The wasteland had gone untouched for fifteen years, and will probably never be touched again.
For surely, who in their right mind would wish to travel there, to that cursed place fashioned from ash and smoke? Who, indeed, would want to walk over the fields of blackened corn stalks laid low by forgotten flame, tread past the charred rubble that was once a farmhouse, feel the dying crunch of fire-weakened leaves from a summer past underfoot? No one had, and no one will.
Who would see the bodies?
The pit, dug so long ago by hands marred by the sin of adultery?
The rusted, soot-blackened scythe and sickle, lying hidden in the cornfields like a pair of preying serpents?
Who would dare to see the straw man, still lashed to his crumbled wooden cross, the majority of his frail body burned away to time and fire?
YOU ARE READING
Scarecrow
HorrorFramed for a crime he didn't commit, and completely unaware of the dark secrets swirling around his small Kansas hometown, small-time farmer Jim Donnelly stumbles across a long-buried evil and begins to transform into the straw man of his childhood...
