مترسک شبگرد فصل 24

The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight - Chapter 24

“Where’ve you been?” Mark called.

Stanley’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth in a high shriek of terror.

“Dad, please—!” Sticks pleaded.

Too late.

Stanley took off, heading into the cornfields, the big book raised high in front of him. “The scarecrows walk! They walk!” he cried.

Mark tucked at the burlap bag face. “Did we blow it?” he called. “Is the joke over? What’s happening?” There was no time to answer him.

Sticks turned to me, his features tight with fear. “We’ve got to stop Dad!” he cried. He started running to the swaying cornstalks.

Stanley had already disappeared between the tall rows of corn.

My allergies were really bad. I kept rubbing my eyes, trying to clear them. But as I followed Sticks, everything was a shimmering blur of grays and blacks.

“Ow!” I cried out as I stumbled in a soft hole and fell.

Mark, right behind me, nearly toppled over me.

He reached down and helped pull me up. I had landed hard on both knees, and they were throbbing with pain.

“Which way did they go?” I asked breathlessly, searching the dark, swaying rows of creaking cornstalks.

“I—I’m not sure!” Mark stammered. “What’s going on, Jodie? Tell me!” “Not now!” I told him. “We have to stop Stanley. We have to—”

Stanley’s voice, high and excited, rose up from somewhere nearby. Mark and I both froze as we listened to the strange words he was chanting.

“Is he reading something from that weird book?” Mark demanded.

Without answering, I headed in the direction of Stanley’s voice. It was easy to follow him. He was chanting the strange words at the top of his lungs.

Where was Sticks? I wondered.

Why hadn’t Sticks been able to stop his father?

I pushed frantically through the tall stalks. I was moving blindly, my eyes watered over, brushing the stalks out of the way with both hands.

In a small clearing, I found Stanley and Sticks. They were standing in front of two scarecrows on poles.

Stanley held the book up close to his face as he chanted, moving his finger over the words.

Sticks stood frozen, a blank expression on his face, a face of cold terror.

Had the words of the chant somehow frozen him there like that?

The scarecrows stood stiffly on their poles, their painted eyes staring lifelessly out from under their floppy black hats.

Mark and I stepped into the clearing just as Stanley finished his chant. He slammed the big book shut and tucked it under one arm.

“They’re going to walk now!” Stanley cried excitedly. “They’re going to come alive again!” Sticks suddenly seemed to come back to life. He blinked several times and shook his head hard, as if trying to clear it.

We all stared at the two scarecrows.

They stared back at us, lifeless, unmoving.

The clouds floated away from the moon. The shadow over the cornfields rolled away.

I stared into the eerie, pale light.

A heavy silence descended over us. The only sounds I could hear were Stanley’s shallow breathing, tense gasps as he waited for his chant to work, for his scarecrows to come to life.

I don’t know how long we stood there, none of us moving a muscle, watching the scarecrows. Watching. Watching.

“It didn’t work,” Stanley moaned finally. His voice came out sad and low. “I did something wrong. The chant—it didn’t work.” A smile grew on Sticks’ face. He gazed at me. “It didn’t work!” Sticks exclaimed happily.

And then I heard the scratch scratch scratch of dry straw.

I saw the scarecrows’ shoulders start to twitch. I saw their eyes light up and their heads lean forward.

Scratch scratch scratch.

The dry straw crinkled loudly as they both squirmed off their poles and lowered themselves silently to the ground.