A Scarecrow

I can hear the whistling again.

It’s the final weeknight, and again he has come. Whistling that little ditty, repeating it again and again, enough times to drive the sanest of men crazy. I can see through the window. The light through the cornfield, the rustling of plants, the maddening whistling, it’s all culminating to a feeling of hopeless dread, like being faced with a gun while you’re up against a wall. I know he wants to find me, but I don’t know what he wants. I don’t want to know what he wants. All I want is for this to be over with.

The lamplight is becoming brighter, the whistling is becoming louder, and the dread in my stomach is getting worse and worse every second, with only my need to keep quiet preventing me from either screaming in fear, or throwing up from the sickening tension. It feels like time is torturing me, making things seem slower than they are to keep my anxiety levels sky high, but it feels all to soon when he finally shows his face through the green fog like plants.

All I can see is his smile, a stitched, malicious smile, like it was sewn shut to keep his hatred from spewing forth. The dim lamp swayed back and force as he came through the corn effortlessly, almost gliding through like a ghost. It’s nauseating, seeing his dimly lit figure wander towards my little house, but it’s even worse trying to figure out what he even wants from me. Does he want me dead? Does he want me to go mad? I can’t tell. But what’s for certain is that whatever he wants is not pleasant. My gut tells me to make a run for it, but I know for a fact that he’s faster. The times I’ve tried to escape have usually been the worst, or at least the most terrifying. I felt his cold, clammy hand on my shoulder, that’s how close it got.

He’s at the door, I can hear it slowly creeping open. God knows how he can open a locked door, but at this point I’m too frightened to care. I hide in my cupboard, sweat dripping out of me like I’m a water balloon that got punctured, the whistling right underneath me, and the constant creaking of floorboards giving me shivers every time I hear it. he’s coming up the stairs, and a dim light is slowly creeping through the crack in the cupboard, brighter and brighter, the whistling getting louder and louder, every synapse in my body is getting so tense it hurts. The light stops getting brighter, and the whistling like its almost right next to my ear.

And then I let out a breath.

The whistling stops. No. Oh god no, he knows where I am. He’ll find me, and it’ll be all over. I can’t hear his breathing, just his footsteps. A few seconds go by, no noise, no whistling, just infinitely tense silence.

And then the whistling begins again. He walks away, leaving me in my scared stupor. The door closes, the light fades, and I am left scared and alone, dreading the next week, and dreading that next time I won’t be so lucky.