مترسک شبگرد فصل 15

The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight - Chapter 15

I woke up coughing and choking.

Surrounded by darkness. Heavy darkness.

It took me a few seconds to realize that I’d been sleeping with the pillow over my face.

Tossing it to the foot of the bed, I pulled myself up, breathing hard. My face was hot. My nightshirt stuck wetly to my back.

I glanced at the window, suddenly afraid that I’d see a dark figure climbing in.

The curtains fluttered gently. The early morning sky was still gray. I heard the shrill cry of a rooster.

A dream. It had all been a frightening nightmare.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I lowered my feet to the floor.

I stared at the gray morning light through the window. Just a dream, I assured myself. Calm down, Jodie. It was just a dream.

I could hear someone moving around downstairs. Staggering over to the dresser, I pulled out some fresh clothes—a pair of faded denim cutoffs, a sleeveless blue T-shirt.

My eyes were watery. Everything was a blur. My allergies were really bad this morning.

Rubbing my eyes, I made my way to the window and peered out. A red ball of a sun was just peeking over the broad apple tree. A heavy morning dew made the grass of the back yard sparkle like emeralds.

The sea of cornstalks rose darkly behind the grass. The scarecrows stood stiffly over them, arms outstretched as if welcoming the morning.

The rooster crowed again.

What a stupid nightmare, I thought. I shook myself as if trying to shake it from my memory. Then I ran a brush through my hair and hurried down to breakfast.

Mark was just entering the kitchen as I came in. We found Grandma Miriam by herself at the table. A mug of tea steamed in front of her as she gazed out the window at the morning sunlight.

She turned and smiled at us as we entered. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

I was tempted to tell her about my scary nightmare. But, instead, I asked, “Where’s Grandpa Kurt?” I stared at his empty chair. The newspaper lay unopened on the table.

“They all went off early,” Grandma Miriam replied.

She stood up, walked to the cabinets, and brought a big box of cornflakes to the table. She motioned for us to take our places. “Pretty day,” she said cheerfully.

“No pancakes?” Mark blurted out.

Grandma Miriam stopped halfway across the room. “I’ve completely forgotten how to make them,” she said without turning around.

She set two bowls down and made her way to the refrigerator to get the milk. “You kids want orange juice this morning? It’s fresh squeezed.” Grandma Miriam set the milk carton down beside my bowl. She smiled at me. Her eyes remained dull behind her square-rimmed glasses. “I hope you two are enjoying your visit,” she said quietly.

“We would be if it weren’t for Sticks,” I blurted out.

Her expression turned to surprise. “Sticks?”

“He’s trying to scare us again,” I said.

Grandma Miriam tsk-tsked. “You know Sticks,” she replied softly.

She pushed at her red hair with both hands. “What are you two planning for today?” she asked brightly. “It’s a beautiful morning to go riding. Before they left this morning, Grandpa Kurt had Stanley saddle up Betsy and Maggie, in case you wanted to ride.” “Sounds like fun,” I told her. “What do you say, Mark? Before it gets really hot out?” “I guess,” Mark replied.

“You two always enjoyed riding along the creek,” Grandma Miriam said, putting the cornflakes box away.

I stared across the room at her, stared at her red, curly hair, her pudgy arms, her flowered housedress.

“Are you okay, Grandma Miriam?” I asked. The words just tumbled out of my mouth. “Is everything okay here?” She didn’t reply. Instead, she lowered her eyes, avoiding my gaze. “Go have your ride,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry about me.” Grandpa Kurt always called Betsy and Maggie the “old gray mares”. I guess because they were both old and they were both gray. And they were as grumpy as can be when Mark and I climbed onto their saddles and started to urge them from the barn.

They were the perfect horses for us “city kids”. The only time we ever got to ride horses was during our summers at the farm. So we were not exactly the most skillful riders in the world.

Bumping along on these two old nags was just our speed. And even as slow as we were moving, I dug my knees into Betsy’s sides and held onto the saddle horn for dear life.

We followed the dirt path past the cornfields toward the woods. The sun was still climbing a hazy, yellow sky. But the air was already hot and sticky.

Flies buzzed around me as I bounced on top of Betsy. I removed one hand from the saddle horn to brush a big one off Betsy’s back.

Several scarecrows stared back at us as Mark and I rode past. Their black eyes glared at us from under their floppy hats.

Mark and I didn’t say a word. We were keeping to our promise of not talking about scarecrows.

I turned my eyes to the woods and tossed the reins, urging Betsy to move a little faster. She ignored me, of course, and kept clopping along over the path at her slow, steady pace.

“I wonder if these horses can still get up to a trot,” Mark called. He was a few paces behind me on the narrow dirt path.

“Let’s give it a try!” I called back, grabbing the reins tighter.

I dug my sneaker heels into Betsy’s side. “Go, girl—go!” I cried, slapping her gently with the reins.

“Whoooa!” I let out a startled cry as the old horse obediently began to trot. I really didn’t think she would cooperate!

“All right! Cool!” I heard Mark shout behind me.

Their hooves clopped loudly on the path as the two horses began to pick up speed. I was bouncing hard over the saddle, holding on tightly, off-balance, beginning to wonder if this was such a hot idea.

I didn’t have a chance to cry out when the dark figure hurtled across the path.

It all happened so fast.

Betsy was trotting rapidly. I was bouncing on the saddle, bouncing so hard, my feet slipped out of the stirrups.

The dark figure leaped out right in front of us.

Betsy let out a shrill, startled whinny—and reared back.

As I started to fall, I saw immediately what had jumped onto the path.

It was a grinning scarecrow.