Scaring Fields, Page 2
Wren Roberts
point. "Fair enough."
"That's sweet and all, but don't act like your intentions are pure. I know why you have the sudden interest in me."
"This has nothing--I swear--to do with you and Emerson."
Matilda stiffens at his name. She sucks air in against her teeth, as if that would somehow make it better.
///\
Emerson had his name written on the selection stone two months ago. Matilda had nearly choked when she had found out the morning of the ceremony. She had been certain it was her number that was up. And when her name hadn't been called the month after that, it was equally puzzling.
It had become clear, however, that Emerson was only being offered up because there'd been rumblings around town. There'd been too many girls sent out to the 'crows. Too many girls when there had been just as many naughty little boys.
It had been her fault. Well, his, too.
She had watched his face turn to ash when he read his name on that dumb rock. It'd been from a distance. They didn't talk anymore, as it was.
As sunset approached, it was he who was given the steak knife. It was he who was admonished and cast out. It was he who had walked up this same footpath, never to return.
And she felt guilty for being so relieved that it was him who was to be punished. Him and not her.
She had even gleefully been apart of the next morning's knife hunt. She had torn through the fields and looked under all the underbrush. Searching, searching. But it was that bitch Connie who found it. It was plunged into one of the benign scarecrows. Plunged so deep that the handle even cut into the burlap.
She had wanted the cake. She didn't want to admit it, but she really wanted that cake and she had considered fighting Connie in order to get it. She had thought about stealing the cake. After everything she'd been through, she felt like she deserved that fucking cake.
Maybe that was why her name had been called now. She had sinned again in her deliverance.
///\
"Look, I'm not letting you go out there alone."
Matilda bites her lip. Her eyes narrow and she considers him. Warren is not unattractive, but he's no model either. He's short, and he's got kind of a fat face, which is weird, because his body is lanky and awkward.
"Fine. But I'm not responsible if you die. Don't come crying to me if the elders don't like you out in the dark."
"That's okay."
"You shouldn't be here."
Warren smiles. "Neither should you."
This catches her by surprise. No one has ever voiced what she's felt in her heart before. She's thought this whole business was full of shit all along, but she had thought she was the only one. And now here was Warren, in complete agreement.
"Well, lets go piss off some burlap sacks then." She grabs his arm and tugs him up the path.
Walking to the scaring fields is a little easier now that she has a companion. But it's still not a good way to walk. She almost feels safe now that there is someone else here to share her experience of being eaten. Or maimed. Or whatever it is they have in store for her.
They walk in a weird silence. The only sound is the swish of the grass as their feet cut through it. Up the hill, the entire field spreads itself before them. Its crops are a whisper of black in the dark. In the distance, the scarecrows stand like shadow puppets on an unlit screen.
"We're here," Warren says, the words coming out more of an exhale then an expression. He's about to move on, but Matilda throws an arm in front of him. As if to say 'stop, dumbass.'
"What?"
She points. He follows her gaze. There is something out there. In the field. And it's big.
She holds on tight to the steak knife. Even though it is the worst weapon in the world, it is at least a weapon. "Do you think that's the mayor?"
"I don't know. Whoever he is, he's eating something."
She squints. She can't tell in the dark. "I can't see."
That's when Warren busts out the flashlight. He flicks it on and shines it right at the figure.
It's a deer. A dead deer. And someone is crouched over eating it. "Oh shit!" Warren hisses. The light goes off immediately. Matilda is already running back down the hill.
"What the fuck? What the fuck?"
"Oh my god, was that--"
"--a scarecrow? Shit yes. Shit. Shit!"
They're screaming whispers at each other. And running. How fast they can scamper now. Warren suddenly shoves her off a path and they hide behind a tree, panting.
"Did it see us?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think it's following us?"
"I don't know!" Matilda tries to catch her breath, but her lungs can't seem to hold onto the air she sucks in. "And what the fuck was that? A flashlight? Really?" She considers punching him in the face, but she's never thrown a punch and she probably needs him.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking there'd be actual scarecrows!"
