Valley of the Scarecrow

by Gord Rollo

  That was the plan anyway.

  Travis tightened the belt on his baggy jeans and was just slipping his arms and head through the holes he’d cut in an old burlap potato sack he was using as his shirt when he heard the distinct sound of a branch breaking behind him. He spun around just in time to see a shadow step behind the trunk of a huge oak tree about fifteen yards off the trail. In the instant that his eyes registered the movement, it was gone, and Travis was left unsure if he’d really seen someone stepping behind the oak or if perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him. The light in the forest was always shifting like that, shadows dancing everywhere as the sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of leaves above. Still, he trusted his senses, and every nerve in his tense body was telling him he was no longer alone.

  “Tim?” he said, afraid one of the campers had returned and their charade was about to be uncovered and busted before it even had a chance to start. “That you, Bro?”

  No answer.

  It definitely wasn’t Tim.

  Travis started walking toward the tree he thought the person was hiding behind, not trying to mask his approach as he left the trail. If they were busted by one of the campers, he’d rather get it over and done with. His mind was spinning with lies, trying to come up with some tale that might yet salvage their hoax. Maybe he could just say he was lost, or that he was out here hunting. The campers were all city folk and might buy it if he was lucky. Travis circled around to the far side of the oak.

  “Listen, I’m a little lost. You think you could help…” he started to say, but there was no one standing on this side of the big tree, or anywhere else in sight. “What the fuck’s going on here?”

  Travis heard the faintest whisper of laughter and he knew he was in trouble when he realized the noises were coming from above him. He tilted his head skyward just in time to see a huge nightmare of a man smiling down at him, clinging to the tree trunk using only his clawed toes and fingernails, but then he let go and dropped down on Travis’s back, crushing him painfully to the ground. He screamed, but he only had time to do it once.

  The scarecrow fell out of the tree onto the young man, pinning him to the forest floor. He started to scream and Joshua wasn’t happy about that so he grabbed the intruder behind the head and under his chin and quickly twisted his neck until he heard the satisfying SNAP of his spine severing. The young man was already dead but that didn’t stop the reverend from continuing to turn his head, fully completing the revolution he’d started, then twisting the head around twice more until the neck muscles and skin split and it popped off into his gorecovered covered hands. Standing up, the scarecrow turned the dismembered head toward him so he could look into the dead man’s eyes for a moment, hoping to get a glimpse into the afterlife through them, but it wasn’t to be. Seeing nothing enlightening, he bit off the trespasser’s nose to eat, then tossed the rest of the mutilated head into the bushes. He left the body right where it fell.

  Walking back to the trail, Reverend Miller stopped beside the two large machines sitting side by side. Each of them had four wheels and a seat but Joshua had no idea what they were or what purpose they might serve. He’d certainly never seen anything like them before, but there was something familiar lying on the ground beside them that caught his eye. He bent down and picked up the wooden-handled scythe, smiling as he took a few practice swings to test its balance. Not bad! he thought. He also tested the sharpness of the blade and found it to his liking as well. Not bad at all!

  “Think I’ll keep this,” Joshua said, his thoughts dark and full of violence.

  He was about to walk away, but then he spotted the outback hat on the ground and tried it on for size. It fit perfectly and he’d always loved the way leather smelled so he left it on his head. A proper gentleman should always wear a hat.

  The scarecrow walked off into the trees.

  Tim was putting away his paintbrush when he heard someone scream. At least he thought it had sounded like a scream. Either that or it was the damn crows again. The pesky birds had been making so much bloody noise while watching him from above that they’d nearly driven him insane. Three times he’d been forced to stop what he’d been doing to fire rocks up at the church steeple, trying to scare the rotten bastards into shutting up. They’d fly away and it would quiet down for a while but the big black beasts would eventually settle back down to roost and within minutes would be screeching their fool heads off again.

  “Couldn’t have been Travis,” he said. “Even he’s not stupid enough to be making a racket when we don’t know exactly where the campers are.” Tim’s eyes were drawn up to the roof of the church again, to the hundred sets of midnight black eyes staring back at him from above. “Fuckin’ birds!”

  Tim finished packing up his paint supplies and then stood back a few feet taking a moment to admire his hard work. Part of him was worried what he’d done was too over-the-top and lame for the creepy atmosphere he was trying to create here, but a much bigger part of him was tickled pink, thinking it was a work of sheer genius that the tourists were going to lap up like a kitten finding a giant bowl of fresh cream.

  I mean, talk about your perfect photo opportunities!

  On the white wall in front of him, Tim had painted a message that he hoped thousands of rabid thrill seekers and paranormal junkies from all across the country would flock here to read and get their picture taken beside. In huge red letters, the message was simple and yet straight to the point. It said:

  THE SCARECROW WILL WALK AT MIDNIGHT

  It looked fantastic against the peeling paint of the desecrated church, and the way the red paint was slightly dripping down the wall in places made it appear as if the words had actually been scrawled in blood. Tim was thrilled, knowing that if he had the chance to repaint it ten times he probably couldn’t have made it look any better than it already did. The tourists were going to love this. No doubt. Tim worried a little about what the campers would think later today when they returned to their tents and saw this new addition to the church, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He hoped they’d think it was their damn reverend that had painted it. On the website, he planned on saying this message was already on the wall when they discovered the church. If these campers wanted to dispute that, to hell with them. The numbers would be on Tim and his brother’s side. The masses always wanted to believe in the supernatural, no matter how outlandish and absurd, and in the end it would be the word of the believers in the scarecrow legend against a few insignificant city folks.

