She’d been down the hole for forty-two hours now with no food, no water, and she’d even lost the energy to stop the insects crawling along her face. Her throat too dry to even mutter a word, delusional she smiles at the thought of hot cocoa in uncle Henry’s shed back in Kansas. Unable to even feel the cold anymore, sure only of the warm cocoa she drifts asleep again, no pain, no hunger, just black.
Shaking at her body the scarecrow listens to her mutter the names over and over, ‘Mr Clayton, Mrs Clayton!’ as he looks at the vines and branches wrapped around her. Tying her to the ground the forest’s strong fingers crawl along Dorothy’s face, grip around her limbs and strap her firmly to a pool of murky water. Calling her name again the scarecrow tries to pull at the branches, and tears away a handful as they give an almost silent shrill and some creep away. Cutting at the vines with the jagged wire holding the seams of his hands together, he watches as they bleed a dark red substance and grins, ‘How curious,’ as he manages to finally free the unconscious Dorothy from their grip. Lifting her from the murky water, he notices a large sore red patch on the side of her leg and another on her arm. He looks at the bright red skin surrounding several bloody holes as a green residue lingers, and he brushes it away, conscious of the vines that still try to grab at her. Holding Dorothy high in his arms he carries her back to the road and keeps walking along the yellow bricks as the evening turns to night.
Waking in a cold sweat Dorothy feels her back pressed against stiff floorboards and gasps for air through dry lips. Looking around at the dank room quickly she spots the scarecrow standing lifeless by the window. With his thin frame silhouetted he turns his head slowly, facing Dorothy as she reaches for the wicker basket on the floor and pulls out some water. ‘W, what happened?’ she asks, but he doesn’t respond, just stands still and watches her drink greedily. His shape framed by the window Dorothy offers him some water and he tilts his head, still quiet as Dorothy’s about to open her mouth again. Feeling her dry tongue soften and about to repeat herself the scarecrow walks towards her in an awkward jolt, and she’d be lying if she said he didn’t scare her. ‘No need for water…’ he grins, ‘No good for straw. Forest took you and I found you; thought you’d rather sleep in here than out there.’ Dorothy rises to her knees, finishing her canteen then asking, ‘Where are we, in someone’s cottage?’ and Scarecrow nods his crooked head, pressing two hands against his burlap face as he squeezes it into shape and answers, ‘Maybe, next to yellow road. Didn’t want to go too far in case I forgot how to get back.’
‘Thank you,’ Dorothy offers earnestly, looking at the red sores and odd scabbed holes on her arm and leg, feeling at the scratches all over her skin. ‘You saved me, didn’t you?’ she asks, and he gives a creepy expression, innocently replying, ‘I’m sure I did.’ Dorothy puts a hand on his and he crouches down on one knee. ‘Thank you,’ she says again, this time with a stray tear and a forced smile as she continues:
‘I…I’m scared of the forest. When I was thirteen, I lived with a family who had a house in the forest and they wanted to be my mom and dad, and… I wanted them too as well…’ Quickly her smile quivers and the odd tears of relief turn to fear as she fails to hold them in, ‘…but they had a son and, and he led me deep into the forest one day, told me he wanted to play a game. He pushed me in, into a hole and I couldn’t get out and…and I stayed down there for two days. When they found me they said I was lucky to be alive, I almost died because he thought I was trying to steal his parents. That, that’s why I’m scared.’
Clenching onto the scarecrow’s hand, expecting some sort of sympathy all he gives is another eerie smile, with a second of silence before shaking her hand, asking, ‘What do you do Dorothy?’ and she wipes away her tears with a confused smile, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m a scarecrow; it’s in the name I scare crows. Everyone does something don’t they? What do you do?’
‘I…I learn, I have classes, I’m still just a girl. I don’t do anything yet.’
‘How unfortunate, when will you stop being just a girl?’
With a vacant thought, Dorothy realises what day it is, and it’s already come to an end. Unsure of this place, wondering if time works like back home she sighs. Back in her world, today would have been her birthday, and she forgot all about it.
‘T…today, I suppose,’ she quivers with a faint sigh as she lets go of the scarecrow’s hand. Coiling her body back to the floor, huddling herself in the foetal position she hears the scarecrow eagerly ask, ‘Marvellous, what do you do?’ and she answers solemnly, ‘I just want to sleep.’