"Me neither."
"Could they just be dressing up? The elders?"
"And eating deer?"
"Yea, probably not." Warren almost sounds casual. Like one might sound while discussing the weather. Or taxes. Or, apparently, being murdered by the scarecrows in your town's own field.
Matilda frowns. "Well, what do we do?"
"We could run."
She shakes her head. "They'll just come into town. Isn't that what the stories say?"
"We could hide here and wait for them to eat us."
"Like that deer? No thanks."
"Or we could do what I've been saying all along. We could kill them. Kill them all."
Matilda nods. It really is the only option. Stories told by a town as an excuse to kill children? That somehow made sense in her book. But her town being held hostage and forced to murder its young to appease the scarecrows was unacceptable. It was a fine line. Maybe not.
A twig snaps not far from them. To their left. Matilda draws in a sharp breath, almost sucking her nostrils closed.
Warren looks at her. Up until now, it almost seemed like this was a fun, rolling adventure for him. It's as if the idea that he might actually die was never a possibility for him. How that has changed. All changed. She thinks he looks scared shitless. His small eyes have grown huge. Even she can see that in the dark.
Something crashes through leaves. Now its to their right. Or is it a second? Matilda shakes the thought away.
Clumsy footsteps come crashing toward them. Warren swallows a scream. He puts on a brave face for her. At least, what he hopes is a brave face. And maybe it is more for himself than for her.
They see movement. Something, some terrible dark thing, lumbers toward them. It crashes into trees and stumbles over brambles. But still it comes.
She grabs the flashlight from his hand. She isn't sure why she does it, but there's something, just something, about the shadow.
The flashlight illuminates green leaves and lonely trees. The brightness makes Matilda squint. The shadow stops.
The scarecrow is made of the prerequisite burlap. It lacks button eyes, instead it has two ragged Xs. There is a semblance of a nose, and a wide mouth that earlier, would have just been drawn on. Right now it is full of sharp and pointy teeth.
But it's the jawline and the particular shape of its hairline. She knows.
"Emerson?" His name comes out almost a whisper.
The scarecrow looks at her, or at least she thinks that is what it is doing. It is wearing the shirt she saw him wear to the ceremony. Now it is sun-faded and stained with bird shit.
She doesn't want to, but she thinks back to that night. Back to that last night when she and Emerson spoke and were friends. Before it had all been ruined and he'd been sent out to the scaring fields.
///\
Emerson and Matilda had gone into the barn like they had several times before. Up in the hay loft, the straw scratched at her legs. It was worse than the way Emerson pawed at her clothes.
The sex, she knew, was wrong. Officially wrong. But it felt
good, even if it was immature and embarrassing. She enjoyed Emerson's company and the light kissing they had started out with was enough to make the other girls talk. The word 'slut' had been thrown around a lot.
But she hadn't really cared. Emerson made her feel wanted and alive. Breaking the rules gave her a thrill that she hadn't experienced before. He liked it, too. She supposed that was a good thing, though not exactly what she was after.
This was maybe their fifth tumble in the barn. She wasn't sure whose idea it had been the first time; probably both of them had been trying to convince the other. On this occasion, she had just been bored.
When the barn door squeaked open, they had both frozen mid-coitus. They had each been petrified of being discovered. And for a brief moment, it had seemed like they had gotten away with their transgression.
But then Connie had scrambled up to the hay loft. And she'd shrieked. And Robert, who had never been able to explain what he'd been doing in the barn with her, had gone running back to the village. He'd spilled their secrets and sins to everyone who would listen.
///\
There is a loud crash behind them. The Emerson scarecrow turns around and flees. Matilda doesn't have time to process why before something's rough hands grab her from behind. She yelps. The flashlight falls from her grasp but oh-so-mercifully rolls to shine light on her attacker.
This is the scarecrow that ate the deer. It throws her to the ground, and she sees its blood-stained face. Sitting on her chest with a surprising weight, it tries to claw at her hair. She uses all her strength to keep its gnashing teeth away from her face. In her peripheral vision, she can see Warren hopping around.