  Tim backed up a little farther and took a few minutes of video footage of the message, zooming in and panning out from several locations until he was sure he had enough shots. He could edit the tape later, grabbing the best clips he had from the entire day. He reminded himself not to forget to shoot some video of Travis’s inverted cross before they left, even though he doubted the Agent Orange would have leveled the crops quite yet. They’d probably have to come back in a week or so to get proper shots of that. Thinking of Travis, Tim wondered how he was making out. He should be pretty much done by now—he hoped so anyway. The campers had been gone about three hours now and Tim knew they were starting to push their luck just standing out in the open like this. If the group returned from their hike now, they’d be screwed.

  Figuring it would be best to go search for Travis himself, rather than shouting for him, Tim grabbed all his gear and started walking for the cornfield. He figured he’d probably run into his brother back at the quads, where he was more than likely getting dressed in his scarecrow outfit by now. He couldn’t wait to show Travis the message he’d painted on the old church. His brother was going to freak when he laid eyes on that.

  Twenty feet from the edge of the field though, he saw movement deep within the corn and saw a man in raggedy clothes and a leather hat slowly walking toward him. Apparently Travis had found him first.

  “Hey, Bro…looking good. Wow! Where’d you get the robe?”

  His brother didn’t speak
, but kept coming forward, plowing through a few more rows of corn, and now Tim was able to see that he was carrying their scythe in one hand, using the end of the wooden pole as a walking stick as he lurched closer.

  “Did I ever tell you about the research I did on scarecrows? Lots of cool stuff about them on the Web. They’ve been around practically forever. The ancient Chinese farmers used to actually hang raw meat around the necks and arms of their scarecrows trying to attract the birds to the man on the cross, not scare them away. Guess they figured it was better for the birds to eat the scarecrow rather than chew on their crops, know what I mean?”

  Travis continued to move nearer, shoving corn out of his way as he walked.

  “Holy shit, you look freakin’ awesome, man! Thought you said you were getting that shit at the thrift store? Unbelievable. Your mask looks…” But then Tim stopped talking, finally getting a close enough look at the man-monster that was walking out of the field and no longer partially hidden from view by the stalks. Tim knew he should scream. Knew he should run like hell, but he did neither of those things. He was rooted to the spot with fear, knowing in his rapidly thumping heart that the unholy reverend he’d been thinking and dreaming about constantly for the last few days was somehow real, very much alive, and standing here in front of him, ready to pass judgment for mocking him.

  “You dare defile my church?” Reverend Miller said, his voice a low growl, obviously looking past Tim to read the newly painted message on the wall behind him. “It’s not midnight…but here I am. You reap what you sow, boy. Reap what your heathen heart sows!”

  The scarecrow hissed and swung his scythe at the young man’s legs, catching him below the thighs and cutting clean through both kneecaps. Tim found his voice again, shrieking in agony as his body flopped to the ground, twin geysers of blood spurting out of the severed stumps of his legs, soaking the earth red. “NOOOO!” he screamed, raising his right arm up to protect his face as the resurrected ghoul stepped closer to him and prepared to swing again. “Please…don’t kill me!”

  The next swing sliced through Tim’s arm, tearing through the tender flesh of his right forearm and snapping his bones as quickly and easily as a lumberjack’s chain saw. Another fountain of blood erupted into the air, splashing back down onto his face and running into his own mouth as he cried out in pain. Tim could feel his body going cold. He was losing too much blood and knew he was dying, but even through all the agony and torment he wondered what had become of Travis. It was his dying wish that his twin make it out of this nightmare alive.

  “Please let my…my brother live,” he said, shaking uncontrollably, going into trauma-induced shock from the blood loss. “All my fault…not his.”

  The scarecrow leaned down to stare right in his face. “You’re both sinners. I’m afraid he’s already gone to prepare a room for the two of you…in hell!”

  One more vicious swing of the scythe and Tim’s suffering was over, along with his lifelong dream of striking it rich. Fortunately for him, whether it was heaven or hell out there waiting to claim his soul, he wouldn’t need money wherever he ended up going. Neither place charged an admission other than death, and Tim’s bill was now paid in full.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It had been a long and extremely frustrating day in the woods. The small farming settlement once known as Miller’s Grove barely existed anymore, not in any real sense, and for the most part had been completely reclaimed by the surrounding forest. Hours spent digging through the crumbling remains and discarded relics of this forgotten community had proven not only mentally and physically exhausting, but ultimately fruitless as well. There was nothing left out there. Nothing but falling-down log cabins, useless kitchen and household items, bent and broken farming tools, and crude hand-made wooden furniture too big and bulky for the villagers to bother taking with them when they’d left. Everywhere Kelly and her friends looked and everything they found was either rotted, rusty, smashed, or just plain useless to anyone anymore.