On the verge of closing her eyes, distancing herself from Oz the scarecrow tells her that he doesn’t sleep, so he’ll sit awake through the night, listening to the forest as Dorothy rests. Clinging onto his side and huddling her head against his straw stomach she falls asleep, as Scarecrow plays night watchman and gently places a hand atop of her brow, protecting her from the barbwire holding him together. Then slowly he pulls a small flower from his jacket pocket, a strange brightly coloured one he’d found outside the hut, and he twirls it between his fingers, watching with a smile as Dorothy dreams, hugging her new friend for comfort. That’s where he sits patiently all night, awake in the darkness and thinking of nothing, stroking Dorothy’s head and watching the flower peacefully.
SCARECROW
9
As Dorothy awakes to the white light barely breaking past the gaps in the branches, she watches through the window and pulls herself from Scarecrow’s side. Still sitting awake he’s waited patiently for her and she thanks him as she pats at her dress and runs a hand through her hair.
‘I need to find water,’ Dorothy says, and standing up to stretch his arms fully she notices that the scarecrow can almost touch the walls either side of the room as he asks, ‘What for?’
‘To drink, and to wash the dirt from my dress, blood from my skin,’
‘How inconvenient to be made of nothing but flesh, needing to wash and drink, you’re not very well made are you, but at least you have a brain. That’s what I need.’
Back on the yellow road Dorothy takes a deep breath as she looks out to the forest, and feels comfort as she holds onto the scarecrow’s hand. They walk for a little while, Dorothy on edge as her eyes scan along the trees, and her companion oblivious to the crooked road stumbles, his jagged frame jolting with shock as he asks:
‘What does pain feel like?’
‘It…It’s something that hurts your body and your brain reacts to it, I suppose,’ Dorothy answers, the best she can muster in such a short time as the scarecrow seems disappointed:
‘Oh! I expected more,’
‘Well don’t you feel any pain at all?’ The young girl asks,
‘Nope!’ Scarecrow says, bending his wrist back and forth as if it’s already broken.
‘But when I found you, you were screaming because of the crows attacking you!’
‘I was? Imagine that,’ he smiles curiously,
‘Yes, you were scared of them taking your eyes,’ Dorothy recalls, trying to see if he remembers.
‘Oh well that’s different!’ Scarecrow proclaims as he pokes at his burlap head.
‘What do you mean?’ The young girl asks.
‘Well I can’t feel pain, but I like my buttons…’ he glows, tapping at one gently, continuing:
‘I need my buttons to see, and I don’t think well because I have no brain. So without my eyes I wouldn’t have anything to see with, and I’d be terribly bored. I like seeing things.’
‘I see,’ Dorothy says looking up to her tall friend with an understanding glare, and the scarecrow smiles manically, pointing at his buttons with, ‘Me too!’
After walking for at least an hour Dorothy feels her stomach grumble and her parched throat ache, then to her amazement she spots a small spring through the dead trees. Pointing to it and swaying the scarecrow’s attention she feels relieved, but it seems too easy. From the yellow road the water looks crisp and clear, an
d it almost seems out of place. Glancing up at her silent friend he smiles at the light reflecting off the water as she wonders what could go wrong, knowing she can’t walk much further without something to soothe her throat. Looking down at the cracked yellow bricks she tells herself that the spring isn’t too far from the road, only a few steps, and she leads the scarecrow off track as they step over the tree’s dead branches and avoid the swiping vines.
Finding a small dry patch of dirt next to the spring Dorothy sits cautiously looking deep into the grass, an arm’s length away as the scarecrow walks around the edge of the water. Taking a breath and looking down into the spring before scooping her hands in, she sees the reflection looking back at her and mumbles under her breath, ‘Goddamn eighteen!’ Then with a sigh, cupping a handful of water she lets it drip through the cracks between her fingers, checking it’s safe to drink as she tastes several single drops. Satisfied, and inspecting the spring itself she notices it’s too deep to see the bottom and dips her hands back in. Lifting the cupped palms to her mouth she feels the soothing release on her lips then lets it drip down her throat before taking another, then another. With her mouth moist and her thirst quenched she pulls some bread from the wicker basket, offering the scarecrow some, though sure he’ll say no. As he does to her relief, she tears away a lump of the bread and keeps the rest for later, sure it probably won’t last her till supper as she wonders what to do for food. Making sure she keeps a keen eye out for fruit she’s not confident she’ll find any, but tries to enjoy her breakfast anyway; eating very little but sure it’s enough to keep her energy up.