She turns her head flat against
"That's sweet and all, but don't act like your intentions are pure. I know why you have the sudden interest in me."
"This has nothing--I swear--to do with you and Emerson."
Matilda stiffens at his name. She sucks air in against her teeth, as if that would somehow make it better.
///\
Emerson had his name written on the selection stone two months ago. Matilda had nearly choked when she had found out the morning of the ceremony. She had been certain it was her number that was up. And when her name hadn't been called the month after that, it was equally puzzling.
It had become clear, however, that Emerson was only being offered up because there'd been rumblings around town. There'd been too many girls sent out to the 'crows. Too many girls when there had been just as many naughty little boys.
It had been her fault. Well, his, too.
She had watched his face turn to ash when he read his name on that dumb rock. It'd been from a distance. They didn't talk anymore, as it was.
As sunset approached, it was he who was given the steak knife. It was he who was admonished and cast out. It was he who had walked up this same footpath, never to return.
And she felt guilty for being so relieved that it was him who was to be punished. Him and not her.
She had even gleefully been apart of the next morning's knife hunt. She had torn through the fields and looked under all the underbrush. Searching, searching. But it was that bitch Connie who found it. It was plunged into one of the benign scarecrows. Plunged so deep that the handle even cut into the burlap.
She had wanted the cake. She didn't want to admit it, but she really wanted that cake and she had considered fighting Connie in order to get it. She had thought about stealing the cake. After everything she'd been through, she felt like she deserved that fucking cake.
Maybe that was why her name had been called now. She had sinned again in her deliverance.
///\
"Look, I'm not letting you go out there alone."
Matilda bites her lip. Her eyes narrow and she considers him. Warren is not unattractive, but he's no model either. He's short, and he's got kind of a fat face, which is weird, because his body is lanky and awkward.
"Fine. But I'm not responsible if you die. Don't come crying to me if the elders don't like you out in the dark."
"That's okay."
"You shouldn't be here."
Warren smiles. "Neither should you."
This catches her by surprise. No one has ever voiced what she's felt in her heart before. She's thought this whole business was full of shit all along, but she had thought she was the only one. And now here was Warren, in complete agreement.
"Well, lets go piss off some burlap sacks then." She grabs his arm and tugs him up the path.
Walking to the scaring fields is a little easier now that she has a companion. But it's still not a good way to walk. She almost feels safe now that there is someone else here to share her experience of being eaten. Or maimed. Or whatever it is they have in store for her.
They walk in a weird silence. The only sound is the swish of the grass as their feet cut through it. Up the hill, the entire field spreads itself before them. Its crops are a whisper of black in the dark. In the distance, the scarecrows stand like shadow puppets on an unlit screen.
"We're here," Warren says, the words coming out more of an exhale then an expression. He's about to move on, but Matilda throws an arm in front of him. As if to say 'stop, dumbass.'
"What?"
She points. He follows her gaze. There is something out there. In the field. And it's big.
She holds on tight to the steak knife. Even though it is the worst weapon in the world, it is at least a weapon. "Do you think that's the mayor?"
"I don't know. Whoever he is, he's eating something."
She squints. She can't tell in the dark. "I can't see."
That's when Warren busts out the flashlight. He flicks it on and shines it right at the figure.
It's a deer. A dead deer. And someone is crouched over eating it. "Oh shit!" Warren hisses. The light goes off immediately. Matilda is already running back down the hill.
"What the fuck? What the fuck?"
"Oh my god, was that--"
"--a scarecrow? Shit yes. Shit. Shit!"
They're screaming whispers at each other. And running. How fast they can scamper now. Warren suddenly shoves her off a path and they hide behind a tree, panting.
"Did it see us?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think it's following us?"
"I don't know!" Matilda tries to catch her breath, but her lungs can't seem to hold onto the air she sucks in. "And what the fuck was that? A flashlight? Really?" She considers punching him in the face, but she's never thrown a punch and she probably needs him.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking there'd be actual scarecrows!"
"Me neither."
"Could they just be dressing up? The elders?"
