Scarecrows

A reporter gets stranded in the middle of nowhere when he meets a friendly truck driver who gives him a lift to a gas station he happens to own. A friendly truck driver who loves to make scarecrows...

Scarecrows

A Short Horror Story By Ian Titian

“Oh fie!” Yelled Mr.  Longhorn to himself after his car, after a long and unfortuitous race against time to get to the nearest gas station, finally stopped dead on its tracks.

Mr. Longhorn had already been having a rough day. He was a reporter, but the flat nature of his hometown made it so hard for a man of such profession to prosper, especially with other reporters around.

Whenever something even just mildly interesting would show up, all the reporters would race towards the scene and do a report. Thus, with such a situation in an already boring town, stories just don’t sell.

And boy did Mr. Longhorn hate his ordinary, boring, everyday life indeed.

That afternoon, after being scolded by his superior for rarely ever getting a good story, Mr. Longhorn decided to drive away from the town to cool off his stressed mind, and perhaps to find a story worth telling if luck would have it.

Well, even if luck would come to him eventually, it didn’t come right away and it sure as hell didn’t come easy.

“Come on, come on! Argh!” Yelled Mr. Longhorn in frustration while still holding on to the hope that his car won’t just stop right there in the middle of nowhere.

The car wouldn’t start, and Mr. Longhorn was then forced to go out of his car and search for the nearest gas station by foot.

“Blast my horrible luck!” He muttered as he tried to unlock his seat belt to get out of the car. He tried, and tried, but as luck would have it, his seatbelt was stuck.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me! You’ve got to be kidding me, right!? Don’t ...” Once again Mr. Longhorn cried in frustration as he shook the seat belt. It was lodged in there, completely stuck.

“Holy ... agh!” Yelled Mr. Longhorn in pain as his thumb suddenly slipped while trying to unlock his seatbelt and hit the pointy edge just below his seat.

“This is just not happening ...” He sighed as he observed his bleeding thumb.

“This is just not happening ...” He repeated once more as he lightly banged his head on the head restraint of his seat.

“Just relax Rudwick ... just relax ...” He told himself as he closed his eyes, but it was getting hotter and hotter in the car, and soon, unable to take anymore, Mr. Longhorn went back to shaking and forcing his seat belt to unlock violently.

“Yes!” He yelled in triumph as it finally got unlocked. He immediately unlocked the car door, kicked it open, and scrambled outside.

Hoping to find relief, he took a long and deep breath, but he choked and coughed instead.

The weather was scorching hot and dusty, and as far as his eyes could see, there was nothing but the straight dirty road in front of him, surrounded left and right by large cornfields stretching all the way towards the horizon.

“Ugh ...” Muttered Mr. Longhorn as he reached back inside the car to grab his hat and camera, before beginning his long march.

Walked and walked he did, with his tongue sticking out, fighting the flow of the dusty gusts of wind and the scorching hot sun hanging high above him.

“Wish I had brought water ...” He thought as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

Suddenly, much to his relief, he heard the sound of an approaching truck from behind him.

He quickly turned around and stretched his left arm with his thumb pointed upwards while waving with his right.

The large truck slowed down and finally stopped as it got closer and closer to Mr. Longhorn.

“Where are you going, stranger?” Asked the truck driver as he jumped off his large truck. He was a relatively tall man, had a scruffy beard, and was wearing a red plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up, dirty jeans, and a dull grey cap. The most typical looking truck driver he had ever seen

“I’m actually just looking for the nearest gas station. Could you please give me a lift? You see, my car broke down and ...” Before Mr. Longhorn even finished, the truck driver interrupted him and replied.

“Gas station? Weeelll, you’re ‘n luck pal. I just happen to own one.” He said with a chuckle.

“Well ... that’s great actually! Could you give me a lift?” Asked Mr. Longhorn.

“Well I won’t be tellin’ you about it, if I wasn’t gonna give ye a lift, would I?” Replied the man with another chuckle before getting back into his truck.

Mr. Longhorn happily followed him and got into the truck as well, relieved that finally something good had happened to him.

“What’s yer name, young fella?” Asked the truck driver as they began riding again.

“Uh ... Rudwick Longhorn, sir.” Answered Mr. Longhorn.

“Mr. Happy Scarecrow. Pleased to meet you.” Said the truck driver before Mr. Longhorn could ask for his name.