  Joshua Miller’s so-called treasure was nowhere to be found.

  The only potential ray of hope in their otherwise dismal day was that none of them had discovered a structure in the village large enough to meet Malcolm’s description of the house Reverend Miller had lived in. Every house they’d looked inside so far had been virtually identical in size, shape, and no-frills functional design. Even with the decades of decay and deterioration factored in, none of these homes had that certain air of entitlement and ego-driven superiority where someone as important to the community as their founder and religious leader might reside. That meant the house Malcolm had considered his best guess as to where the treasure might be hidden was either completely crumbled to the ground and in ruins or it wasn’t here with the other villagers’ modest homes.

  It made some sense that Reverend Miller’s house might have been built off on its own, giving Joshua a respectful bit of privacy none of the other villagers had, as well as a quiet place to work on his sermons or entertain visitors. It certainly wouldn’t have been built too far away from the rest of the settlement, that was for sure, but far enough away to give the reverend some peace and quiet. It was more than likely just tucked away a bit deeper in the forest, close by but hidden somewhere in the nearby trees.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Kelly said. “Remember when we first came out here this morning? The path we hiked in on forked at one point. We took the main branch and the trail brought us straight here. What’s the chance the other branch leads to Reverend Miller’s house?”

  “Shit, that’s right,” Dan said. “Chances are pretty damn good. Let’s check it out.”

  “Great,” Lizzy said. “That means we’ve been wasting our entire day out here for nothing? Not to whine, but I’m totally exhausted. Can’t we do it tomorrow?”

  “She might be right, Dan,” Rich said, backing up his girlfriend. “It’s nearly six o’clock and we still have a half-hour hike back to camp. We’ve done enough work for one day. I’m whipped too.”

  They all were. And hungry as well. It had been a really long day for all four of them and it didn’t take much convincing to talk everyone into calling it a day and heading back for supper. None of them had eaten since about one o’clock this afternoon, when they’d gobbled down the sandwiches Lizzy had made for them this morning before leaving camp. The thought of sitting down to a nice meal and maybe a hot cup of tea or coffee sounded terrific, so they packed up their things and headed back toward the church. They paused at the fork in the trail, considered taking just a quick peek but the sun was starting its westward descent and it was already getting dimmer under the leafy cover of the forest. They wanted to get back to camp long before dark so they pushed on, leaving the unexplored trail for tomorrow.

  When they finally made it back to their tents, the boys joined forces to start the fire, while the girls went to work getting supper ready. It wasn’t until halfway through their meal that Dan jumped to his feet and said, “What the hell is that?”

  “What?” Rich said, his mouth stuffed with food.

  “Over there…on the wall of the church. You can’t see if from where you’re sitting. Come over here.”

  Rich and the girls set down their plates and Dan led them all ten feet over to the left so they could see the side of the church better. From there, they could all easily see the cryptic message painted in red paint that Dan had just caught a glimpse of.

  “The scarecrow will walk at midnight?” Lizzy said, confused. “What the heck does that mean?”

  “Screw what it means,” Rich said. “The question is who wrote it? That wasn’t on there when we left this morning.”

  “You sure?”

  “’Course I’m sure, Lizzy. Christ, we walked on that side of the church when we left today and there was nothing but plain white walls.”

  “Pat and Kim?” Kelly said, the only logical answer that popped into her mind. “Any chance they might still be around here somewhere?”

  Alight of un
derstanding flashed in Rich’s eyes. “That’s it. That’s exactly what’s going on. Pat did this.”

  “Why would he sneak around hiding from us, making us think him and Kim had already left? What’s the point? And then to write something stupid like this on the wall? It doesn’t make any sense. Where would they even get the paint?”

  “There might have been paint down in the church basement,” Dan said, trying to think this through. “I don’t know. I’m with Kelly though…it makes no sense.”

  “This is Pat we’re talking about, people,” Rich said. “Of course it makes no sense. He thinks he’s being funny or that he’s gonna scare us or something. Jump out after he’s been gone for a day and shout boo! He’s just fucking with us…being an idiot like usual.”

  “Where is he then?” Lizzy asked. “Doesn’t look like he’s been back in his tent and I highly doubt Kim will sleep outside in the woods tonight.”

  “There’s only one place they can be,” Kelly said, pointing at the church.

  “Yeah, I agree,” Rich said. “Let’s go find the bugger and drag his sorry ass out here. Kim too!”

  “Sounds good,” Dan said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s go.”

  “You guys go ahead,” Kelly said. “I’m going back to finish my supper.”

  “Me too,” Lizzy said. “Call us when you find them.”

  The sun was going down but Rich and Dan could still see well enough that they didn’t think they’d need flashlights to see inside the church, but they brought one with them anyway, just in case. They searched everywhere inside the church, from the bell tower to the basement, but there was no sign of Pat or Kim anywhere. The last room they decided to check was the sanctuary, and once inside they could hardly believe what they were seeing, shocked to find Reverend Miller’s mummified corpse missing from the wooden cross on the altar.