Miller Scarecrow

Dr. Samuel Miller walked out of the operating room and snapped off his latex gloves into

the trash. Smiling, he walked down the maze of corridors into the waiting room of poor little

Daniel Robert’s family who were waiting to hear the news.

“Everything went great,” he said to the gawk eyed family. “The appendix is out and your

boy should be out in a day or two.” Everyone had a bright smile and formed a group hug around

the doctor. Sam loved this part of the job.

After the family let go and Sam could breath again, he stepped outside to have a cigarette

and check his phone. He had only one text. It was from his father’s nurse who had been watching

him for a good three years now while he withered away. He savored his smoke break before

heading inside to tell his boss he has a family emergency and won’t be back for a week, week

and a half at most.

Dr. Miller packed lightly, a few shirts, a couple pairs of shorts and his necessary sundries.

He didn’t expect to stay at his father’s more than a few days. A funeral would be unnecessary.

The thought of being at the farm for more than a couple days made him shiver with goosebumps.

He packed up his top of the line navy blue Ford pick-up and put the pedal to the metal. Dr

Sam whistled every tune he knew that the radio played. It was as if the radio knew to play his

favorite songs. He’s never yearned to see a dying man in all his life, it scared him a little thinking

about what he was going to do. Sam drove a little faster each time he thought he might be too

late to see the last breath.

The five hour drive concluded at the Miller Berry Farm sign that sat above two heavily

rusted poles. He sat in his car and took in the once familiar sights that was his childhood home.

From what he could tell, not a soul has taken care of the now brown and bare berry bushes that

stretched out for what seemed like miles in his Father’s field. They were once plump with the

sweetest and juiciest berries in the state. His father’s famous scarecrows were down which

explained the bareness. Crows had always been a problem.

Sam drove up the driveway towards the home. The memories that rushed his mind were a

wringing torture of his brain. A tear fell down his left cheek.

Bobby Miller raised Sam alone as his wife died after childbirth of their one and only. Bob never

much liked Sam because of it and let him know. The beatings and the twelve hour days in the hot

summer sun working the fields were a cakewalk compared to the other thing he had to do for his

father. He sandbagged the time in the fields not wanting to go inside for he knew his father was

waiting for him. When Sam saw the empty whiskey bottle on the kitchen counter, he knew it was

going to be a bad night. After years of torture, a prestigious medical school took him in on a full

scholarship. He never saw his father again.

Sam parked his beautiful blue truck next to his father’s rusted green one. On the other

side of the rust bucket was parked a old Chevy that must of belonged to Kathy. He hopped onto

the gravel and started towards the barely hanging screen door. Greeting him in the kitchen was

his father’s nurse, Kathy. She wore a green nurse's uniform with a white name tag above her left

breast. Her hair was in a twisted high bun making her closer to god. She was smoking a cigarette

above the kitchen sink, blowing the blue smoke out the window above as he entered the door.

“I’ll take care of him from here.” Sam said taking out a pack of his own. “Thank you so

much for taking care of my pop for me”

“My pleasure.” she said with a raspy smoker’s voice. She stomped out the butt of the

cancer stick into the ashtray seated next to the sink. Kathy grabbed her purse hanging off the

chair next to Sam and walked out.

Sam watched her back out of her spot in the drive and take off leaving a cloud of dirt and

gravel. He had a grin from ear to ear as he heard the heart monitor beep in the next room. Still

kickin’ baby.

He walked down the hall past the poorly lit and poorly furnished living room. The worn

wood of the floor creaked under the weight of himself. The first door on the left was his father’s.

He stopped just before the doorframe, scared to see his father sitting in his bed waiting for his

son to arrive and give him another go. His father was strong, even in Sam’s later years at the

house. Father always overpowered him.

Sam stepped around into the room of his dying father. There he was , not sitting, but

lying in a hospice bed. Bob was catatonic staring through the blank ceiling of the house. The smell of rot was in the air. His mouth hung slightly open, the stench of the room was coming

from his black diseased gums. His teeth had all but fallen out leaving pink open sockets. His

breaths were regular but rocked his body. He sounded as if being punched in the throat with each

breath. Sam knew death was near.

Sam stood over the once burly, tall man now gaunt and withered. Next to the bed was a

rocking chair where the nurse sat and read magazines and texted boyfriends. In the chair sat a

fresh pillow waiting to be soiled. Sam slowly grasped the pillow and held it in his hands only for

a moment. Tears started to form making the world seem cloudy and warped. He placed the

pillow on the face of his opened mouthed father pressing down in a silent rage. The body started

to slightly shake and slither. Sam was ashamed for what he was doing, but the memories started

to flood his mind and the shame turned into determination.