Mr. Longhorn was caught off guard. “Umm, excuse me ... Happy Scarecrow?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yep ... that’s my hobby...making scarecrows. Making scarecrows all day long.” Hummed the truck driver.

Mr. Longhorn didn’t know how to respond, so he just chuckled and hoped that the truck driver was just joking, but looking out the window, he saw that as the drive continued on, more and more scarecrows were also popping into view, jutting out of the vast cornfields wearing shabby clothing with old, half-torn hats.

After about fifteen minutes, they arrived at a gas station and across the street, catching Mr. Longhorn’s attention was a large farmhouse at the end of a long path, almost at the center of the corn field.

“Well, here we are boy.” Said the truck driver as stopped the car in front of the gas station.

 

As Mr. Longhorn got out of the truck as well, he noticed that the weather had drastically changed since the time the truck driver picked him up. The skies have turned really dark, and gusts of wind were blowing real hard.

“Looks like a storm’s comin’ pal.” Said the truck driver as he took off his cap and scratched his head.

Within seconds after he said that very statement, drops of rain began trickling down from the sky.

“You better take shelter in my house, lad, unless ye’ want to be soaked in the storm that’s a-comin’.” Offered the truck driver.

“S-sure, thanks ...” Replied Mr. Longhorn.

“Let’s go, this rain’s - a " gonna get heavy soon.” Said the truck driver as he led Mr. Longhorn across the street towards the old-looking farmhouse.

“Wait, that’s your house?” Asked Mr. Longhorn as they ran towards it.

“Yep. Everythin’ here’s " a " my property. The gas station, the truck, the corn fields, the barn, the house. Everythin’.” Answered the truck driver.

As they both finally reached their destination, clothes already drenched from the rain the gradually got heavier and heavier as they ran, the truck driver said slowly as he unlocked the front door, “But most importantly, the scarecrows. All the scarecrows are mine.”

Mr. Longhorn forced a smile, but it didn’t last very long.

“Why lord, why ...” He thought as the man led him inside the farm house, which was pitch black inside.

“I heard that you know.” Whispered the truck driver slowly as he led Mr. Longhorn down the long, dark corridor.

“W-what?” Asked Mr. Longhorn. He could feel his nape hair stand as he did.

 “I can hear your thoughts. Your every single thought. It’s a special ability of mine.” Answered the truck driver.

Mr. Longhorn didn’t even respond to that statement. He wanted to force another chuckle out, but he couldn’t.

Though sights he could barely see, sharp smells of many foul objects he could not identify seeped through his nostrils.

The long corridor finally ended and Mr. Longhorn was led into a larger room, a dining room of sorts, he could identify because of the two windows in the room.

Mr. Longhorn was squinting hard, trying to identify as many objects as he could in the dining room while the truck driver opened a drawer. He raised his camera to take a picture, but the truck driver stopped him immediately.

“Don’t do that.” He ordered simply. “I don’t like cameras.”

Startled, Mr. Longhorn looked over to his left and saw that the truck driver was still busy looking for something in the drawer a few feet from the frightened reporter himself.

“How did he know I was going to take a picture?” He thought, and to his surprise, the truck driver replied.

“I told you, I can hear your every single thought.” He answered simply before finally pulling something out of the drawer.

Mr. Longhorn was speechless. He could not believe what he was hearing.

The dim lighting of the room coming only from the windows were not enough for Mr. Longhorn to immediately be able to identify what the truck driver had pulled out of the drawer.

 

The truck driver then reached into his pocket and pulled out something small.

“Must be a match ...” Thought Mr. Longhorn, and as the truck driver moved closer towards one of the windows, his guess was confirmed.

He used the match to light a candle in a candle holder, which turned out to be the object he pulled out of the drawer earlier.

“I’ll show you your room for the night.” Said the truck driver grimly as he walked right past Mr. Longhorn and back into the dark corridor from whence they came.

“R-room? But I’m not staying for the night ... J-just until the rain clears up.” Stammered Mr. Longhorn, still standing in the dining room.

“But it won’t clear up until tomorrow. Mark my words, boy. Now, ye’ comin’?” Replied the truck driver.

Mr. Longhorn was really scared and confused, but he had no other choice than to follow the truck driver.

They once again walked the long, dark corridor. In the dim candle light, Mr. Longhorn was surprised he didn’t see anything suspicious that could be causing the rancid stench that once again seeped through his nostrils.