Wanting to bathe she looks across the spring at the scarecrow first, as he balances on one leg peculiarly with a queer glare, looking into the water as Dorothy calls to him, ‘Scarecrow, would you like to see something?’ Quickly standing on both legs and nodding his head he walks toward Dorothy with a smile. ‘I like to see things,’ he says, as she feels at the small bag around her shoulder and unzips it to stroke at Toto’s fur. Pulling him from the bag she smiles as she looks into the fake plastic eyes and kisses him on the nose, bringing him closer to her face as she presses him against her cheek to hear the scarecrow ask inquisitively, ‘What is it?’ With a smile she holds him to her chest and looks at the scarecrow, ‘It’s Toto’ she smiles, and he tilts his head pondering, ‘What’s a Toto?’
Dorothy smirks, feeling the soft animal against her skin as she replies, ‘He’s my dog.’ With his hands poised in the air, curious though unsure of the small thing the scarecrow asks, ‘Does he bite?’ and Dorothy feels a slight giggle under her breath. ‘No, he’s not real,’ she tells the scarecrow as he huffs, ‘Too bad,’ in disappointment, poking at Toto’s stomach with his curious expression turning to a full smile, ‘He’s stuffed like me.’ Excited he strokes at the animal to feel nothing against his bony skin, but watches as the fur flickers between his fingers. Looking into Toto’s small brown eyes the scarecrow smiles ecstatically with, ‘I like him,’
and Dorothy debates her words at first, but after some thought smiles back at him with, ‘You can look after him while I bathe if you like?’ Scarecrow’s buttons look up to Dorothy as he bursts, ‘Yes, yes please,’ and gently, with caution she hands him to the scarecrow, letting him know how important Toto is to her, ‘But be gentle, don’t hurt him he’s very fragile.’
He replies, ‘Like my buttons,’ as he takes the small stuffed dog in his hands and looks at it, stroking the fur and making sure not to scuff the material with the wire keeping his hands together. Giving a smile Dorothy watches the scarecrow with Toto and unlaces her silver boots, placing them together on the bank as she unrolls her socks and takes the bobbles out of her hair. Standing up and ready to unbutton her dress she looks to the scarecrow and his straw filled anatomy as he innocently strokes Toto. She’d always felt old fashioned, even with boys in the orphanage and calls to him, ‘Scarecrow, could you turn around, I have to get undressed.’ With his hands holding Toto he gives her his quizzical expression, responding with, ‘But why, I like to see new things?’ Dorothy always thought of herself as sensible and mature, but as the words leave her mouth she can’t help but feel as though she sounds like one of the old ladies at the orphanage, not a teenage girl:
‘It’s rude to look at someone when they’re undressed, um…unless they want you too. It’s not gentlemanly!’
‘But I’m not a gentleman, I’m a scarecrow,’ he argues curiously,
‘But you’re a male scarecrow aren’t you?’
‘I…Well I suppose I am.’
‘Then you should act like a gentleman. You wouldn’t like people seeing you without your jacket or…or without your buttons would you?’
‘No I suppose not. Very well I’ll turn around,’ Scarecrow submits, with a tap on his mouth and a quick swivel as he faces the yellow road. Dorothy gives a, ‘Thank you’ and gently unbuttons her dress, letting it fall past her feet as she looks around cautiously and continues to slide off her underwear. She doesn’t want to get naked and feels vulnerable, but can’t risk getting any of her clothes wet in-case they don’t dry before nightfall. Looking into the crystal clear water she can’t see anything but the bottomless hole as she places a foot in with caution. Her heart starts to beat harder and she steps in further, feeling the cold water at her knees, and then her waist as her body deepens and she tries not to lose her nerve. She hates not knowing what’s at the bottom of the spring but needs to wash away the dry blood, the crust around her wounds. Fully emerged she hears the scarecrow talk to Toto and feels at the small black key, checking it’s tight around her neck. She rubs a hand at the dry blood first, then touches the branded cross Avatonika scarred on her inner thigh. Telling herself that she’s eighteen, an adult now she knows she’s been expected to be out following rock bands and sneaking out and getting drunk recently, or at least going out with boys, but the last few months she’d been too distracted. She didn’t want to get into trouble in-case it meant she couldn’t get back to Kansas. She’d heard the stories of the orphan girls who caused trouble, ones who weren’t mature enough and had their decisions made for them by the councillors, even when they were eighteen. Dorothy didn’t want to be under control anymore, trapped in the system, and she knew she had to treat it like a prison sentence. Good behaviour gets you out and bad behaviour gets you nowhere, she knew that and thanked bad television for engraving it in her head. She’d heard it all before, the ‘To hell with the system’, and the ‘You can’t make me do what you want’, but she knew they could, and didn’t want to risk losing her chance to live in Kansas to something frivolous.