The machines went from a berserk musical to only a continuous note. He was dead. Sam

removed the pillow to see the face that once abused him sexually and physically. The dead neck

muscles released causing Bob’s head to snap to the side towards the doorway. This freaked Sam

and he gave a slight shriek into the empty house.

Gathering his thoughts, he walked into the kitchen and looked up the closest funeral

home on his phone. He told the director that no funeral would be needed, just a cremation would

suffice. After the short conversation ending with unfelt condolences from the funeral director,

Sam called a local realtor.

That night, after Big Bob was out of the house and possibly being roasted, Sam tucked

away into his old childhood bed where he fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

Sam opened his eyes crusted from sleep. Burning rot hung in the air of his bedroom. He

looked up at his charred father hovering above him smiling, baring all his old yellow teeth. Sam

wiped away the dried gunk and saw not yellow teeth, but yellow worms protruding from his

tooth sockets wiggling in and out.

“Oh, big man you are, aren't cha? You want a piece of me now hot shot?” cried his

cooked dead father, “I’ll teach you something you little shit.” Big Bob moaned. Bob’s black

fingers crackled as they reached for Sam’s throat.

Sam jumped awake from this dream early the next morning. Out the window he saw the

tip of the sun hanging out from the horizon of dead berry bushes. He sat in his own sweat

breathing fast. Just a dream, he thought to himself. Just a dream.

Killing time walking around the farm, Sam noticed a flock of crows sitting on the rusted

gutters that nestled the house. There’s nothing for them here, everything is dead, thought Sam.

Maybe they smell the death from the house?

Sam walked through the dead bushes east of the house towards the old barn. It was never

a big luxurious barn you see in movies or paintings, it was more like a really big shed. He

opened the steel lock with a key he found from atop of the counter. The hinges sang a sad tune as

he opened the door. He stepped inside, crunching old dry hay with each step. A single light bulb

hung from the ceiling with a long bead string. Sam pulled the string, lighting the small barn. He

found himself surrounded by half a dozen old, tattered scarecrows, impaled on sticks standing

like wounded soldiers in attention.

Sam remembers helping make most of them, a few his father must have made himself.

He grabbed his favorite, remembering his father taking him to town to pick out some cheap

clothes to make it. It was one of the few good memories he had of his father. The scarecrow

wore a blue and yellow plaid shirt with green corduroy pants. Very fashionable. The hat was

missing though, a big straw sunhat. Where did that go? He thought. Must of gotten old and came

apart.

A chirpy bird tune went off in Sam’s pocket which made him jump almost dropping the

now fragile straw man. He answered the funeral home, who told him his loved one was available

for pick-up.

Sam placed the urn filled with his father in the backseat, the front was already taken by a

sixer of expensive German beer. He drove through town taking in the memories of his childhood

past. Most stores were the same, only few have been updated. The diner where him and Janice,

his long childhood crush, would go and get milkshakes after school was long gone. Where it

once stood was now a cheap fast food restaurant with big golden arches. It was unfortunate, he

would of loved a tall chocolate shake right about now.

Sam made it back to the farm around four o’clock. Beer and daddy in hand, he walked

the dirt path to the house. He placed the sixer in the fridge and dialed a close pizza delivery

service. When he hung up the phone, an idea popped in his head but quickly brushed it away. He

thought it would be too silly. He was going to be gone in couple days after the realtor made a

visit.

After a few beers and a belly full of extra mushroom pizza, his idea didn’t seem very silly

anymore. Sam walked to his father’s bedroom to gather clothes. He found a nice pair of unripped

jeans in a tall oak dresser and a sharp almost new red and black flannel shirt from the closet.

At six o’clock the sun started it’s descend into the horizon. Sam stood outside by the barn

ripping a haggard scarecrow off it’s cross of old lumber. The innards of old hay dusted the

ground of dry dirt. Beside the barn’s sidewall rested the tin filled with Bob’s remains. Sam took

the empty cross and leaned it against the barn. He took his father’s clothes from under his armpit,

tied the ends, and began to fill them with straw. He took his pocket knife and cut a hole in the

butt of the jeans to slide the pole in.

“Like that DAD? HMMM?” as he stuck the pole through. He grabbed a small burlap sack

and drew eyes, a nose, and mouth. Sam stuck the head on top of the scarecrow, but he knew

something was missing. He placed the fresh scarecrow against the barn and rushed back to the

house. Still heavily buzzed from the beer, he tripped over his own feet entering through the

kitchen. He slowly got back to his feet and shuffled to his father’s bedroom. He opened the

closet and placed a hand on top of the cluttered shelf. His hand touched and moved boxes

around. He knew it was up there dammit. Finally he found his dad’s old red trucker hat. The bill

was frayed and back mesh was a little ripped but it would do. He walked back to the scarecrow crumpled hat in hand. He opened the sizer pegs to its

highest setting and Sam placed it on the burlap head. The scarecrow jerked.