The long, dark corridor was mostly empty, and the only thing that caught Mr. Longhorn’s attention was a door that looked like an entrance to a cupboard just under the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were ye, lad. Don’t. That’s my personal work space.” Warned the truck driver the second the thought crossed Mr. Longhorn’s mind.

They turned at the end of the corridor and walked up the stairs facing the entrance door.

The second floor had another corridor, though facing sideways. There were three doors in front of them as soon as they arrived, and the truck driver led Mr. Longhorn to the leftmost one.

“This is the room where you’ll be staying tonight, and I don’t want you wandering into ANY of the other ones. Is that clear, lad?” Asked the truck driver as he opened the door.

Mr. Longhorn opened his mouth, but since no sound came out, he just nodded instead.

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be downstairs in my work space. Do not interrupt me.”  Said the truck driver before going back downstairs, leaving the door to the leftmost room half open for Mr. Longhorn to enter.

Before he did, he looked and saw that there were two more doors on the other side of the corridor, to the right of the staircase, and in the far end of the corridor was another window.

After locking the door, Mr. Longhorn immediately scanned the room which the truck driver had given him for the night.

He had to squint since, like the rest of the house, there was no other light source than the window.

The room was not very wide, and it had only a small desk with a mirror, two chairs, one in front of the desk, and one next to the bed standing in the middle of the room. There was also a small table next to the bed.

At the far end of the room, not very far from the window, was another door.

Curious, Mr. Longhorn walked over and opened it, bracing himself in doing so.

“Just the bathroom. Good.” He thought as he peeked his head through the door that he just opened.

Mr. Longhorn then decided to make his way to the bed and lay there for a while.

Looking outside his window, he  noticed that the rain was still not showing any signs that it would stop anytime soon.

After setting his hat and his camera on the table next to him, Mr. Longhorn rested his head on the pillow and wiped his face.

“There’s something fishy here ... this man ...” He thought, but didn’t finish, as he suddenly remembered the creepy truck driver’s ability to read minds.

“Just sleep Rudwick, then it’ll all be over. Just sleep ...” He instead told himself as he began rubbing his eyes.

Again and again he repeated those words in his mind, hoping for the sake of his live no ugly or scary thoughts would enter his mind and be detected by the truck driver.

Finally, after a few minutes, Mr. Longhorn did fall asleep.

 

Hours later, a cold, wet gust of wind brushed against Mr. Longhorn’s face, waking him up.

As he struggled to open his eyes, he saw that it was already night time, and that the rain still hadn’t stopped. Curiously though, the window leading to his room was open, and that’s how the cold gust of air entered and woke him up.

Half of the room was already wet, since the direction the wind was blowing was the exact opposite of the direction the window was facing outwards, making it very easy for the rainy wind to enter.

Rubbing his aching head, Mr. Longhorn got up and walked towards the window, until he tripped on something along the way.

“Ouch!” He yelled as he hit the hard wet floor with a loud thud.

Now rubbing his head, and hip, Mr. Longhorn turned around to see what he had tripped on, and he nearly screamed when he did.

It was a body of a man ...

That was until closer inspection that revealed it was nothing more than a scarecrow.

“This looks so weird ... how the hell did this get here...” Thought Mr. Longhorn as he observed the blank, expressionless face of the scarecrow, which was nothing more than a pair of buttons on a rag tied around some straw. Or was it?

Even though it looked like it, the whole structure of the scarecrow’s head looked so ... human, and so hard.

Mr. Longhorn decided to touch its face and run his fingers down the neck.

 

“This can’t be ... this is impossible ... I must be ...” He whispered to himself in horror as he ran his fingers through the scarecrow’s neck. It felt ... real human-like for him.

The scarecrow was wearing a light blue patched shirt with dark brown pants, and Mr. Longhorn decided to rip the shirt open, hoping to prove himself wrong ... but he failed. He only proved his own worries right.

Under the scarecrow’s shirt was what really looked like human skin, stitched up all the way in the middle, from the middle of the chest, all the way down to the belly button, and straw was sticking out of the stitchings.

Mr. Longhorn nearly vomited, but he forced himself to stand up and grab his hat and camera.

SNAP. He took a picture of the scarecrow before he ran out his room into the second floor corridor.

