July 20
Something is wrong.
August 1
The people in town think I’m going crazy. Maybe I am, but they haven’t seen the things I’ve seen. I can’t tell what’s real or what’s in my dreams anymore. I think this all began with the demon from my nightmares, somewhere far from here. It brought the scarecrow to life. I’ve decided to stop going into town. I shouldn’t be around people right now.
August 6
The dreams are taking over. I’m losing time. I wake up in the strangest places, with little or no memory of how I got there. Yesterday my hands were bruised and stained red with blood. It’s the same dream again and again—I’m walking in the cornfield, only it’s not really a cornfield at all, but another place entirely. I’m afraid now, more afraid than I’ve ever been.
Connor read the last entry a second time, then a third. That’s what’s happening to me, he realized with growing horror. They had the same dreams. With trembling fingers, he turned to the next page.
August 12
I can’t escape the farm. I’ve tried. Between the fog and the visions, I always end up right back where I started. I’ve tried to call for help, but the phone isn’t working. The crows are watching me, and the cornfield is filled with ghosts. God help me, I think I woke this evil from its slumber, and it fed off my emotions. It isn’t strong enough to leave the farm. Not yet. My guess is that it’s still tied to me. But each night it roams for longer periods, and each day it emerges earlier and earlier. It will be soon.
The final entry was dated the next day.
August 13
I think I’ve figured out how to stop it. One way or another, the madness ends today. I can hear the scarecrow banging against the door where I locked it in. If I’m right, my death will leave it with no one to feed from, and it will return once again to its slumber. If I’m wrong, and I’m simply insane . . . death would be better then, too. Should anyone find this journal—some secrets are better left buried. Leave the thing in the barn. Because if you wake it, it won’t stop until it destroys everything and everyone you care for. Beware the Keeper of the Crows.
Chapter SIXTEEN
It was dark when he looked outside the window.
The house was still. He could no longer hear the pitter-patter of his sister’s hurried footsteps below, or the pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen. Night had stolen across the farm, beneath his notice as he read and reread the entries in Jasper Blackwell’s ill-fated journal.
Connor laid the book on his bed beside the useless key to the lock that had once imprisoned the monster that now haunted his family. He hadn’t been imagining things after all. It was real—all of it. The journal had revealed many truths, and the answers to the questions he sought were even worse than those he’d feared. If Blackwell was to be believed, an evil force—probably Baal, the Keeper of the Crows—had brought the scarecrow to life long ago. Someone whose identity remained a mystery had left the scarecrow for Blackwell to find, and it had fed off his emotions to return to life.
It was my fear. Connor remembered his first frenzied nights after discovering the scarecrow, and the nightmares that had plagued him since. He had woken the scarecrow, much as Blackwell had before him. Connor thought of the gathering crows, the bleak weather, and the disappearances of Keith and Tommy Evers. It’s getting stronger.
Strong enough to leave the farm? That was what Blackwell was afraid of. Each macabre journal entry showed the farmer’s eventual descent into madness and despair. Locking the scarecrow away and taking his own life had caused the scarecrow to return to its slumber, but the thing had been waiting all along—waiting for Connor and his family. With so many souls to prey upon, there was no putting it back to sleep again. Of that, Connor was certain.
It has to be destroyed. It’s the only way.
But how? The scarecrow had been animated by a supernatural evil. Blackwell himself hadn’t been able to accomplish the task, and Connor was only a boy. No, he couldn’t do it alone. He needed help.
I have to tell Dad. I have to make him believe me. Finally, with the journal, he had proof. It was time to end the nightmare while there was still a chance.
He reached for the book when suddenly Bandit started barking loudly outside the house. Connor abandoned the journal and approached the window with a frown. A faint mist crawled along the house’s edges. He heard Bandit growling from the porch below, and the dog ran toward the cornfield, snarling fiercely at something just beyond the reach of the outdoor lights.
A few seconds later, a painful shriek rang out without warning. Bandit’s cries ceased abruptly, and the hair on Connor’s arms stood on end. He peered through the mist outside the window and searched for a glimpse of Bandit. Instead, the outline of a shadowy figure lumbered toward the house—and Connor realized immediately what it was.
The figure disappeared into the darkness. Connor searched frantically to no avail. The seconds ticked by without another sound, and he allowed himself to exhale. Downstairs, the front door began to rattle on its hinges. Something was trying to get inside. The rattling intensified, and Connor found his legs again and tore from the bedroom, shouting.
Russ opened his bedroom door just as Connor stepped off the last stair. “Connor, what is it?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Something’s out there.”
“I heard it too,” Buddy said as the front door continued to rattle. “Bandit was barking mighty loudly about something.”
Connor, careful to keep behind the pair, pursued them into the next room. Megan remained asleep upstairs in her bedroom.
The door fell still, and Russ exchanged a look with Buddy. “What do you think it was?”
Buddy stared at the door as if his eyes might bore a hole straight through it. “Could be the Evers.”
Russ nodded. “I’ll get my gun.”
“What about Bandit?” Connor grabbed at his father’s hand. “What if it got him?”