"And eating deer?"
"Yea, probably not." Warren almost sounds casual. Like one might sound while discussing the weather. Or taxes. Or, apparently, being murdered by the scarecrows in your town's own field.
Matilda frowns. "Well, what do we do?"
"We could run."
She shakes her head. "They'll just come into town. Isn't that what the stories say?"
"We could hide here and wait for them to eat us."
"Like that deer? No thanks."
"Or we could do what I've been saying all along. We could kill them. Kill them all."
Matilda nods. It really is the only option. Stories told by a town as an excuse to kill children? That somehow made sense in her book. But her town being held hostage and forced to murder its young to appease the scarecrows was unacceptable. It was a fine line. Maybe not.
A twig snaps not far from them. To their left. Matilda draws in a sharp breath, almost sucking her nostrils closed.
Warren looks at her. Up until now, it almost seemed like this was a fun, rolling adventure for him. It's as if the idea that he might actually die was never a possibility for him. How that has changed. All changed. She thinks he looks scared shitless. His small eyes have grown huge. Even she can see that in the dark.
Something crashes through leaves. Now its to their right. Or is it a second? Matilda shakes the thought away.
Clumsy footsteps come crashing toward them. Warren swallows a scream. He puts on a brave face for her. At least, what he hopes is a brave face. And maybe it is more for himself than for her.
They see movement. Something, some terrible dark thing, lumbers toward them. It crashes into trees and stumbles over brambles. But still it comes.
She grabs the flashlight from his hand. She isn't sure why she does it, but there's something, just something, about the shadow.
The flashlight illuminates green leaves and lonely trees. The brightness makes Matilda squint. The shadow stops.
The scarecrow is made of the prerequisite burlap. It lacks button eyes, instead it has two ragged Xs. There is a semblance of a nose, and a wide mouth that earlier, would have just been drawn on. Right now it is full of sharp and pointy teeth.
But it's the jawline and the particular shape of its hairline. She knows.
"Emerson?" His name comes out almost a whisper.
The scarecrow looks at her, or at least she thinks that is what it is doing. It is wearing the shirt she saw him wear to the ceremony. Now it is sun-faded and stained with bird shit.
She doesn't want to, but she thinks back to that night. Back to that last night when she and Emerson spoke and were friends. Before it had all been ruined and he'd been sent out to the scaring fields.
///\
Emerson and Matilda had gone into the barn like they had several times before. Up in the hay loft, the straw scratched at her legs. It was worse than the way Emerson pawed at her clothes.
The sex, she knew, was wrong. Officially wrong. But it felt
good, even if it was immature and embarrassing. She enjoyed Emerson's company and the light kissing they had started out with was enough to make the other girls talk. The word 'slut' had been thrown around a lot.
But she hadn't really cared. Emerson made her feel wanted and alive. Breaking the rules gave her a thrill that she hadn't experienced before. He liked it, too. She supposed that was a good thing, though not exactly what she was after.
This was maybe their fifth tumble in the barn. She wasn't sure whose idea it had been the first time; probably both of them had been trying to convince the other. On this occasion, she had just been bored.
When the barn door squeaked open, they had both frozen mid-coitus. They had each been petrified of being discovered. And for a brief moment, it had seemed like they had gotten away with their transgression.
But then Connie had scrambled up to the hay loft. And she'd shrieked. And Robert, who had never been able to explain what he'd been doing in the barn with her, had gone running back to the village. He'd spilled their secrets and sins to everyone who would listen.
///\
There is a loud crash behind them. The Emerson scarecrow turns around and flees. Matilda doesn't have time to process why before something's rough hands grab her from behind. She yelps. The flashlight falls from her grasp but oh-so-mercifully rolls to shine light on her attacker.
This is the scarecrow that ate the deer. It throws her to the ground, and she sees its blood-stained face. Sitting on her chest with a surprising weight, it tries to claw at her hair. She uses all her strength to keep its gnashing teeth away from her face. In her peripheral vision, she can see Warren hopping around.
She turns her head flat against