“I must investigate this ... it’s my duty. I’m a reporter. This could change my life.” He thought as he stood gasping just outside his room.

“It could change my life ... my miserable life.” He thought and thought again as a sudden rush of excitement hit him.

He was beginning to sweat when he opened the room next to his own. At first, the room was too dark for him to make out anything since the room strangely had no windows, but after snapping his camera, he saw for a brief a moment a really messy room with newspaper clippings everywhere.

Mr. Longhorn didn’t even care that the truck driver would catch him by that point. He couldn’t pass up a story that he felt was so important.

 

He was about to check into his camera to see what the room was really about, but decided to snap some pictures of the other rooms first.

Immediately he scrambled over to the next room and opened the door. The room had a window, so he could sort of make out what was inside.

The room was larger than the one Mr. Longhorn had slept in, and so he stepped inside to have a closer look.

Like Mr. Longhorn’s room, the room also had a large bed in the middle, but there was something laid on it.

Slowly Mr. Longhorn approached the bed and as he loomed over it he realized what was lying there the whole time ... another scarecrow.

There was also a window at the far end of the room, and in front of it was a rocking chair, eeriely rocking back and forth.

At first, Mr. Longhorn couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “It cannot be ...” He thought as he approached the rocking chair.

Yet another scarecrow. Though that particular one on the rocking chair was wearing women’s clothing. A patched up dress complete with a strawhat.

Mr. Longhorn took a few steps closer and once again, he nervously stroked the neck of the scarecrow.

He felt chills roll down his spine as his fingers touched the cold, bony skin of the scarecrow.

Suddenly, the window just in front of him started to shake violently, causing Mr. Longhorn to back away slowly and as he did, a voice called out from behind him.

“I thought I told you not to enter the other rooms. You’re not ready.”

Mr. Longhorn recognized the voice at once. It was the truck driver.

“These are people.” Commented Mr. Longhorn as he turned around after gathering enough courage to do so.

“You’ve killed people and you’re stuffing their bodies with straw to turn them into scarecrows. What sick madness is this?” He asked.

The truck driver didn’t respond. He just stood there in the doorway, carrying a candle.

“I’m going to expose you by the way. I’m a reporter and I will expose your insanity. Don’t think I’ll be another one of your victims!” Shouted Mr. Longhorn as he raised his camera and snapped a picture of the truck driver.

The man didn’t budge, but instead something else reacted.

Mr. Longhorn backed away towards the window when he suddenly heard moaning and groaning noises come from the dark corridor in which the truck driver still stood, still carrying a candle.

Within seconds, two creatures appeared behind him. Two scarecrows, groaning and moaning miserably through their stitched mouths as they entered the room with their hands stretched in front of them.

“T-they’re alive!? H-how!?” Stuttered Mr. Longhorn as he fell flat to the ground. He wanted to snap a picture, but his body was shaking so violently that his camera merely dropped to the ground next to him.

Suddenly, before the two scarecrows could reach him, the scarecrow dressed in woman’s clothing got up from the rocking chair and shrieked in a most unimaginably ear-piercing voice.

Gasping, Mr. Longhorn scrambled over to the very corner of the room. Crying, whimpering.

Within a few seconds, the scarecrow who was lying on the bed got up as well and joined the rest, closing in on poor Mr. Longhorn.

“No! I don’t want to be one of you! Don’t kill me.” Shrieked the terrified reporter.

At that very moment, the four scarecrows suddenly stopped.

“What?” Asked the truck driver suddenly as he walked towards the corner of the room and joined the scarecrows. He shook his head as he loomed over the still-whimpering Mr. Longhorn.

“I’m surprised you haven’t even noticed yet.” He said.

“N-noticed what?” Asked Mr. Longhorn.

“Haven’t you even looked at your own chest yet? And I thought you would’ve noticed by now.” Replied the truck driver.

That’s when something suddenly struck Mr. Longhorn. He had never been so terrified in his whole life, yet all the while never even once did he hear or feel his own heartbeat, which should’ve been racing by the point.

“Oh no...” He moaned as he ripped open his shirt and looked down. There was a stitching on his body, from the middle of his chest all the way down to the belly button.

“I just haven’t finished on you, that’s all.” Said the truck driver as passed the candle to one of the scarecrows and pulled out a string and a needle out of his pocket.

 “Now let me stitch that big mouth of yours, reporter.” He chuckled.