Deep in thought Dorothy floats in the water, not thinking of the things that could be hidden under the ripples anymore. She ignores the odd creeping sounds, the sliding of water in the distance and tries to break the thought, focus on Oz before worrying about her own world. Brushing water over her face she snaps out of her daze, looking at the scarecrow’s back, unaware of the odd rippling waves of water and scaled fins close by. She hears the scarecrow mumble, ‘I’m glad I found you Dorothy, like the company, Toto too…’ and she smiles, dunking her head into the water and feeling the coolness on her bare skin as she drowns out scarecrow’s voice for a second. Submerged for long enough and scuffling hands through her wet hair she quickly lifts her head back to the surface to hear, ‘Can you tell me when I can look again, I like looking at the water, and the small things at the sides.’ Dorothy’s eyes widen, her skin shivers and she shouts, ‘What things?’ as the scarecrow replies, ‘The shiny little things.’
Dorothy looks underwater quickly to see what she first thought were small rocks, swimming underwater with solid skin and several eyes. She gasps, swims quickly for the small dirt bank and catches the shimmer of snakes slithering into the water from a small crack in one of the rocks. Panicking she moves faster, pushing her arms against the spring fiercely as she dares not look back, and climbs up the dirt bank without hesitation. Grabbing her dress she places it against her bare breasts and look
s down into the water, watching the camouflaged creatures swim quietly, only noticing them in the odd glimmer of light as several snakes swim peacefully in the water as others join them. Still scared, in shock she turns her head to the scarecrow, walking towards him in a huff, grabbing at his left arm as she spins him around and shouts:
‘What were you thinking? You knew there were things in there and you didn’t tell me. I could have been bitten, you, you need to think!’
Dorothy finds herself shouting at the innocent scarecrow as he pets Toto gently, softly answering, ‘I, I have no brain,’ sadly as she looks at his buttons, condemning the man who saved her last night and protected her while she slept. Calming down quickly, ashamed of herself she loosens her grip, apologizing with, ‘I, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, can you forgive me? I was just scared,’ as she softly strokes his arm. His sad expression soon changes, twisting to the frightening crooked smile she’s used to, and he offers, ‘It’s okay, I understand,’ as he strokes Toto again, watching Dorothy hold tightly to the gingham dress covering her.
Quickly drying herself with a small towel she’d placed in the wicker basket, Dorothy stands by the spring and dresses in the same clothes, noticing they’re starting to get awfully scraggy. Buttoning up her dress she puts her socks back on and steps into the silver boots, lacing them tightly as she looks to the spring. Seeming tranquil on the surface, though possibly deadly in the water Dorothy watches the snakes glide along impressively. Without a care they wriggle and tap at the surface with their tales to make the spring ripple, as the odd shiny creatures glimmer along the stones.
Admiring the road from where she stands Dorothy looks to the scarecrow, in the distance with his back to the spring as she goes to stand by his side, her attempt interrupted by a deep grumble. Though the sound is quiet its tone is alluring enough to obtain Dorothy’s attention, and she looks back to the spring, staring at the tip of a dark green head sticking out of the water. Taking a step toward it as the odd grumbling continues she looks at the bulbous brow and abnormally shaped skull. Its head sticks out of the spring enough for Dorothy to see large yellow eyes as the creature groans, croaking through water as it speaks, ‘Pale skin, have you anything to trade?’ Fearing that the creature will leap to the surface Dorothy keeps her distance, wondering if it was in the water with her as she replies sternly, ‘No, I have nothing for you,’ about to turn her back.
Dorothy: The Darker Side of OZ v5 Page 5
