Wychetts and the Farm of Fear

by William Holley

The sound of barking grew louder as Bill led his family down the lane, but there was no sign of any dog, and Edwin’s nervousness gave way to curiosity as they came upon a cluster of farm buildings.

  In truth the term ‘buildings’ was hardly fitting to describe the sorry collection of ramshackle structures, which seemed to serve no purpose but to defy the laws of gravity by remaining more or less upright.

  “What a dump,” muttered Bryony, wrinkling her nose as she examined the crumbling constructions.

  “Be careful,” warned Jane, pulling Edwin back as he peered inside the nearest building. “It might collapse any second.” Then she switched her attention to Bill. “I can’t see any marker posts. Perhaps we should turn round and head back up the lane as Captain Rathbone suggested?”

  Bill seemed appalled at the idea. “There’s no need. We’ll find the footpath sooner or later.”

  “But we shouldn’t go wandering about on private property,” insisted Jane. “Especially when there’s been some sort of outbreak. We could walk into an infected area.”

  “Or get shot,” added Bryony, remembering the warning sign on the gate.

  “Or get mauled by that dog,” added Edwin.

  “No one’s going to get infected,” said Bill. “Or shot. Or mauled by a dog. Well, at least not all at once. Perhaps best if you three stay here, while I scout ahead.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go wandering off,” said Jane. “We should all stick together. Perhaps we can find someone to ask directions.”

  “Your Captain said no one lives here,” Bill reminded Jane. “And by the state of the place I reckon it’s been deserted for some time.”

  “Then who owns the dog?” asked Edwin.

  “And who is that?” said Jane, pointing.

  Everybody looked, but couldn’t see anything except more dilapidated buildings.

  “I just saw someone.” Jane continued to point. “They walked into that old shed. Let’s go and see if they know where the footpath is.”

  “I don’t think so.” Bill shook his head. “We don’t want to disturb them. Besides, they might be infected. Or have a gun. Or they could set the dog on us. Or all three at once.”

  “Dad doesn’t like asking directions,” said Bryony.

  “Typical man,” groaned Jane. “I’ll go instead.”

  “OK.” Bill held up his hands in a resigned gesture. “I’ll go and ask directions. You three wait here.”

  Bill walked up to the shed and knocked on the wonky wooden door. “Excuse me,” he called. “Is anyone there?”

  There was no reply. Bill knocked again, harder this time. “Hello. Is anyone there?”

  Still no reply. Bill opened the door and peered in. “Hello? Ah, there you are.” Then he smiled and stepped into the shed. “Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if...”

  The door closed behind Bill, drowning out his voice. Jane aimed a reassuring smile at Edwin and Bryony. Bryony couldn’t return the gesture; there was something about this farm that gave her the creeps. It wasn’t just the derelict state of the place, the eerie stillness of it all, or even the warning sign that trespassers would be shot. There was something else, a feeling all too similar to that creepy sensation she’d experienced back in the Cursed Field.

  It was a warm summer’s evening, but Bryony found she was shivering.

  “We need to get out of here,” she told Jane. “Why is Dad taking so long?”

  Jane looked as though she was asking herself the same question. She waited a few more seconds, and then walked up to the shed and knocked lightly on the door. “Bill, are you all right in there?”

  There was no answer, so Jane prised the shed door open and peered inside. “Bill, are you all right?”

  Again no reply.

  “At this rate we’ll never get home before dark,” grumbled Bryony.

  Edwin smiled and tapped his hat. “We’ve got the Key, remember?”

  “Forget about the Key.” Bryony turned away from Edwin, her gaze wandering over the surrounding buildings. And then she saw it, standing just a few feet behind her: a lopsided figure with a floppy hat and a loud stripy waistcoat.

  Bryony screamed, and grabbed Edwin’s arm.

  “It’s him again! The scarecrow from the Cursed Field!”

  “We’ve been through this before,” sighed Edwin. “It can’t be the same one.”

  “But it wasn’t there just now.” Bryony tightened her grip on Edwin’s arm. “We would have seen it.”

  Edwin wrenched his arm from Bryony’s grasp and walked up to the scarecrow. “It’s harmless,” he chuckled, prodding the lopsided figure on the chest. “Just a sack of straw on a stick. Like your dad, but with more dress sense.”

  Bryony tried to convince herself that Edwin was right, but the look on the scarecrow’s ugly sack face was really giving her the creeps.

  “Please can we go?” she whined, turning back to Jane. “We need to go right nowww...”

  Jane was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s Mum?” An anxious Edwin joined Bryony at the shed door. “Did you see what happened to her?”

  Bryony shook her head. “She must have gone inside to look for Dad.”

  Edwin knocked on the shed door. “Mum? Bill? Is anybody there?”

  Not a sound in response.

  Bryony looked at Edwin. “What shall we do?”

  “You could try gawping at each other a bit more,” said Stubby, emerging from Edwin’s shirt pocket. “Or maybe try something new, like thinking about what’s going on here.”

  “What do you mean?” wondered Edwin.

