KittyComeHere-What a mess she'd have made though...they always do. Killing them on concrete saves me the clean-up.
SwordStitcher-DON'T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT! A miracle what kind of spine murder will give you, eh?
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Scary's been bothering me about 'childhood one-shots!' I'm trying not to cooperate, but sometimes I don't have a choice.
Voodoo-Mutant-Child-I went back to visit once. Her old bones are still out there, in her beloved chapel. We had a nice chat.
Jasmine Scarthing-DONUTS... Don't take food from strangers. MY. PRECIOUS. Not that again... Precious...
CAW. CAW. CAW.
He stands in the middle of the cornfield, surrounded by dead stalks and dust. He doesn't know where he is.
CAW. CAW. CAW.
It is twilight. Long shadows stretch out over the field. His own shadow looks like a demon lying in the earth.
CAW. CAW. CAW.
A crow flutters over his head and he ducks instinctively. He's forgotten how big those birds are, how savage.
The stalks in front of him move and a tall, thin man in a tattered suit and a burlap mask stands before him. He looks familiar, something about him…
CAW. CAW. CAW.
Cold blue eyes stare at him from behind the mask. He's seen those eyes before. Where has he seen those eyes before?
"Good evening."
The voice is cold, clipped, a dead monotone. He's heard that somewhere before, he knows it. Who is this? And where the hell is he…
He knows the answer to that, at least. Arlen. He's back in Arlen, Georgia, in some rotting field in the middle of nowhere. But who is this?
"How are you these days? Happy? Healthy? Wife and two-point-five kids?" The masked man chuckles mirthlessly and plucks a blade of dried grass from the dust at his feet.
"Who are you?"
The mask tilts to the side and those cold blue eyes seem to bore into his skull.
"You don't remember me, Mark?"
He does, he just can't place him. Who is this?
"I…"
"There's no reason you should, I suppose. You made it out alive. I, on the other hand…" The mouth seems to twist into a grimace. "Not so much."
Images flash in front of his eyes. Kids laughing, a skinny little boy curled up in a ball at their feet. Then everyone gets older and the skinny boy is thrown into a locker.
"Crane?" he whispers. "Jonathan Crane?"
"Very good."
CAW. CAW. CAW.
"Hi."
"How are you."
"Um…" What to say? "Fine. I guess. You know. Married now."
"Two point five kids?"
He forces a laugh. The sun sinks lower in the sky and he takes a deep breath. He'd like to go now, find his way out of here and never think of Crane again as long as he lives.
Another image flash in front of his eyes-Crane, squeezing a book bigger than him and trying not to be noticed. Guilt twists his stomach and he shakes his head. They were kids, kids are naturally mean little shits!
Aren't they?
The image dissipates and the Scarecrow-god, is that really Crane under that mask? He can't be sure-is standing in front of him. When did he get there?
CAW. CAW. CAW.
"I need to get going…my wife will worry…"
He goes to step around him and finds his path blocked.
"If she'll worry, why aren't you wearing your ring?"
Um…"
"She's left you, hasn't she? For a younger man, I suppose, after you cheated on her one too many times." The voice is smug. "No one knows where you are. Nobody cares. Just like they never cared about me."
He turns to run and finds the Scarecrow in front of him once again. What is this, some kind of nightmare?
"There's no way out, Mark." he taunts. "Nowhere to go and nowhere to hide."
CAW. CAW. CAW.
He swallows hard and tries to keep his panic from spreading.
"What do you want, Crane?"
The mask moves back and forth.
"Jonny's not here. You killed him. Or don't you remember?"
Another image flashes in front of his eyes. The skinny little boy, pleading for mercy.
They threw him in the river and watched him go under.
"It was just a joke, we didn't know…"
"Some joke, kiddo." The Scarecrow advances on him, its tall shadow stretching out like a reaching hand. "Between you and the bitch that raised him, it's a miracle anything survived."
"What?"
He sees the little boy huddled in a dark place. A flock of crows comes down and everything vanishes in a flurry of feathers.
"We didn't know…"
"Now you do. Do you want a taste of fear, Mark?"
No.
He runs. The Scarecrow lets him, but he can hear him whistling, always behind him.
"Run, run, run, as fast as you can, I'll always catch you, little gingerbread man!"
That's not how it goes…?
A blade sings out and there's the sound of stalks falling to the ground. He risks looking back and sees the monster, the Scarecrow, cutting his way through the field with a scythe. He has to get out of here, has to get away, has to run…
He makes a turn and stumbles, falling to the dust with a nasty crack. Ankle. God, no…
CAW! CAW! CAW!
"Oh, there you are!" The Scarecrow leans on his scythe and seems to grin down at him. "Wake up."
Huh?
"Wake up, Mark. Wake up. Wakey, wakey, eggs n' bakey!"
The cornfield is gone. Everything is gone, including the pain in his ankle. All that remains of the nightmare is his heavy breathing.
Then a low, raspy chuckle comes from the darkness.
"Wake up! Time to die!"
The scythe comes down.
THE END
AN: Two of Scarecrow's lines come from outside sources. 'Wakey wakey' comes from a film called Kill Bill, and 'wake up, time to die' comes from Disturbed's 'Droppin' Plates'. Because WE ARE DISTURBED!