The Scarecrow in the Garden
They told us never to go near the farm through the woods and for years, we were too scared to consider breaking that rule. As we grew older, the other neighborhood kids and I ventured closer and closer. It became a game we liked to play – who could get closest to the electric fence that guarded the empty looking house from the stories the teenagers would tell at night with flashlights held under their chins. They say that the man who lived on the farm was a cannibal with a taste for red-heads (an uncommonly popular trait in our town.) They said that he locked little girls up in his basement before he took them out to the corn fields to murder them. These stories never stopped me from walking all the way up to the fence, close enough to hear the soothing hum of electricity. I would sit in the dirt and watch the house, watch the lights go off and on in the windows and pretend I knew the people that lived there. I was too adventurous for my own good my mom would tell me when she caught me walking out of the woods, covered in mud. Maybe she was right.
It was a month before summer break when Eleanor went missing. Since kindergarten, I had sat next to her. She was small for her age and quiet – to be honest, no one in Mr. Stanley’s fourth grade class would have noticed she was gone if Mr. Stanley hadn’t stood up in front of the class one day to tell us. No one, but me.
“As you all may have noticed by now, Eleanor Hansen isn’t at school today.” Mr. Stanley’s normally monotone voice said sadly and all of his class turned around to check the back corner to the right where her assigned seat was, right in front of mine. To make sure that he was telling the truth.
“Eleanor went missing after school on Friday so if you kids have seen her recently, you need to let either me or Officer Burton know.” We hadn’t noticed the appearance of the cop until Mr. Stanley announced his presence. They called all our parents and we were sent home early that day. We walked home in groups led by the fifth grade boys since most of our parents were at their jobs at that time of day. Jett Morrison walked next to me and the Meyer’s youngest daughter toward our street.
“What do you think happened to her, Melody? You two seemed close,” the older boy asked me hesitantly.
“She wouldn’t have run off if that’s what you’re thinking. We hadn’t finished yet.” I mumbled at the ground.
“Finished what?” He put his hands in his pockets to give him something to do so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with either of us, to pretend like he wasn’t as scared as we were.
“Our picture. We’ve been adding something new each day. We were almost done and I was going to color it over the summer,” I wanted to show him, but Eleanor had taken the paper home the day before.
“What if he has her?” Agnes Meyer spoke up for the first time during the walk. We didn’t have to ask who she was referring to.
“It’s just a story, Agnes. No one lives in that house, no one has for years. The other kids just want to scare you.” Jett told her, but when I glanced at his face, his eyes didn’t look as confident as his voice claimed he was.
“That’s not true,” I whispered, “I’ve seen the lights turn on in the house. Someone lives there.” Jett chose not to reply.
When we made it to our homes and Jett had walked back down the street, I did the one thing I knew I wasn’t supposed to. I pulled on my hiking boots my mom had bought me for Christmas and walked out towards the woods. The electric fence was silent today, like it wanted me to duck under the barbed wire and step into the edge of the field. I figured I would be home by dinner, my mom would never have to know that I broke the rules.
I wanted to find my friend, but it was more than that. I had needed an excuse to cross into this forbidden territory and now I had a noble cause that justified breaking rules. From my position at the fence, I could see the entire farm – the cornfield, the house, the lone scarecrow guarding what I thought could be tomatoes in his backyard. The scarecrow was new, I hadn’t seen it from behind the electric shield so I walked in that direction. I walked through the corn to shield myself in case I was actually right about someone living in the house.
From a distance, the house looked grand and mysterious like something from the books I read under my covers when my mom thought I was asleep. Up close, it was run-down. Maybe Jett was right. I couldn’t imagine many people would want to live in a house where the door hinges were hanging on for dear life or the shutters were lying on the ground instead of over the windows. I peered inside the dirty glass, but I couldn’t see anyone moving inside. There were piles of papers and dirty plates scattered around the living room. My theory seemed to stand. I made my way silently to the backyard to look at the garden.
The garden was beautiful except for the crudely made scarecrow and the horrible smell. I couldn’t place what it was. I went closer to look at the disheveled mess and wrinkled up my nose as the smell got worse. I should’ve noticed from afar that this scarecrow looked different. Instead of straw sticking out the arms of the green jacket and the legs of the jeans, there was a person’s arms and legs nailed to the wooden plank, a grotesque childlike version of the picture hanging in the sanctuary of the church. A hood was put over the body’s head with a smile painted on. I forced over the pole and took the hood off, hoping to be proven wrong. But underneath the sack was face of Eleanor.
When I was younger, I used to sneak into the living room when my mom was watching her crime shows. There was a time when she would tell me to leave when the murder victim was found, to shield me from the idea of death. But I kept creeping back out, slinking across the carpet, until she gave in and let me watch the whole episode. The made-up actors lying on the autopsy tables looked nothing like the corpse of my friend. She was covered in blisters, swollen and bloated. Her normally pale skin was now a greenish-blue. I wanted to be brave, but I went to the grass and threw up.
The stories were true. As I lost my lunch into the weeds, I remembered sitting around a campfire in a field with my oldest sister’s friends, the high school students. Eleanor and I sat on a log, roasting marshmallows and trying to stay out of the bigger kids’ way.
“Hey, Ashley. I think your sister and her friend want to hear a story.” A boy called from across the flames, making my sister laugh.
“Don’t tell the babies anything. I’ll be grounded for a month if you give them nightmares, Jason.” She called from across the flames.
“Do you girls know about the old man who lives on that farm?” He jeered. I shook my head no, but he wasn’t looking at my face, “They say he kidnaps little girls and takes them to his house. He locks them in his basement until he gets tired of them crying. Then he takes them out to the field and slaughters them to cook them for dinner.”
Eleanor was crying and I was almost to that point before Jason looked down and yanked on my red pigtail.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. He has a type. He only takes red-heads. Better be careful, Melody.”
It was a fun night for my sister. My mom had told me that it was just a story, but she still wasn’t happy with my obsession with the forest.
I stood up and wiped the vomit from my mouth. I knew I should head back before the same thing happened to me. I knew he was either watching or would be soon. With my hood pulled over my red hair, I turned to head back through the corn to get home. But the thought of leaving Eleanor’s body behind stopped me. I turned back to look at her and knew I couldn’t do it. I grabbed the end of the pole and started to drag it to the cornfield, where I could at least hide it while I went to get help. I made it halfway across the yard when I heard the creak of the door opening.
There was an old man standing at the door with a sick grin on his face. I dropped the pole and ran straight for the fence to make my escape. When I made it to the fence, I was too scared to notice the hum had returned. I pressed my body to the wire to climb over it and was knocked onto the ground by the force of the shock. I saw his face before my eyes were forced closed in fear.
It was cold when I finally opened them again and too dark for me to actually see. Judging from the stories that seemed to be true so far, I was probably in his basement. I ran my hand along the wall and tried to find a door or a hole of some sort – some way to claw out of this prison.
“Did you see the scarecrow?” A whisper from behind me said. My eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but I could see a small outline, “Could you see the bones?”
“No, I couldn’t. Where am I? Who are you?” I pushed myself into a corner as if that would protect me from what sounded like a little girl.
“My name is Sadie. We’re in his basement. We’re going to be fine as long as the scarecrow still works.” The voice crept closer to me.
“What happens when Eleanor is gone?” I asked, hoping that if I said her name, it would make her come back.
“Then he’ll come for one of us.”
We spent a week together in the basement, hoping that someone would come along to find us, but when he opened the door. We knew there was no hope. I couldn’t help her as she screamed when he took her away. Nothing, but sit in the dark and hope that maybe she escaped. But I knew she didn’t. And I knew I would be next.