“Just the wind. Yep, I'm drunk.” He picked up the urn and placed it under his arm like a

basketball. He then picked up the scarecrow by the pole that made its spine. It seemed a little

heavier that it should of been, but passed it off from the booze. He walked towards the house and

stabbed it the ground between two blackberry bushes. Sam placed the urn in both hands and

looked at it for only a moment. He unscrewed the top which made a small pop noise . A small

puff of gray smoke burped out of the aluminum vessel. Sam dumped the ashes out onto the base

of the scarecrow and shook out the remenants. He kicked the urn back towards the barn and put

his hands up to make a touchdown gesture. Sam turned back to the scarecrow and unzipped his

pants, and urinated on the ashes.

The next morning, Sam awoke on the couch with a great hangover. He got up to get some

water and possibly make some coffee. He walked into the kitchen and let out a small scream

when he saw the scarecrow leaning against the counter next to the coffee pot.

“What the..” he whispered to himself. He brushed it off. Maybe he blacked out and

brought it in thinking it was funny. It wasn’t. Sober, it was pretty damn creepy. He grabbed the

scarecrow and burst through the door into the sunny morning. His eyes felt as though they

exploded once he stepped out, but the thing needed to go.

He jammed it into the ground facing the barn and started back to the house. Crows lined

the house watching him. Sam approached the door to the kitchen and took a glance back to the

scarecrow. It was looking back at him. Damn wind, he thought.

That night after another large pizza and another several beers, he staggered to his old

bedroom and sank into his bed. Sleep took him almost instantly.

Something tapped him on his chest and woke him up. Still slightly intoxicated he felt

around his torso to find what hit him. He grabbed the object but couldn’t make it out as his eyes

were still adjusting to the darkness. Finally making it out, it was his father’s red trucker hat.

Stripes of straw gently floated down onto his hands. He heard rustling to his right in the

darkness. Looking up he saw the scarecrow of his father standing above him. The scarecrow face now looked alive and menacing. It looked at him hungrily, straw drool dripping out of its mouth.

Sam knew that look. The scarecrow lifted its arms making a dry crunch.

“Dont worry son. Daddys got you.” It said. The voice had a dry rasp, sounding like dry

leaves crunching under a childs foot.

“This is just another dream. Yep. Just another dream.” Sam said filling with hot fear.

The next morning, June Feller woke up early. She had an seven o’clock appointment to

see a farmhouse. She was new to the real estate business, getting her license just a month ago.

This would be her first big sell.

She took a hot shower, got dressed, and kissed her husband, who was still asleep,

goodbye. She pecked him on the forehead to not wake him. Todd was grumpy in the morning.

June then grabbed her purse and took off in the new family van.

Forgetting to eat, June stopped at a fast food joint for breakfast. There was time to kill, so

she went inside to fill up on some egg and sausage biscuit sandwiches.

She made her way down to Miller Farm that stood just outside of town. She remembered

eating their plump berries when she was a child. She and her mother would go to the market

every other saturday and buy a bushel of their sweet blackberries. Her mother made the best

blackberry pie she’s ever eaten. But they haven't had a harvest in years and hoped she could sell

it to someone who could keep that tradition going.

She drove up to the open gate that read Miller Berry Farm. It really needed a new coat of

paint. June parked next to a very nice pick up truck that must of belonged to Sam, the one she

spoke to on the phone the other day. She got out of her car and used her fob to lock it. The beep

startled some crows that lingered on the gutters of the house. She looked up and saw a few dozen

staring at her. They need a scarecrow or something! She thought. She looked into the fields and

didn’t see one in the field of bushes. The side door was slightly open, but she knocked. No

answer. She knocked again which opened the door even more. The smell from inside was awful.

Shit and rot wisped through the door opening. Oh no. June walked in and followed the smell

through the kitchen, through the hall, and down to the last room on the right.

June peeked through the door and saw a mangled naked body. Sam laid there on his

stomach with his ass in the air. It looked as if the man in the bed swallowed a hay bomb. Dry

poured out of his mouth and rear end. His eyes were missing, filled with the golden scarecrow

stuffing. Three crows stood on top of the body cawing at June as she entered the room. She put

her hand to her stomach and vomited half digested egg and sausage biscuit sandwiches onto the

floor. Horrified, June rushed out of the house and into her car. She fumbled through her purse to

find her phone. She dialed the police with trembling fingers to report the body. While talking to

the dispatcher explaining what she found, in the field of bushes she noticed something she was

sure wasn’t there just a few minutes ago. By the small barn a scarecrow with a red trucker hat

stood looking at her. It looked as if it was smiling.