Hidden beyond the wood, a distance from town, there rests a vacant field. Weeds overtook the land long ago and the only residences were the animals that wandered through while scavenging. No one knows who once owned the land, and nearly all had forgotten its existence. The ground itself seemed to suck the life out of any soul that dared to trespass. In the center of this wasteland stood a rotting stake. Painted with mildew and infested with pests, the wood weathered and splintered under the weight of its newest decoration. The scarecrow hung limp from its perch, alone. The afternoon sun radiated on its exposed skin, burning deeply. Straw stuffing spilled into the wind through various tears made worse by the rusty nails that snagged on loose threads.

The scarecrow, however, was not as lifeless as the rest of this field. He was very much aware of his discomfort, but had no will to move against it. His master had left only enough energy to remain conscious. His day was spent looking out over the tall, dry grass that clawed at his hips. Occasionally, birds would swoop down and peck at him mercilessly. They tore one of his eyes till it was only held back by a single thread, and he had lost more and more hay. Master would put him back together once night came, as she always does.

All he could do was wait for the sun to set, then he was permitted to roam the darkness. It was also the only time he could forget his sorrows. In this field of death, memories battered his mind. The person he once was was hastily fading away, but he could never fully forget the events that brought him to this point. Random fuzzy images would flash into his shattered conscience- something big and green, four silhouettes, and a pair of shining brown eyes glistened with tears. To him, that's all they were though. Images. He had no clue what the meaning of these things were or what they were meant to be. Just plagues on his broken psyche. These thoughts agitated the Scarecrow, frustrated by his inability to put all the pieces back together… but that's how she wished him to be.

What stood out most in his jumbled mess of a mind, though, were those eyes… Who had they belonged to? Where they just another trick by the Witch to torment him? It must be what he deserved… his master could do to him anything she wanted. He belonged to her now, no matter what he was in the life before… was he anyone before he came to this field? Had he been created by his master for the purpose to serve her every night? That must be it. He was her tool. All the thoughts that invaded his mind each day were the memories of the souls he collected… the remnants left behind. Afterall, he had no memories of his own. What good were memories to a servant? Yes, he only existed to please his master's demands.

Lost in himself, the scarecrow lost track of the hours that passed him by. The sun was settling below the horizon and soon the moon would rise to take its place in the sky. The pale beams much less aggressive than the harsh rays of daylight. Then he would be sent to work. Knowing this, a faint giggle escaped his stitched throat.

As the golden glow of day faded into the black of night, the time eventually came. The world became quiet. A sudden gust of wind disrupted the still night, blowing whatever loose hays were left off of the scarecrow. He peeked up to see his alluring master descending from above on her broomstick, here to restore him and temporarily set him free from his post to roam as she usually did. Her mischievous smile brought him a faint sense of joy. Her pleasure was his mirth and another spasm of giggles shook through his body. She carefully yet gracefully dismounted off of her broomstick.

"Good evening, my pet" she greeted her servant, approaching him casually. Strolling up to her mounted puppet, she surveyed the damage the day had done.

"Goodness. The birds and pests certainly had a feast today, didn't they?" she said, observing the various wounds and the torn eye on the scarecrow.

"That's okay. I'll make you feel better." The Witch chuckled before focusing her energy to recite a spell and restore her faithful servant to new condition. She waved her hands in specific rhythm as mists of green encircled the scarecrow. With surgical precision, the mist weaved through and sewed his wounds and fixed his eye back in place, erasing all evidence of the excruciating damage done to him through the morning hours until now.

As his vessel finished mending, the witch released the invisible bonds that chained him to his post. A snide smile crossed the Witch's face, enjoying the way his mangled form crumpled to the ground and crushed the dry brush underneath. How she loved looking down on her servants. With free will, humans were power hungry and greedy. Without their free will, they understood their place, groveling at her feet.

Hayseed twitched and fidgeted as he rose off the ground. His movements were staggered as energy seeped back into him. He could finally move on his own, but couldn't help but wait for his master's command. Now that he had something to focus on, all those thoughts from earlier finally left him. All he thought about now was what his master wanted of him on this evening.

"You have proven to be a wonderful addition to my collection, Hayseed." She leaned over the hunched figure. Her voice seemed to mock him like she was talking to a child.

"Tonight, I have a very special task for you…" Moving out of his path, the Witch directed him toward the town he once belonged, though he didn't know that. It was time to cut off all the loose ends.

"There are a few meek souls in a village just on the other side of the forest. It would seem their time has come." She conjured images of some of the men that once humiliated the Doctor. They would just be the start. He did want revenge on them, so why give up just because he failed in doing it his way? She was a woman of her word, after all.

"Go forth and show them what happens when they mess with the wrong people." Even without knowing what she meant by that statement, Hayseed clapped his hands together maniacally. He had the faces memorized and limped his way to the unsuspecting town.

The Witch watched her puppet hobble off into the darkness. The dear Doctor Junkenstein was going to have his vengeance, even if it was out of his control. Once he was finished with all those he had planned to terrorize, perhaps it would do well to eliminate his little snow angel, too. He certainly has no need for foolish things like love anymore. Once they were all out of the way, there really would be nothing more linking him to his mortal self. Junkenstein will be less than a memory!

"Hahahaha!" The Witch's laughs echoed into the night.