Page 16 of Snatched By the Scarecrow

The scarecrow from my fantasy steps slowly toward me, the light from the bonfire flickering over his straw body, and beautifully monstrous face that’s partially cast in shadow by his wide-brimmed hat. I can’t move, can’t breathe. A small voice in my head tells me to run. To flee for my life. But with every step he takes toward me, my body does the exact opposite of what it should be doing.

My heart races—not from fear, but from excitement—as my breaths return to my lungs in short pants. When he stops near my feet and peers down at me, sparks shoot from the soles of my feet upward, my clit pulsing back to life and arousal coiling like snakes in my low belly.

We stare at each other, the pop and crackle of the logs and the occasional rustling of corn an eerie soundtrack. He looks exactly how he did in my fantasy, like he could very well be a tall and muscular man, yet it’s so obvious he’s not. He sways slightly, as if he can feel the breeze make its way through his body, and the tilt of his threaded mouth should make me scream. Yet, I don’t.

“Silas.” His name tumbles off my tongue, but he doesn’t move. “Are you going to kill me now?”

His silence drags on, the wind picking up around us, and blowing through the strands of my dark hair a mess with bits of dirt and leaves. I slowly push myself up from the ground, watching him carefully as I do. He still doesn’t move, yet his hollow eyes remain on me, never wavering.

I brush the dirt away from my dress, noticing the belt from my costume is missing, and so are my shoes. I no longer look like a milkmaid, but the sacrifice from my dream last night. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. But how was I supposed to guess the townspeople would dress me up, drug me, and offer me to their harvest god?

A harvest god who has now taken more than one sacrifice. Ten, to be exact. That wasn’t in any of the articles I read, and as my brain puts all the pieces together, I know tonight is not his usual MO. It’s always one sacrifice. And there’s no doubt in my mind that the man who went missing when I was a kid was given to Silas—and before I succumbed to the drugging, I heard one of them talk about the man who lived in the farmhouse before me and blood they had to clean up.

Acid rises in my throat. Did they always put the sacrifice in the Mortimers farmhouse? Fuck. I was literally a lamb being primed and led to slaughter, and I didn’t even know it. But I’m still alive. And well…everyone else is dead.

Silas steps closer to me and reaches out his hand. I flinch, thinking he must have a knife or something, that this is the end of my days. Maybe he’s finally had enough of this town's bullshit, and he won’t rest until every last person is dead.

Before my life can flash before my eyes, his hand cups my cheek. The heat mixed with the sensation of his harsh glove is familiar, and my body relaxes. The warmth that coiled in my belly spreads upward, until I swear a moan almost slips from me.

“I would never kill you, Harper.”

I blink at him. “You know my name.”

His thumb draws over my lips. “And you know mine.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what I am?”

I nod as he traces my lips again. He’s so close to me that I can feel the heat coming from his body. I wonder if he pressed his hips to mine, would I feel the bulge from last night in my dream? I push the inappropriate thought away.

“You killed them all,” I say.

He cocks his head as the logs continue to snap and pop.

“They harmed you.”

“But I was the sacrifice.”

A tender hum of knowing vibrates from his throat. “You’re mine, Harper. That is a fact.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you not remember your words to me last night?”

Confusion clouds my mind before I realize what he’s speaking of. “That was a dream—a fantasy.”

“Was it?” His hand slips to the side of my neck while his other falls to my hip, slowly gliding over my dress toward my sex.

“It had to have been.”

He pauses right above my pussy, one of his fingers trailing back and forth over the fabric on top of my mound.

“This sweet cunt of yours isn’t mine for the taking?”

Saliva pools in my mouth, and my body screams for me to say yes. “This isn’t real,” I say instead. “This is all a wild Halloween nightmare.”

His finger trails dangerously south, but he doesn’t put the pressure anywhere near where I want it. He lowers his mouth until I can feel his very real breath ghost over my lips, and I smell the same smokey, spicy scent of him that I did in my dream. My nipples draw into tight buds, and more arousal floods my core.