The Last Scarecrow

4 | Medicine Ball

Erin dashed into the farmhouse and tore up the stairs. In her brother's bedroom, an unmade single bed sat beneath a small window surrounded by posters of dragons and wizards and fantastic beasts of all kinds. Buckets of mixed Lego and action figures were stacked on the other side of the room beneath shelves cluttered with toys and an assortment of many-sided dice, playing cards, and board games.

Every other conceivable space was stuffed with books.

Erin dropped to the floor and wriggled under the bed. She searched around in the gloom before pulling out a leather medicine ball.

"It was my brothers," she said, returning to the courtyard. "He used it as part of his training. He wanted to become a soldier when he grew up."

She faltered as her thoughts turned to Clyde again, to his hopes and dreams, and the distinct possibility that he was more likely dead than alive.

The scarecrow studied the medicine ball and seemed suitably impressed. Erin set to work cutting two eyes and a smiley mouth into the front with her knife.

No sooner had she finished than it began to deflate.

Erin instructed Raven to fetch whatever sticks he could find. On his return, she stuffed them through the eyes, constructing a web of scaffolding to hold the head in a perfectish sphere.

"There," she said, spinning the finished head to face Twelve. "What do you think?"

"I think I love it," she said, then paused. "Is it less scary than my current face?"

Erin nodded enthusiastically. "Very much so."

"Night and day," Raven concurred.

"Then let's see if it works."

"How can this possibly work?" the blackbird rambled on. "It's a miracle that you're alive as it is. Taking your head off might kill you. I think your face is just fine the way it is. A scary face for a scary scarecrow. Why mess with a classic?"

"Really?" Twelve stopped. "Do you think taking my head off might kill me?"

"It does for most living things. Decapitation— messy business."

Twelve sighed, taking the new head and turning it over her hands.

"This isn't an exact science," Erin admitted. "It isn't science at all. Who knows what'll happen." She gave Twelve a brave smile. "But, doubt is the father of invention, so—"

"I don't know what that means," Twelve admitted.

"Never mind," Erin said. "Ignore the blackbird. Now, kneel so I can remove your head."

Twelve did as she was told.

Erin's fingers worked their way about the scarecrow's neck, loosening the binds that held the horrendous skull in place. As she detached the bindings, Twelve's body went as limp as a fish, sagging pathetically to one side.

Erin lifted the horned monstrosity, carefully placing it on the ground. Flipping the medicine ball in her hands, she positioned it over Twelve's spine, forced in down, and slipped her hands through the smiling mouth to fasten the bindings.

When she'd finished, Erin stood back, admiring the scarecrow and her brand new, smiling face.

It felt weird.

Scarecrows should be scary, not smiling and happy and filled with joy. But who was Erin to argue with the desires of a living thing? She was merely her creator. She had to let the scarecrow make her own decisions, for good and ill.