Beware Said the Man of Straw

By Jim Doran

“If we don’t pull over right now, I’m going to release the floodgates all over your car,” Gavin growled. He knocked the panel of the car door with the edge of his fist. “And I mean right now!”

I pulled over to the shoulder, next to a field filled with row upon row of wheat. Before I had a chance to stop, Gavin swung open the car door and jumped out. Leaping over the ditch that marked the boundary of a farmer’s property, he raced into the golden wheat stalks as tall as his head, his long black hair stringing behind him, and disappeared from sight.

Felicity, seated next to me, rubbed her eyes. “He’s going to pee on the wheat. Fantastic.”

AnnaMarie giggled from the back seat. “When you gotta go…”

Felicity stared into the field. “He could’ve gone behind the car.”

“Peace, Fel,” I said, using my nasally Sir Buckingham the Gnome voice. “Animals unload in fields all the time.”

AnnaMarie made a gagging sound. “Thanks for the image, Marty.”

We were ninety minutes away from GenCon, and Felicity and Gavin hadn’t had a single argument for our entire five hours in the car. I wasn’t about to let a pitstop turn into our usual gaming night bicker-thon. Felicity didn’t want to be late to the gaming convention, and I thought I knew why. She wanted to connect with another group early on and leave us.

Felicity leaned her forehead against the glass, then pulled it back. “What is that?”

AnnaMarie scooted to the passenger side of the car. “It’s a scarecrow, Fel.”

Felicity squinted. “Something’s around its neck.”

She rolled down the window and produced her phone. Holding it outside, she trained it on the straw man and pinched the viewing screen to enlarge the picture. “It’s a sign.”

AnnaMarie giggled. “A scarecrow for intelligent crows.”

In my Vlad the Rogue voice, I said, “Hopefully, it doesn’t say trespassers will be shot.”

Felicity shook her head. “It says ‘Beware.’”

“Beware? Beware of what?” I asked.

Felicity scratched her ear. “You tell me. Beware of peeing on my field, maybe.”

“Where’s Gavin anyway?” asked AnnaMarie. “Why isn’t he back?”

I glanced around. The field looked pristine, untouched. No trace of Gavin anywhere. Odd. In his haste, I thought he had trampled a stalk or two. No matter, he was taking forever. I honked the horn twice and then spoke dramatically in my dark mage voice. “Perhaps the scarecrow killed him.”

Felicity pointed out the window. “Except the scarecrow hasn’t moved.”

“It’s the scarecrow’s spirit,” I answered. “There’s never been a definitive horror movie on scarecrows. Just a bunch of lousy B movies. We don’t know exactly what powers a scarecrow monster may have.”

“Easy to hit. Must dismember its arms to defeat.” Felicity quoted our favorite game’s rules. “Often has five life points.”

AnnaMarie reached for the door. “Gavin’s so stupid. I’ll go get him. Hopefully, he’s zipped up by now.”

My Sir Ghastly voice said, “Failed his saving throw again. Go rescue him, AnnaMarie.”

AnnaMarie left the car, crossed over the ditch, and walked into the wheat field. The yellow stalks stood tall, similar to dominoes carefully placed in formation. AnnaMarie entered the wheat with her hands cupped around her mouth. “Gavin.” The wheat swallowed her after a few steps in.

Felicity bit her lip. “Something seems off.”

“Other than the cliché horror scene of people going off and not coming back? And a living scarecrow that’s killing our friends while we make jokes?”

“The wheat,” Felicity said. “We’ve passed wheat before, but it wasn’t like the wheat in this field.” She grabbed her phone a second time.

I didn’t care. I only wanted to get to Indianapolis and out of this roasting August heat. “Wheat is wheat, Fel. And possibly the most boring of all topics.”

“Says here wheat leaves are called blades,” said Felicity.

Imitating Maximus Boredom, I replied, “Fascinating.”

Felicity held up her phone. “Look. Wheat grows to about four feet tall.”

“So?”

“So, Gavin is five foot ten. We should be able to see him easily. AnnaMarie’s five five.” She gestured to the field. “The wheat out there is at least six feet tall. It’s not corn, Marty.”

The word “beware” came to mind again, and I regretted my earlier wisecracks. I leaned on my horn, letting it blast long enough to signal my frustration. Nothing.

I cursed and threw the keys to Felicity. “Call the cops if I don’t come back in a couple of minutes.”

“No time for heroics, Marty.”

This time, I used my Super Guy voice. “Not to worry. I will turn tail as soon as possible.”

I exited the car and jumped the channel. I stopped before the abnormally tall wheat and gave Felicity a thumbs-up, then entered between the stalks. “AnnaMarie? Gavin? This is no time to be playing Children of the Corn.”

I advanced far enough into the field to be out of Felicity’s sight. Gavin probably decided to play a joke and brought AnnaMarie in on it, trying to get Felicity’s goat. “Where are—”

I pushed aside a column of wheat, then stopped. Sharp pain. I withdrew my hand, surprised at the tiny line of blood across my palm. Without warning, a stalk of wheat slapped one of its leaves across my mouth from behind, flatwise, gagging me. What kind of crazy wheat was this? Before I could react, something tugged at my feet and I lost balance, falling backward. I tried crying out, but the blade against my mouth tightened and my scream became a grunt.

Who?

No one but the wheat.

Another stalk bent down and positioned the edge of one blade at my throat. With the other, it sliced the air in rapid sawing motions above me, then lowered.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jim Doran is a genre writer who enjoys transporting his readers to unique destinations filled with wonder…or sometimes danger. Whether it’s the fairytale hijinks of his Kingdom Fantasy series or his multi-genre short stories, Jim aims to entertain his audience with every word. When he’s not writing, he’s usually enjoying the seasons in Michigan and counting the days to Halloween.

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