Russ left the question unanswered. He left Buddy and Connor in the parlor before returning moments later with his shotgun and a flashlight. “Come on.” He handed Buddy the flashlight and hobbled on one crutch with the shotgun in his free hand. “Connor, you stay here.”
Connor didn’t have to be told twice. He pursued them out to the porch but went no farther. He watched his father and uncle hunting around from the relative safety of the porch. The light beam illuminated the contours of the old well, Buddy’s truck, and the vines growing around the house. Connor braced himself, half-expecting to see the scarecrow behind every corner, but there was no sign of it anywhere.
A low whimper rose nearby, barely audible over the sound of footsteps, and Connor’s mouth went dry with fear. “Over there.” He pointed in the noise’s direction. The light revealed a small, crumpled form at the cornstalks’ feet. Ignoring both his father’s protests and the warnings of fear in his own heart, Connor ran from the porch.
Bandit lay in a heap, his fur covered with mud. The blue heeler was hardly breathing. His chest rose and fell sporadically, each breath shallower than the last. Connor petted Bandit’s head, and the dog’s eyes fluttered open, glinting under the beam of the approaching flashlight. “It’s OK, boy. I’m here.” Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. “You’re my friend.” He stroked the dog’s fur, the mud commingling with blood. “I don’t want you to die.” Too feeble to hold his head off the ground, Bandit weakly licked Connor’s fingers. He was dead by the time the others caught up to them.
“Oh God,” Buddy said.
Russ lowered the shotgun and shook his head. “Coyote must have gotten him.”
“I don’t know many coyotes that just come right up to the front door,” Buddy muttered.
“It wasn’t a coyote,” Connor said softly. Before he could elaborate, he glanced back at the light spilling from the farmhouse, and a
new terror gripped his heart.
The front door was wide open.
“Megan,” Connor exclaimed. They’d left her alone with the scarecrow. Maybe that was what it wanted from the start. He took off toward the house.
“Connor,” Russ shouted. “Get back here!”
A dead silence hung over the farmhouse. Connor slowed his pace as he entered. The lights were still on inside, and everything appeared as they had left it mere moments ago. Only now, something terrifying lurked within the faded walls. Connor could feel it.
“Megan?” There was no answer. He crept up the stairs and carefully peered around each corner to look for what might be hiding in the shadows while praying that his sister was still safely asleep in her bed. Air hissed at him from the vents above, startling him.
The lights remained off inside his sister’s room. Connor eased the door open and stepped inside. Floorboards creaked elsewhere in the house as he neared the bed, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. He drew back the covers, and his heart plunged within his chest. She was gone.
“Megan!” He ran from room to room, certain the scarecrow had taken his sister.
“Connor!” his father yelled from below. “It’s all right. She’s safe.”
Connor hurried downstairs and found Megan in her pajamas, standing with Russ and Buddy. He rushed toward his sister and wrapped her in a hug before he noticed that she held a tall, pointed hat.
“Look what I found,” she said.
“Where did you get that?” Connor demanded.
“What’s wrong?” Megan looked concerned.
“Connor, you’re scaring your sister,” Russ said.
“It was here,” Connor said. “That’s its hat—the scarecrow! Don’t you see? It killed Bandit.”
Megan looked up at Russ, as if awaiting confirmation that this was true. He took the hat from her and looked it over. To Connor, it appeared as if Russ was reading something written inside the scarecrow’s hat, but then Russ lowered it and sighed. His temple bulged with anger. “I can’t believe it. You left the hat inside to scare her? How could you do something like this? She’s just a little girl.”
Connor shook his head vigorously in protest. “No,” he stammered. “It wasn’t me! You have to believe me . . . I can prove it this time!”
“What do you mean?” Buddy asked.
“I found Mr. Blackwell’s journal in my room. He woke the scarecrow, too. That’s why he locked it away.”
Russ remained unconvinced. “Just where is this journal, Connor?”
“It’s in my room. You’ll see. I’ll show you.”
The others followed him to his room, but when Connor’s gaze fell on his bed, he realized something was terribly wrong. The book was missing. Cold air blew into the room from the window, which had been opened in his absence. “It’s gone. The scarecrow took it.”
“I’ve had enough of this.” Russ tossed the hat on the floor. “This isn’t funny anymore, Connor.”
Connor protested, snatched the key to the broken lock, and waved it about for Russ to see. “I’m not making it up. Look—it’s the key to the locked room. I found it with the journal. Mr. Blackwell locked the scarecrow away for a reason. If we don’t get rid of it—”
“I said I’ve had enough,” Russ said firmly. Connor had never seen his father so angry. “I’m calling Dr. Isaacs tomorrow and we’re getting you started on medication as soon as possible. Now go to bed. You’re grounded until you start school. You won’t be leaving the farm anytime soon.”
Connor felt Buddy’s hand on his shoulder before the others left. His uncle’s eyes grew misty, and his voice choked up. “Don’t worry, Connor. I’ll take care of Bandit. I’ll move him and cover him up nice with a blanket, and in the morning we can say our goodbyes.”
