مترسک شبگرد فصل 07

The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight - Chapter 7

“Jodie—what’s the matter?” Grandma Miriam asked.

I started to point to her hand.

Then it came into sharp focus, and I saw that her hand wasn’t straw—she was holding a broom.

She had gripped it by the handle and was pulling lint off the ends of the straw.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I told her, feeling like a total jerk. I rubbed my eyes. “I’ve got to take my allergy medicine,” I told her. “My eyes are so watery. I keep seeing things!” I was seeing scarecrows everywhere I looked!

I scolded myself for acting so crazy.

Stop thinking about scarecrows, I told myself. Stanley was right. The scarecrows had moved in the wind last night.

It was just the wind.

Stanley took us fishing later that morning. As we started off for the creek, he seemed in a really cheerful mood.

He smiled as he swung the big picnic basket Grandma Miriam had packed for our lunch. “She put in all my favorites,” Stanley said happily.

He patted the basket with childish satisfaction.

He had three bamboo fishing poles tucked under his left arm. He carried the big straw basket in his right hand. He refused to let Mark and me carry anything.

The warm air smelled sweet. The sun beamed down in a cloudless, blue sky. Blades of recently cut grass stuck to my white sneakers as we headed across the back yard.

The medicine had helped. My eyes were much better.

Stanley turned just past the barn and began walking quickly along its back wall. His expression turned solemn. He appeared to be concentrating hard on something.

“Hey—where are we going?” I called, hurrying to keep up with him.

He didn’t seem to hear me. Taking long strides, swinging the straw picnic basket as he walked, he headed back in the direction we started from.

“Hey—wait up!” Mark called breathlessly. My brother hates to hurry when he can take his time.

“Stanley—wait!” I cried, tugging his shirtsleeve. “We’re going around in circles!” He nodded, his expression serious under the black baseball cap. “We have to circle the barn three times,” he said in a low voice.

“Huh? Why?” I demanded.

We started our second turn around the barn.

“It will bring us good luck with our fishing,” Stanley replied. Then he added, “It’s in the book. Everything is in the book.” I opened my mouth to tell him this was really silly. But I decided not to. He seemed so serious about that superstition book of his. I didn’t want to spoil it for him.

Besides, Mark and I could use the exercise.

A short while later, we finished circling and started walking along the dirt path that led past the cornfields to the creek. Stanley’s smile returned immediately.

He really believes the superstitions in the book, I realized.

I wondered if Sticks believed them, too.

“Where’s Sticks?” I asked, kicking a big clump of dirt across the path.

“Doing chores,” Stanley replied. “Sticks is a good worker. A real good worker. But he’ll be along soon, I bet. Sticks never likes to miss out on a fishing trip.” The sun began to feel really strong on my face and on my shoulders. I wondered if I should run back and get some sunblock.

The dark-suited scarecrows appeared to stare at me as we walked past the tall rows of cornstalks. I could swear their pale, painted faces turned to follow me as I went by.

And did one of them lift its arm to wave a straw hand at me?

I scolded myself for such stupid thoughts, and turned my eyes away.

Stop thinking about scarecrows, Jodie! I told myself.

Forget your bad dream. Forget about the dumb scarecrows.

It’s a beautiful day, and you have nothing to worry about. Try to relax and have a good time.

The path led into tall pine woods behind the cornfields. It got shady and much cooler as soon as we stepped into the woods.

“Can’t we take a taxi the rest of the way?” Mark whined. A typical Mark joke. He really would take a taxi if there was one!

Stanley shook his head. “City kids,” he muttered, grinning.

The path ended, and we continued through the trees. It smelled so piney and fresh in the woods. I saw a tiny, brown-and-white chipmunk dart into a hollow log.

In the near distance I could hear the musical trickle of the creek.

Suddenly, Stanley stopped. He bent and picked up a pinecone.

The three fishing poles fell to the ground. He didn’t seem to notice. He held the pinecone close to his face, studying it.

“A pinecone on the shady side means a long winter,” he said, turning the dry cone in his hand.

Mark and I bent to pick up the poles. “Is that what the book says?” Mark asked.

Stanley nodded. He set the pinecone down carefully where he found it.

“The cone is still sticky. That’s a good sign,” he said seriously.

Mark let out a giggle. I knew he was trying not to laugh at Stanley. But the giggle escaped somehow.

Stanley’s big brown eyes filled with hurt. “It’s all true, Mark,” he said quietly. “It’s all true.” “I—I’d like to read that book,” Mark said, glancing at me.

“It’s a very hard book,” Stanley replied. “I have trouble with some of the words.” “I can hear the creek,” I broke in, changing the subject. “Let’s go. I want to catch some fish before lunchtime.” The clear water felt cold against my legs. The smooth rocks of the creek bed were slippery under my bare feet.

All three of us had waded into the shallow creek. Mark had wanted to be down on the grassy shore to fish. But I convinced him it was much more fun—and much easier to catch something—if you stand in the water.

“Yeah, I’ll catch something,” he grumbled as he rolled up the cuffs of his jeans. “I’ll catch pneumonia!” Stanley let out a loud laugh. It sounded like, “Har! Har! Har!”

He set the big picnic basket down carefully on the dry grass. Then he rolled up the legs of his denim overalls. Carrying a pole high in one hand, he stepped into the water.

“Ooooh! It’s cold!” he cried, waving his arms above his head, nearly losing his balance on the slippery rocks.

“Stanley—didn’t you forget something?” I called to him.

He turned, confused. His big ears became bright red. “What did I forget, Jodie?” I pointed to his fishing pole. “How about some bait?” I called.

He glanced at the empty hook on the end of his line. Then he made his way back to shore to get a worm to bait his hook.

A few minutes later, all three of us were in the water. Mark complained at first about how cold it was and about how the rocks on the bottom hurt his delicate little feet.

But after a while, he got into it, too.

The creek at this point was only about two feet deep. The water was very clear and trickled rapidly, making little swirls and dips over the rocky bottom.

I lowered my line into the water and watched the red plastic float bob on the surface. If it started to sink, I’d know I had a bite.

The sun felt warm on my face. The cool water flowed past pleasantly.

I wish it were deep enough to swim here, I thought.

“Hey—I’ve got something!” Mark cried excitedly.

Stanley and I turned and watched him tug up his line.

Mark pulled with all his might. “It—it’s a big one, I think,” he said.

Finally, he gave one last really hard tug—and pulled up a thick clump of green weeds.

“Good one, Mark,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It’s a big one, all right.” “You’re a big one,” Mark shot back. “A big jerk.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” I muttered.

I brushed away a buzzing horsefly and tried to concentrate on my line. But my mind started to wander. It always does when I’m fishing.

I found myself thinking about the tall scarecrows in the field. They stood so darkly, so menacingly, so alert. Their painted faces all had the same hard stare.

I was still picturing them when I felt the hand slip around my ankle.

The straw scarecrow hand.

It reached up from the water, circled my ankle, and started to tighten its cold, wet grip around my leg.