Page 8 of Snatched By the Scarecrow

“I’ll see what I can throw together.”

“You know,” she looks me up and down. “I have something that will look perfect on you. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can find something.”

Excitement lights in her eyes and she bounces on her feet a bit. “Oh, it’s totally fine. I want to! And like I said, it will look killer on you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“It will be a surprise!” Before I can respond she waves at me and walks away in the opposite direction of the entrance, calling over her shoulder, “It was nice to finally meet you, Harper.”

Then she’s gone in the crowd.

Chapter 3

The farmhouse is warm now that the boiler is working. The couch in the living room is comfortable, and I’ve managed to start a small fire—thank you YouTube for teaching me how to do that.

I’d planned on heading to bed early after the long day. I was tired when I left the festival, but as soon as I got home and got ready for bed, I caught a second wind.

That’s how I ended up naked with a blanket under me, my ringlight and phone set up on the antique coffee table, recording a video for a customer. One of my whales, who puts in custom requests for videos nearly every week, sent me a toy to use on myself.

I pluck the silver bar through my nipple, attempting to make myself wet. Normally I don’t have an issue, but tonight my mind is elsewhere.

My interactions with Ava, and more specifically Mike and Olive, keep replaying in my mind. They were…odd. Ava less so, but there was something about her that seemed forced.

I hadn’t thought too much about it while we’d talked, more focused on the fact I’d met someone who might be a new friend, but now that I’m alone, I can’t stop thinking about her looking at my socials. I mean, I can understand it, I guess, but it makes me uncomfortable.

I groan. I already said yes to the Halloween gathering, and I don’t want to back out. Hopefully there’s some people there that I can meet naturally and haven’t internet stalked me. Or like Mike, insulted me.

With a huff, I grab the toy off the table. I have work to do. It’s nothing too big, a pink rabbit dildo with no ridges or anything of that nature. I turn it on the lowest setting and rub it over my clit. The sensation is nice, but after a minute my body still refuses to do anything.

Annoyed, I flop on my back, looking out of the picture window toward the cornfields. It’s pitch dark outside, and I haven’t bothered to close the curtains. I have no neighbors around me, and nobody should be showing up this time of night.

I increase the setting on the vibrator, using the tip to tease my clit while I massage one of my breasts with my other hand, my piercing cool against my palm. The vision of the scarecrow—Silas—amongst the corn pops behind my eyelids, and it’s as if I can see him in the distance, moonlight shining upon his straw and burlap features.

Arousal coils between my legs and I arch up for more pressure, hitting record on my phone. I shut my eyes and get lost to the vibrations and a new scene materializing in my mind's eye.

I’m outside now, the fall air crisp against my sensitive skin. I’m wearing a thin white dress, all my tattoos on display, and nothing underneath. It’s not practical for the season, but it’s pretty on me. A breeze rustles the soft fabric and tickles my outer thighs as I walk.

Under my bare feet, dried leaves and dead grass crunch, the cool earth and small bits of debris biting into my soles. In front of me there’s an entrance to a corn maze, the tall stalks swaying with the wind among the backdrop of a burning sky. The sun setting everything ablaze in colors of blood red and burnt orange.

A heavy feeling weighs on me, as if someone is watching every move I make, but nobody is around. I stop before I can enter the maze, reading a sign on a pole that reads: “Enter at your own risk!”

This may dissuade some people, but not me. Adrenaline zips through my veins, and I step into the maze. It’s darker inside with the height of the corn blocking the already waning light, and the sensation of being watched only grows.

My breath quickens with each step I take. I’m unsure exactly where I’m going, but my feet seem to know which turns to make. With every passing second my adrenaline weaves with fear, and an excited warmth pools in my gut. With a final turn I get to the center of the maze where a wooden cross resides. I look up and expect to see the broad hat and cloth face of my scarecrow, the protector of the crops and land, but he’s no longer there.

The breeze picks up to a gust, and the snap of a twig and rustling of fabric has me turning around. My body goes taut, my heart beating loudly in my ears.

It’s Silas.

His hollow eye sockets peer back at me, the remaining beams of sun only serving to make him seem more ominous. He takes a step closer, then another, until his massive form looms over me, casting a dark shadow on my face and filling my nose with the smell of smokey fall nights and damp earth.

At first, I don’t move. Too struck with what I’m seeing and experiencing to force myself to do anything but stare. He stares right back with those empty sockets, his black stitched mouth in a slightly curved smile. Another gust of wind rustles between us, moving the straw that sticks from the base of his neck and peeks out from small holes in the loose-fitting brown clothing he wears, a frayed rope tied around his waist.