Read Online The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online
Authors: R. L. Stine
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him to the cornfields. The bright moon bathed us in white light. The tall cornstalks shivered in a light breeze.
Mark looked so much like a scarecrow, it was scary. Tufts of straw stuck out at his neck and the cuffs of his coat. The enormous old coat hung loosely over his shoulders and came down nearly to his knees.
We stepped into the field. Our sneakers crunched over the dry ground as we edged through a narrow row.
The cornstalks rose above our heads. The breeze made them lean over us, as if trying to close us in.
I let out a gasp as I heard a rustling sound along the ground. Footsteps?
Mark and I both froze. And listened.
The tall stalks bent low as the wind picked up.
They made an eerie creaking sound as they moved. The ripe corn sheaths bobbed heavily.
Creeeeak. Creeeeak.
The stalks shifted back and forth.
Then we heard the rustling again. A soft brushing sound.
Very nearby.
“Ow. Let go!” Mark whispered.
I suddenly realized I was still gripping his arm, squeezing it tightly.
I let go. And listened. “Do you hear it?” I whispered to Mark. “That brushing sound?”
Creeeeak. Creeeeak.
The cornstalks leaned over us, shifting in the wind.
A twig cracked. So nearby, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I held my breath. My heart was racing.
Another soft rustling sound. I stared down at the ground, trying to follow the sound.
“Oh.”
A large gray squirrel scampered across the row and disappeared between the stalks.
I burst out laughing, mostly from relief. “Just a squirrel,” I said. “Do you believe it? Just a squirrel!”
Mark let out a long, relieved sigh from under the burlap bag. “Jodie, can we get going?” he demanded impatiently. “This thing itches like crazy!”
He raised both hands and tried to scratch his face through the bag. But I quickly tugged his arms down. “Mark — stop. You’ll mess up the straw!”
“But my face feels like a hundred bugs are crawling all over it!” he wailed. “And I can’t see. You didn’t cut the eyeholes big enough.”
“Just follow me,” I muttered. “And stop complaining. You want to scare Sticks, don’t you?”
Mark didn’t reply. But he let me lead him deeper into the cornfield.
Suddenly, a black shadow fell over our path.
I let out a sharp gasp before I realized it was the long shadow of a scarecrow.
“How do you do,” I said, reaching out and shaking its straw hand. “May I borrow your hat?”
I reached up and pulled the black floppy hat off the burlap head. Then I lowered it over Mark’s burlap head and pulled it down tight.
“Hey!” Mark protested.
“I don’t want it to fall off,” I told him.
“I’m never going to stop itching!” Mark whined. “Can you scratch my back?
Please?
My whole back is itching!”
I gave the back of the old coat a few hard rubs. “Turn around,” I instructed him. I gave him a final inspection.
Excellent. He looked more like a scarecrow than the scarecrows did.
“Stand right here,” I told him, moving him intoa small clearing between two rows of cornstalks. “Good. Now when you hear me bringing Sticks over, put your arms straight out. And don’t move a muscle.”
“I know, I know,” Mark grumbled. “Think I don’t know how to be a scarecrow? Just hurry — okay?”
“Okay,” I told him. I turned and made my way quickly along the shifting rows of cornstalks. Dry straw and leaves crackled beneath my sneakers.
I was breathing hard by the time I reached the guesthouse. The doorway was dark. But an orange light glowed dimly behind the pulled shade in the window.
I hesitated at the doorway and listened. Silence inside.
How was I going to get Sticks to come out alone — without his father?
I didn’t want to frighten Stanley. He was a really nice man who would never think of playing mean jokes on Mark and me. And I knew how scared and upset he could get.
I only wanted to frighten Sticks. To teach him a lesson. To teach him he had no business getting on our case just
Mark looked so much like a scarecrow, it was scary. Tufts of straw stuck out at his neck and the cuffs of his coat. The enormous old coat hung loosely over his shoulders and came down nearly to his knees.
We stepped into the field. Our sneakers crunched over the dry ground as we edged through a narrow row.
The cornstalks rose above our heads. The breeze made them lean over us, as if trying to close us in.
I let out a gasp as I heard a rustling sound along the ground. Footsteps?
Mark and I both froze. And listened.
The tall stalks bent low as the wind picked up.
They made an eerie creaking sound as they moved. The ripe corn sheaths bobbed heavily.
Creeeeak. Creeeeak.
The stalks shifted back and forth.
Then we heard the rustling again. A soft brushing sound.
Very nearby.
“Ow. Let go!” Mark whispered.
I suddenly realized I was still gripping his arm, squeezing it tightly.
I let go. And listened. “Do you hear it?” I whispered to Mark. “That brushing sound?”
Creeeeak. Creeeeak.
The cornstalks leaned over us, shifting in the wind.
A twig cracked. So nearby, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I held my breath. My heart was racing.
Another soft rustling sound. I stared down at the ground, trying to follow the sound.
“Oh.”
A large gray squirrel scampered across the row and disappeared between the stalks.
I burst out laughing, mostly from relief. “Just a squirrel,” I said. “Do you believe it? Just a squirrel!”
Mark let out a long, relieved sigh from under the burlap bag. “Jodie, can we get going?” he demanded impatiently. “This thing itches like crazy!”
He raised both hands and tried to scratch his face through the bag. But I quickly tugged his arms down. “Mark — stop. You’ll mess up the straw!”
“But my face feels like a hundred bugs are crawling all over it!” he wailed. “And I can’t see. You didn’t cut the eyeholes big enough.”
“Just follow me,” I muttered. “And stop complaining. You want to scare Sticks, don’t you?”
Mark didn’t reply. But he let me lead him deeper into the cornfield.
Suddenly, a black shadow fell over our path.
I let out a sharp gasp before I realized it was the long shadow of a scarecrow.
“How do you do,” I said, reaching out and shaking its straw hand. “May I borrow your hat?”
I reached up and pulled the black floppy hat off the burlap head. Then I lowered it over Mark’s burlap head and pulled it down tight.
“Hey!” Mark protested.
“I don’t want it to fall off,” I told him.
“I’m never going to stop itching!” Mark whined. “Can you scratch my back?
Please?
My whole back is itching!”
I gave the back of the old coat a few hard rubs. “Turn around,” I instructed him. I gave him a final inspection.
Excellent. He looked more like a scarecrow than the scarecrows did.
“Stand right here,” I told him, moving him intoa small clearing between two rows of cornstalks. “Good. Now when you hear me bringing Sticks over, put your arms straight out. And don’t move a muscle.”
“I know, I know,” Mark grumbled. “Think I don’t know how to be a scarecrow? Just hurry — okay?”
“Okay,” I told him. I turned and made my way quickly along the shifting rows of cornstalks. Dry straw and leaves crackled beneath my sneakers.
I was breathing hard by the time I reached the guesthouse. The doorway was dark. But an orange light glowed dimly behind the pulled shade in the window.
I hesitated at the doorway and listened. Silence inside.
How was I going to get Sticks to come out alone — without his father?
I didn’t want to frighten Stanley. He was a really nice man who would never think of playing mean jokes on Mark and me. And I knew how scared and upset he could get.
I only wanted to frighten Sticks. To teach him a lesson. To teach him he had no business getting on our case just
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