There was a scarecrow in the middle of Mr. Church's field. It wasn't a very good one.
With its shabby grey coat (which had belonged to Mr. Church's son, Simon, who had died five years prior) and rotting pumpkin head, it was something more to be pitied than feared. No one paid it any mind, least of all the coal black crows who descended on the field to pick at Mr. Church's crops. And so, there it stood, useless, pathetic and alone. But if anyone on that particular Tuesday morning had ventured to speak to the sorry fellow (which would have been rather odd, since, as you know, scarecrows cannot talk) they would have been very surprised at the tale he would have told.
Minutes before Jane had passed through the lane, stopping only a moment to examine that curious blue box, two people had stepped out of it and into Mr. Church's field. The first was a woman, young, with pale skin and very vibrant ginger hair that seemed to be the only real source of color (save the blue box) on such a dull, grey day.
The second person was a man.
A man in a tweed jacket, with a rather ironical smile on his face, as if he had just remembered the punch line to a mildly amusing joke. Or perhaps as if he had just remembered how clever he was and felt exceedingly pleased about it. Or, better still, as if he hadn't the slightest idea where he was and found the sensation of completely uncertainty and quite possibly danger greatly to his liking.
He was tall, and rather young looking. His brown hair flopped over one eye, and every few moments he'd brush it back irritably, only to have it flip over once again. His face was a study in odd angles and curves, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. There was an ancient air in the way he moved, each step he took behind the young woman was quite deliberate. It almost suggested that he was far older than he appeared to be (which was, in fact, the case). He trekked out after the ginger haired girl, hands clasped behind him, and took long sweeping glances of the rather depressing landscape as he did.
With a sudden and abrupt movement the young woman stopped walking, turned around to face the man and said in what sounded very much like a lilting Scottish accent, "So where…or when…exactly are we, Doctor? Looks like Earth. A really bland, boring part of Earth. Look, a scarecrow. Thrilling. Doctor? Doctor are you listening to me?"
In the distant, far off voice of a person who is not fully attending to what another person is saying the Doctor nodded and muttered, "Yes, yes, Amy, quite right." He was staring out towards the road, following a little figure in a white muslin dress that, for only an instant, stopped and gazed curiously at the TARDIS before moving on. When the figure had disappeared from view, he turned back to a rather put out looking Amy and asked,
"Wait - what did you say?"
Amy groaned and rolled her eyes. "I wanted to know where we are."
"Scarecrow, you say?" The Doctor muttered, now veering to the left and walking towards the pitiful thing, planted into the ground and strung up on a post. Amy followed him, her expression both amused and sour in a way that only Amy could possibly pull off.
For a beat, the Doctor stared into the hollow eyes of the scarecrow's pumpkin head, and for a beat, Amy almost felt as if it were staring right back at him. "I don't like scarecrows," The Doctor said thoughtfully, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Then, with a bit of a flourish, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver from its customary perch inside the front pocket of his trousers, and ran arbitrarily around the periphery of the scarecrow.
Amy looked on, with not the slightest idea what any of it meant. But with the blips and bleeps that emitted from the tiny device, and the Doctor's sporadic outburst of "Hmm," and "Well, that's curious…" she figured there was at least some point to what he was doing. When he was done, he returned the screwdriver to his pocket and turned to look at Amy.
"Well? Is it an evil scarecrow?"
"No, not at all, he seems like a very nice bloke. But, Amy, but – something is off."
"Bad 'off' or good 'off'?"
"Well…I suppose it must be bad 'off' but for our purposes – "
"Our purposes?" Amy interrupted, a single eyebrow raised.
"Oh, you know, adventure, fun, etc. For our purposes I suppose it's good 'off.' "
"And why do you say that?"
The Doctor smiled, and then began walking back towards the road, beckoning Amy to follow him with a little nod of his head. He continued speaking. "You see, Ms. Pond, I just picked up traces of negative energy on the coat that scarecrow is wearing. Meaning that, I don't know – that scarecrow has traveled through time and space. It doesn't belong here. Which is the off part I was referring to earlier. Now, it could be harmless or…"
"It could be really bad."
By this time they were on the little path. They had stopped walking, standing in between the TARDIS, still smack in the middle of the road, and the long stretch of nothing that lead towards town. The tiny white figure was gone, and all around them was just the dismal landscape of muddy puddles and little else.
The Doctor grinned. "Precisely. So do you fancy more of a look around?"
"Duh! Oh and where are we? You conveniently skipped that bit earlier."
"We're supposed to be on Barcelona, aren't we," the Doctor replied, beginning to fall into his idle habit of hooking his thumbs through his burgundy braces, "But, well…obviously we're not. Just as well. I guess this is as good a stop as any."
Amy looked around, and laughed. "I love that you have no idea where we are, as usual."
The Doctor bristled a bit, then broke into another of his smirks. "Judging by the style of dress of the young lady who walked by a few moments ago, and the general pervading aura of misery about this place I'd venture to say we're 'round about the early-ish 19th century, say 1812, somewhere in Scotland."
"Scotland?"
"Precisely."
"How can you be so sure about that?"
"I suppose I just am, aren't I?"
"I'll bet you a five-er we're in, like, Kansas."
"Done," The Doctor said with a fierce look of determination.
"Good."
"Great. Now, let's go."
And as they walked on, Amy every once and a while making sarcastic commentary on their surroundings ("Oh look, Doctor, a goat path!"), they forgot all about the scarecrow standing idly in the middle of Mr. Church's field. They didn't see it suddenly swing and sway in the gust of wind that seemed to spring out of nowhere. And they certainly did not see the pair of blood red irises that suddenly glowed through the hollows of the scarecrow's hollow eyes.