“Thanks,” Connor managed.
The door shut loudly behind him, and Connor sank onto his bed in despair. Bandit had protected him against the scarecrow from the start, and now he was gone. The scarecrow hadn’t taken Megan yet, but it was only a matter of time before it came after the others, and without the journal, there was no way to make his father see the truth.
Connor closed the window, defeated, and his gaze settled on the hat that had been left to discredit him. He picked up the worn, pointed tan hat and looked over it carefully to see what had drawn his dad’s attention. Inside the hat, a name was inked across a white band that encircled the lining.
“S. Alistair,” Connor read. The name held no special meaning to him, though something about it sent a chill through him. Maybe S. Alistair owned the scarecrow before Jasper Blackwell. There were no further threads that might cast light on the scarecrow’s mysterious origins.
After tossing the hat in the corner, he climbed into bed, pulled the covers over his head, and tried not to think about the faithful friend who lay dead outside his window.
Chapter SEVENTEEN
They buried Bandit by the forest, under the trees whose shade he loved so much.
No one said a word. The wind whistled through the branches, loosening the autumn leaves, which fell across the deepening hole in the earth. Buddy did the digging, given Russ’s injury. Megan sobbed uncontrollably, and Connor, no less distraught, put his arm around his sister to comfort her. When it was done, he knelt over the dirt and put his hand on the grave.
“I promise I’ll keep them safe.” He glanced at the cornfield, which seemed to sleep. The stalks waved peacefully in the wind. It was unusually quiet. There was no sign of the evil that festered within, but Connor knew it was there. The scarecrow, a dark presence with him at all times, was never farther than the back of his mind.
Despite the early hour, the sky had already grown bleak and hazy. As always, the crows looked on from their perches on the trees at the forest’s edge. Certain the scarecrow was biding its time, Connor kept to himself on the walk back. Something terrible was coming. Megan reached for his hand, and he took hers, aware of his father’s gaze. There was a tension in the air between them that reminded Connor of his first few days on the farm. Russ had hardly let Connor out of his sight from the moment he woke, and his wariness showed no signs of abating.
“Think you can manage for a while without me?” Russ said to Buddy when they reached the house. “The pharmacy called. I need to take Connor into town to pick up his prescription.”
Buddy looked his brother up and down. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
Russ followed Buddy’s gaze to his cast. “The cast is on my leg, not my foot. Swelling’s down. I’ll be fine to drive.”
Buddy sighed and handed Russ his keys. “Just be careful, OK?”
“Come on, Connor.” Russ hobbled toward the truck. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today, so let’s be quick about this.” He threw his crutch inside and fired up the engine as Connor climbed into the passenger seat. Neither said much of anything to the other during the drive into town. The sun poked out from behind the clouds farther out from the farm, though the faint yellow glow did nothing to warm the truck’s cool interior.
Booneville Discount Drugs, the local pharmacy, was a nondescript gray building with aluminum siding. A statue of a pioneer—probably Daniel Boone—outside the lonely parking lot was the only thing of note, save for a neighboring sign that declared “Go Owls,” which Connor guessed represented the local team mascot. He filed in behind Russ, who approached the counter, mostly oblivious to the gawking stares of the few patrons scattered throughout.
“I’m here to pick up a prescription for Connor Stevens,” Russ said as Connor watched the onlookers murmur amongst themselves.
“You’re that newcomer, right?” the pharmacist asked suspiciously. “Living at the Blackwell Farm?”
Russ nodded, and Connor heard someone whisper something about Keith and Tommy Evers under their breath. When Russ took notice and turned aro
und to look at them, they moved on and departed the pharmacy without a word. Connor remembered the day the family went into town for lunch, and the patrons had looked at them much the same way. Even then, the others had understood at some level that something was wrong with the farm.
“Take one pill in the morning and one in the evening, starting tonight. Will that be all?” the pharmacist asked in a tone that suggested they were no longer welcome inside the store.
“Yeah.” Russ grabbed the paper bag and left the pharmacy with Connor at his side. They stopped by the general store to pick up the supplies Russ had intended to purchase the day of his accident. On the drive home, Connor’s gaze wandered to the prescription bag sitting between them.
‘Ativan,’ read the tag along the side. The side effects included drowsiness, forgetfulness, and trouble concentrating, among many others. Connor swallowed hard. He was already having problems with sleep and memory loss. Russ thought the medication would help him, but Connor suspected it would only make things worse.
“I was wondering if I could go visit Jezebel when we get back,” Connor said. She was the only person who believed him, and he was running out of ideas. Moreover, he hadn’t seen her since she disappeared inside the cornfield, and Connor was starting to worry that something bad had happened to her. “She doesn’t live very far. Just on the other side of the woods, across from the creek.”
Russ didn’t bother looking over at him. “I don’t like the idea of you wandering away again.”
“Please. She’s my friend.”
Russ’s expression softened. “Fine. Maybe it would do you some good to spend a little time with someone around your own age for a change. What if she came here instead? You can invite her over to the house.”
The Whispers of the Crows Page 14
