had some tie to them, and will just take their time, to heal, to be well. Dear Toby, for example, was sacrificed. The farmers were mean spirited people, but also poor, so when they were offered an obscene amount of money to hide him somewhere on the farm grounds, they accepted. They had helped with his disappearance, and with many more. This wasn't new. The farmer, the old one, hid his bones in the old scarecrow, waited, as the deal said, 2 years, and then got his money, and promptly left the town with his family. Toby was reported as a missing person case, but wasn't found.
   Now, of course, you must be wondering "Did they leave the farm? Abandoned it?" Well, no. Somewhere  in this town is hidden a document, saying the farm is left to whoever lives in it when the papers are found, as the old owners already sold their animals, and would have attracted too much attention by selling the farm.
   So, now comes the other question. What happened to the farmer? And the rest of his family? Well, the family itself always had a history of spectacular bad luck. What happened to most of them was… accidental. A drunk driving accident, a few uncovered wires, it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the farmer, oh, the farmer! He, who had a direct hand in so many disappearance cases? He, whose own family didn't miss him, as he wouldn't miss them either? Oh, in his case, They happened. They went through this before. Lady Alligator didn't leave a trace. Scales, an enormous red hat, were what he last saw, and he was Gone. She always took care of these cases. A very discreet private investigator, she was. And still is. Everybody knew her, and the rest of her crew, as a myth. Cryptids. Saying they attacked you was seen like saying you got pickpocketed by the Fresno Nightcrawler. But the police knew some things about them. And, unknowingly, you started being monitored. Because they knew, that They chose their targets carefully. Mistakes have never been made.