Read Online The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. L. Stine
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because Mark and I are “city kids.”
The wind fluttered through my hair. I could hear the cornstalks creaking behind me in the fields.
I shivered.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my fist to knock on the door. But a sound behind me made me spin around. “Hey!” I choked out.
Someone was moving across the grass, half running, half stumbling. My eyes were all watery. It was hard to see.
Was it Mark?
Yes. I recognized the floppy hat, the bulky dark overcoat falling down past his knees.
What is he doing?
I asked myself, watching him approach.
Why is he following me?
He’s going to ruin the whole joke!
As he came closer, he raised a straw hand as if pointing at me.
“Mark — what’s wrong?” I called in a loud whisper.
He continued to gesture with his straw hand as he ran.
“Mark — get back in the field!” I whispered. “You’re not supposed to follow me. You’re going to ruin everything! Mark — what are you
doing
here?”
I motioned with both hands for him to go back to the cornfield.
But he ignored me and kept coming, trailing straw as he ran.
“Mark, please — go back! Go back!” I pleaded.
But he stepped up in front of me and grabbed my shoulders.
And as I stared into the cold, painted black eyes, I realized to my horror that
it wasn’t Mark!
22
I cried out and tried to pull away.
But the scarecrow held on to me tightly.
“Sticks — is that you?” I cried in a trembling voice.
No reply.
I stared into the blank painted eyes.
And realized there were no human eyes behind them.
The straw hands scratched against my throat.
I opened my mouth to scream.
And the door to the guesthouse swung open. “Sticks —” I managed to choke out.
Sticks stepped out onto the small stoop. “What on earth — !” he cried.
He leaped off the stoop, grabbed the scarecrow by the coat shoulders — and heaved it to the ground.
The scarecrow hit the ground without making a sound. It lay sprawled on its back, staring up at us blankly.
“Who — who is it?” I cried, rubbing my neck where the straw hands had scratched it.
Sticks bent down and jerked away the burlap scarecrow head.
Nothing underneath. Nothing but straw.
“It — it really is a scarecrow!” I cried in horror. “But it —
walked!”
“I warned you,” Sticks said solemnly, staring down at the headless dark figure. “I warned you, Jodie.”
“You mean it wasn’t you?” I demanded. “It wasn’t you trying to scare Mark and me?”
Sticks shook his head. He raised his dark eyes to mine. “Dad brought the scarecrows to life,” he said softly. “Last week. Before you came. He used his book. He changed some words — and they all came to life.”
“Oh, no,” I murmured, raising my hands to my face.
“We were all so frightened,” Sticks continued. “Especially your grandparents. They begged Dad to recite the words and put the scarecrows back to sleep.”
“Did he?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sticks replied. “He put them back to sleep. But first he insisted your grandparents make some promises. They had to promise not to laugh at him anymore. And they had to promise to do everything he wanted from now on.”
Sticks took a deep breath. He stared toward theguesthouse window. “Haven’t you noticed how different things are at the farm? Haven’t you noticed how frightened your grandparents are?”
I nodded solemnly. “Of course I have.”
“They’ve been trying to keep Dad happy,” Sticks continued. “They’ve been doing everything they can to keep him from getting upset or angry. Your grandmother fixes only his favorite food. Your grandfather stopped telling scary stories because Dad doesn’t like them.”
I shook my head. “They’re
that
afraid of Stanley?”
“They’re afraid he’ll read the chant in the book again and bring the scarecrows back to life,” Sticks said. He swallowed hard. “There’s only one problem,” he murmured.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Well, I haven’t told Dad
The wind fluttered through my hair. I could hear the cornstalks creaking behind me in the fields.
I shivered.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my fist to knock on the door. But a sound behind me made me spin around. “Hey!” I choked out.
Someone was moving across the grass, half running, half stumbling. My eyes were all watery. It was hard to see.
Was it Mark?
Yes. I recognized the floppy hat, the bulky dark overcoat falling down past his knees.
What is he doing?
I asked myself, watching him approach.
Why is he following me?
He’s going to ruin the whole joke!
As he came closer, he raised a straw hand as if pointing at me.
“Mark — what’s wrong?” I called in a loud whisper.
He continued to gesture with his straw hand as he ran.
“Mark — get back in the field!” I whispered. “You’re not supposed to follow me. You’re going to ruin everything! Mark — what are you
doing
here?”
I motioned with both hands for him to go back to the cornfield.
But he ignored me and kept coming, trailing straw as he ran.
“Mark, please — go back! Go back!” I pleaded.
But he stepped up in front of me and grabbed my shoulders.
And as I stared into the cold, painted black eyes, I realized to my horror that
it wasn’t Mark!
22
I cried out and tried to pull away.
But the scarecrow held on to me tightly.
“Sticks — is that you?” I cried in a trembling voice.
No reply.
I stared into the blank painted eyes.
And realized there were no human eyes behind them.
The straw hands scratched against my throat.
I opened my mouth to scream.
And the door to the guesthouse swung open. “Sticks —” I managed to choke out.
Sticks stepped out onto the small stoop. “What on earth — !” he cried.
He leaped off the stoop, grabbed the scarecrow by the coat shoulders — and heaved it to the ground.
The scarecrow hit the ground without making a sound. It lay sprawled on its back, staring up at us blankly.
“Who — who is it?” I cried, rubbing my neck where the straw hands had scratched it.
Sticks bent down and jerked away the burlap scarecrow head.
Nothing underneath. Nothing but straw.
“It — it really is a scarecrow!” I cried in horror. “But it —
walked!”
“I warned you,” Sticks said solemnly, staring down at the headless dark figure. “I warned you, Jodie.”
“You mean it wasn’t you?” I demanded. “It wasn’t you trying to scare Mark and me?”
Sticks shook his head. He raised his dark eyes to mine. “Dad brought the scarecrows to life,” he said softly. “Last week. Before you came. He used his book. He changed some words — and they all came to life.”
“Oh, no,” I murmured, raising my hands to my face.
“We were all so frightened,” Sticks continued. “Especially your grandparents. They begged Dad to recite the words and put the scarecrows back to sleep.”
“Did he?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sticks replied. “He put them back to sleep. But first he insisted your grandparents make some promises. They had to promise not to laugh at him anymore. And they had to promise to do everything he wanted from now on.”
Sticks took a deep breath. He stared toward theguesthouse window. “Haven’t you noticed how different things are at the farm? Haven’t you noticed how frightened your grandparents are?”
I nodded solemnly. “Of course I have.”
“They’ve been trying to keep Dad happy,” Sticks continued. “They’ve been doing everything they can to keep him from getting upset or angry. Your grandmother fixes only his favorite food. Your grandfather stopped telling scary stories because Dad doesn’t like them.”
I shook my head. “They’re
that
afraid of Stanley?”
“They’re afraid he’ll read the chant in the book again and bring the scarecrows back to life,” Sticks said. He swallowed hard. “There’s only one problem,” he murmured.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Well, I haven’t told Dad
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