Page 11 of Snatched By the Scarecrow

Love that you’re making friends already! And why didn’t you sleep? Did the ghosts keep you up all night?

ME:

No ghosts.

Part of me wishes it was ghosts keeping me on edge. That would be a better explanation than whatever is going on with me.

CODI:

I’m still not convinced. I can’t stop thinking of that creepy scarecrow. Some guy came dressed up as one with his kid. I got the shivers! Maybe that thing is haunted instead of the house!

I read her text again and look toward the bedroom window. All day I’ve had to fight going to the window and staring at him again. At one point I found myself wanting to walk out into the cornfield and talk to Silas. Asking him if what happened last night was real—because it sure as hell felt real.

That would be silly of me. But, he could be haunted. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. Ava did say he belonged to the founder of the town, which means he’s hundreds of years old. It still doesn’t necessarily explain the vivid dream of mine, but maybe he’s some powerful spirit?

ME:

Maybe you’re right.

CODI:

Please don’t say that!

Before I can respond, another message comes through.

CODI:

Okay, gotta go, more kids are here. I’ll call you to do a full catch up tomorrow. Maybe you’ll meet someone hot at this party!

I heart her text and set my phone down, grabbing my laptop that has a scary movie paused on it. It was another attempt to distract myself from the situation between my legs.

I minimize the movie and pull up Google. Before I moved, I researched quite a bit about Silas Valley, but I never got too deep into its history. I looked more at its political leanings, and what kind of restaurants and vibes it had. Not into the town founders, and their scarecrow, Silas.

I type in “Silas Valley Scarecrow” and I’m met with several articles written by the town newspaper over the years. I open the first one and I’m met with a black and white photo of Silas. The picture doesn’t do him justice; the flat image taking away the details of his features. However, it doesn’t make him appear any less terrifying. Though I do love that about him.

I tear my eyes away from the image and read the article. It has the same exact information Ava gave me, nothing new. Every article from the town I read after that is more of the same. I was hoping they’d at least mention how they keep him looking so good. Ava said they take care of him, but I’m curious about what that means. Does the town have someone who knows how to restore scarecrows?

The information makes me both laugh and feel uneasy. The idea of someone taking him from his place and potentially pulling him apart makes me oddly ill. Obviously, whoever has been keeping him in pristine condition has done a great job. I think of the last person that lived in this farmhouse and wonder if they helped. The scarecrow is part of this property after all; do I take care of him now?

With no idea, I click back to a new search. Typing in “Silas Scarecrow Harvest” to see if anything else comes up outside of the town articles. My eyes widen when several images of beings that look like Silas pop up, just different variations. Some are bigger, taller, but all of them have the same face, hollow eyes, and threaded mouths.

The first article holds my interest right away, the title reading: “Silas: The Forgotten God of Harvest.”

I devour the article from top to bottom, learning of this god I’ve never heard of. He was popular in the fifteen and sixteen hundreds, the latter lining up with the founding of this town. The worship of Silas and how he came to be is not exactly clear; some say he was the product of witchcraft, while some records found say he rose from the earth, from the dire prayers and wishes of townspeople who were starving due to famine.

“But why were you forgotten, Silas?” I ask.

I quickly read through the article, learning that Silas is said to only come to life on the last day of October, starting to stir and make his presence known in the few days leading up to it. I read until I find a word that stops me in my tracks: sacrifice.

My mouth goes dry, and I whisper the next part to myself.

“While the worship of Silas ramped up with popularity in small townships not often traveled by outsiders, it quickly lost steam due to the practice of sacrificing one human every All Hallows’ Eve. The blood of the sacrifice spilled by Silas was said to ensure a fruitful fall harvest to last the people during winter, and bountiful crops to grow and thrive throughout the remainder of the year.

Because of this barbaric practice, Silas has since become the long-forgotten harvest god.”

My stomach churns, and in my mind, I hear Silas’s words to me: “Such a willing sacrifice, aren’t you?”

Full body shivers wrack through me, stomach churning again. I read over the article once more before it occurs to me. The missing man that Codi reminded me of. The one that nobody could find when we came here as kids.