  “There’s something amiss about this farm,” said Stubby. “The keep out sign, the derelict buildings…”

  “The walking scarecrow.” Bryony gestured at the lopsided figure behind them.

  “Scarecrows don’t walk,” countered Edwin, shaking his head at her. “But I admit this farm is a bit creepy.”

  Stubby nodded. “If ‘creepy’ was recorded on film and released as a DVD, this place would be the extended director’s cut box-set edition, with subtitles in sixteen different languages, a four hour long selection of outtakes, and a free illustrated booklet entitled ‘The Making Of Creepy’.”

  “Which is why we need to find our parents and get out of here.” Edwin opened the shed door, but Stubby stopped him with a warning squeak.

  “Which is why we can’t go rushing in without knowing what we’re up against. It might be a good idea to ask Inglenook for advice before taking any action you may come to regret.”

  “He’s right.” Edwin looked at Bryony. “We could do with some magic help.”

  Bryony chewed her bottom lip. Edwin and Stubby had a point. Perhaps they should use the Wychetts Key after all? They could all be safely home in the blink of an eye.

  But Bryony feared it wouldn’t be as simple as that. Something would go wrong, it had to. They’d end up shrunk, or zapped to some hazardous netherworld, or imprisoned at the mercy of some terrible monsters. And that’s if they got lucky.

  But it wasn’t just the risk of something going wrong that made Bryony afraid of using the magic…

  There was a muffled thud from inside the shed, followed by a strangled scream.

  “Mum!” Edwin darted into the shed before Bryony could do anything to stop him. She heard Stubby squeak another warning before the door closed, then she was alone.

  Well not quite alone. There was still that horrible lopsided scarecrow.

  Bryony glanced over her shoulder and saw that she was wrong: the scarecrow had vanished.

  But that was impossible!

  Bryony freaked, and ran screaming into the shed.

  “Edwin! The scarecrow’s gone! Edwin…”

  Bryony froze as the door banged shut, plunging her into darkness. The air was stifling inside the shed, and there was a pungent smell reminiscent of dried grass.

  “Edwin?” Bryony whispered. “Edwin, where are you?”

  Bryony listened, but couldn�
�t hear anything except her pounding heartbeat.

  As tempting as it was to flee, Bryony knew she couldn’t leave without the rest of the family. So she took a step forwards, just a little one. And then another, stretching her arms out before her like a shuffling zombie.

  It only took a couple of paces before her left hand touched something. Something soft and spongy...

  Bryony recoiled with shock, then lost her balance and fell backwards. She instinctively reached out for something to grab, and there was a ripping noise as she hit the floor.

  Bryony lay still, dazzled by the sunlight that streamed through a cracked window. Her hand clutched a piece of shredded sack cloth, which she realised she had torn from the window when she fell.

  Bryony sat up and examined her surroundings. The shed walls were lined with an array of farming implements: there were spades, shovels, pitchforks, and curved blades mounted on long wooden handles that she thought were called ‘scythes’.

  And then she noticed there were also people, ten of them, standing in two lines in the middle of the shed.

  Only Bryony realised they weren’t people. Not real people.

  Their faces were sacks, with holes for eyes and slits for mouths. Their hair was made of twigs, their fingers strands of twisted straw.

  They were scarecrows, all of them!

  Bryony’s first reaction was to scream, but then she tried to calm herself. The shed was full of scarecrows, but what was scary about that? She was on a farm, after all. This was probably where they made scarecrows. And Edwin had to be right: scarecrows were just sacks of straw, they couldn’t move or harm her in any way.

  Except that lopsided one that had followed her all the way from the Cursed Field...

  But these didn’t seem so scary. There were twenty in all: man scarecrows and lady scarecrows, in various shapes and sizes, and all wearing different clothes. Some were dressed in smart business suits, others more casual in T-shirts and jeans, and a couple looked like they were out for a night on the town.

  Bryony got to her feet to examine the scarecrows more closely, and was so fascinated by them that she forgot about Bill, Jane and Edwin; until she heard a muffled whimper.

  She looked around, trying to pinpoint the sound. There was another scarecrow in the corner of the shed with its back to her, and the whimpering noise was coming from that direction.

  Bryony approached the scarecrow, and noticed it seemed to be trembling.

  The scarecrow swung round suddenly, and Bryony saw Edwin in its grasp, arms pinned behind his back. A straw hand was clamped across his mouth, and he looked like he was struggling to breathe.

  For a fleeting moment Bryony was terrified, but then realised her idiot stepbrother was playing a trick on her.

  “Oh very funny,” she muttered, placing her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you try acting your age, not your shoe size?”

  But as Bryony glared reproachfully at Edwin, something grabbed her left wrist.

  It was a hand, with fingers of twisted straw. And the hand belonged to a scarecrow, a lopsided scarecrow wearing a floppy hat and stripy waistcoat: the scarecrow from the Cursed Field!

  Bryony tried to convince herself it couldn’t be happening. Edwin had to be right; surely scarecrows couldn’t move.

  But now all the scarecrows were doing just that, their slit mouths twisting grimly as they came shuffling towards Bryony and Edwin…

  Chapter 5- You’re Not Taking This Seriously