AN: The first person to say anything that could be construed as 'poor baby' will be killed in the slowest way possible.
SwordStitcher-HEADS. WILL. ROLL. Aww, you were cute! I forgot how pathetic you were. Thanks, Scarecrow. Ah, the good old days, when you actually liked me... Don't start that again. WHERE DID I GO WRONG? Scarecrow... WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME?
"Put your suit on, Jonathan. Now."
Why? Where are they going?
"Granny?"
"Now!"
He goes upstairs and fetches his suit out of the closet, feeling very confused. Why does he have to put his Sunday suit on at this hour? It's already seven o' clock at night!
It feels strange to him-a little bit stiff. All the same, he puts it on and goes back down, wondering what's going on.
"Come along, child."
Where are they going?
He doesn't dare to ask her any questions, but he's beginning to be frightened.
She drags him outside, past the old car that's on its last legs, past the cornfield, towards a crumbling old building that he's often seen but never been in.
"That was our old chapel when I was a girl, child." she says, her hand like a vice around his wrist. "Mother insisted on a chapel, but Dad would have his birds."
What did that have to do with anything?
"You should have seen it in its glory, child!" she continues, an expression of bliss on her face. "One day, perhaps, I'll find our old album and show you."
Okay…?
"Go in, Jonathan."
In there? But it's dark and the roof has fallen in. He doesn't want to go in there.
He tries to hide behind her skirts and she shoves him inside instead.
Before he can get his bearings, the door closes and he hears the bolt shoot into place.
"Granny?"
"This will get the Devil out of you, child."
Devil? All he'd been doing was reading, honest…
"Granny, please…"
She begins to sing, her cracked voice growing fainter as she walks away. What's going on? Surely she's not going to leave him here!
"Granny!" He pounds on the door and gets splinters. "Granny, please! I'll be good, I promise!"
There's a noise up above and he looks up. There's a crow perched on the edge of the roof. He's never liked crows. They're big and they puff up when they're mad.
He sits down by the door and tries to make himself unobtrusive. This is bad enough without making the crow mad.
Another comes, and another. They're all just staring at him. When's Granny coming back?
One flutters down to the ground in front of him and pecks his ankle. He swats at it.
Then they all come down and everything is a blur of cawing and black feathers and panicked screams.
By the time Granny lets him out, he's shivering and there's a gash on his forehead and blood on his torn clothes. She cleans him up and makes him leave his suit downstairs for repair. She says nothing about the crows.
Maybe Granny really is a witch.
THE END