AN: Ah, our title track-'fear of scarecrows'.
Arlen is mostly certain that Jonathan just left town (Granny? Who knows, who cares.) but the house is far enough out of the way that nobody's really sure.
Recommended listening: the opening titles of the film The Skeleton Key-gorgeous soundtrack, by the way.
McStaken-Hangovers are the worst and I'm sorry. You've no idea. Not the first time, probably won't be the last, but I still hate it.
Forbidden Moons-My dear child, my toxins require a specially formulated antidote for each new batch. Since I do not wish for Batman to acquire it, and since I do have some small immunities built up...no.
The old Keeney Manor is one place that nobody wants to go after dark.
It's creepy, it's big, and nature has taken it. Weeds claw their way through decayed porch slats and wolf spiders lurk under rotting furniture. The crows nesting in the remains of the old chapel are aggressive, prone to attacking any who get too close. One boy lost an eye earlier this year.
The adults have put a ban on poking around out there-it's dangerous, they say. That's done exactly nothing to curb the rite of passage consisting of 'go up to the house, touch it'. Most people sprint for it, slap a board, and come running back. Even so, somebody went through the porch once and had to be rescued. It's a risk, but not enough of one to deter anyone.
Alex Clearwater moved here two weeks ago. He hasn't made many friends, but he's hoping if he does the stupid thing, that'll change.
But that doesn't mean he wants to. Could be black widows up there. Or rabid squirrels. Or an axe-wielding serial killer.
"So why are we here again?"
Jenny Mulligan rolls her eyes.
"You gotta go touch the house."
"Why?"
"Because that's the rule."
"What's the big deal?"
"Could be haunted."
"Bull." Alex swats at a mosquito. "What if the owner comes out?"
Jenny grins, bright and wide.
"There isn't one. The old lady up and vanished one day, kid too. My maw says it's a murder-suicide, but my dad swears the birds got 'em both."
"Yer dad's a dramatic fuck." George scoffs. "She probably died and he took what he could get and got the hell outta Dodge."
"You shut up about my dad!"
"Just sayin'!"
Alex eyes the house. It's not that far, really.
"Just touch it, right? I don't have to like, bring back a splinter or something?"
"Nope."
"Fine." He stands up. "I'll touch the stupid house."
"Watch out for the ghosts!" the other two cackle. Whatever. Ghosts. Bullshit, it's just an abandoned house. Probably crawling with vermin.
He wades through the weeds towards the house. Grasshoppers scatter and pollen puffs up in yellow clouds. A couple of crows fly by overhead, but other than that, there's nothing.
He's not going to run. Even if it does feel like he shouldn't be here.
Caw!
But if those birds attack him, he's out.
He swats at a mosquito, smearing blood-his blood, that little shit-over his arm. How dare it stain him with his own blood!
Fucking insects.
He's at the porch now. Just go up the stairs, smack the door, and leave.
Okay.
If he goes through that stair, he's never gonna forgive them…
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Alex swallows. It really feels like he shouldn't be here. Which is ridiculous, it's just an old house. He squares his shoulders, lifts his hand, and smacks his palm against the door-
-sending it swinging open.
Well.
Uh.
Shit.
He twists around, but the other two are streaking down the dirt road. They suck, what the hell!
"Is someone here?" His voice is swallowed up in the dark, dusty hallway. "Hello?"
No answer, just the cawing of birds and the sudden skrit-skrit of a mouse scurrying through the wall. It smells like something's died in there and for a second he wonders if there really is a body. He doesn't see anything, though, so y'know, it's time to go.
He yanks the door shut, the humidity swelling it just enough to make it difficult, and turns around.
God, it's just as creepy looking at the road from here as it was looking at the house from the road. All the weeds and that one scraggly tree and the rotting scare-
-crow?
He doesn't remember seeing that on the way up, but maybe he missed it.
It's creeping him out, though. It's adding to the steady thought of get out, get out, get out.
He's just gonna go.
He steps off the porch and a crow soars down from the roof. Useless scarecrow, then, the birds are all over the place.
The crow flaps by and Alex is just about to appreciate the irony of the bird's new intended perch when the scarecrow moves, hands flying up to snatch the bird out of the air. The crow shrieks, claws scratching at the sleeves, and the scarecrow grips its neck. There's a crack and the shrieking stops.
"What brings you up this way, child?"
He has fucked up. He will never trespass again, he swears on Great-Aunt-Delilah's grave, just please…
"I-I…my friend dared me, I didn't realize, I thought-"
The scarecrow slides off its cross and hitches through the weeds. Alex backs up.
"Didn't your parents ever teach you your manners?"
"I'm so sorry-"
It rushes him. He sprints back towards the house, gets maybe ten steps before it tackles him.
"Please!"
HISSSSS!
They find Alex Clearwater two days later, when it comes out that the last time anyone saw him he was up by the old Keeny property.
He's still there. They walk by him twice before somebody registers that the old scarecrow doesn't look quite right, and that it shouldn't be here. When the sheriff rips the stitched sack away, the very frightened-looking, very dead face of the missing boy looks back.
The sheriff vomits.
"There is a sign, you know." Jonathan points out from the Richardson's front porch, glass of lemonade in one hand and a flyswatter in the other. "Says clear as day, 'no trespassers'."
"I know, love."
"Then why don't people pay attention?"
"Don't look at me." Kitty steals a sip and grimaces. "Did you even put sugar in this?"
"Little bit."
"This is death!"
"It is not. Now, that overly-sweetened syrup you insist is lemonade, that's death-hold still."
"What?"
"You've got a-"
WHAP!
"The hell!"
"Horsefly. I missed, though…sorry."
"On my arse." He nods, expression so innocent that it's guilty. "Give me that."
"You're a worse shot than me, absolutely not."
"Give it!"
He holds it over his head, where it's safest, and looks towards the little procession of cars driving down the road.
Pity, really. He'd hoped they wouldn't find the boy until he'd had some more time to decompose.
THE END