AN: I was in trouble, when she recovered. It didn't take her long to figure out a few uses for that cane of hers. Shame she didn't break her neck in the fall, really.
SwordStitcher-Funny, I still have that problem. Sometimes you work too much and I have to get your attention. By stealing my clothing? Hey, it gets your attention. Feeling for pants and coming up blank will do that. Yeah, well...
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Granny was...not pleased. Scary, by the way, wishes her day was going better. I think she's getting a little claustrophobic...I'm sure she'd return the sentiment if she was able. And if she'd stop screaming for five minutes.
APieceOfThePuzzle-I was around fifteen. Much to my dismay, these go up to when I was seventeen. God knows why. Nobody cares. Or they shouldn't, if they value their sanity. I don't think they do. Their loss, then, isn't it? Yes.
"Jonathan!"
No! Not tonight, not again!
"Jonathan Crane, get back here!"
He doesn't know how he did it, or what he's going to do now, but he managed to wrench his arm free and make a run for it. He has the advantage of not wearing a long, heavy skirt and he'll take it.
There! The cornfield. Maybe he can hide in there and she'll forget about him. In the morning he can decide what to do.
If he can get away from her, that is.
"Jonathan!"
He dashes into the stalks, shoving them blindly out of his path. He has to get away from her, he can't go in there again…
For once he's grateful that she makes him take his glasses off before going in-they'd be scratched to pieces by now. He knows his way around in here well enough by now-he should, given all the times he's had to weed it.
He can't hear her voice any more. Did she give up? Did she-does he dare to hope?-have a heart attack?
Gasping softly, wishing he wasn't allergic to everything that grows in Georgia, he backs further into the field. Then his back hits something that feels like a person.
NONONONONONONONONO…
It's only the scarecrow. He takes a deep breath and pats its rotting flannel before turning away again. Where is she?
There's a sudden shriek and he jumps, turning wildly in hopes of pinpointing the sound. That was Granny. She didn't sound far, but…
He picks his way in the direction he thinks the sound came from. What was that, what happened? Maybe she really did die. That's silly, she'll never die. The Devil himself will give her back.
No. She hasn't died, but he'll wish he had.
She's lying at his feet, her ankle twisted very wrongly indeed. She must have tripped in one of the holes out here…
"Child," she rasps, her eyes blazing, "go to Mrs. Nightingale's and call for help."
There is nothing he can do but obey.
God, he's going to be in so much trouble.
THE END