by Denzell Cooper
The wheat grew past our heads, ears of corn brushing our ears. Will ran on ahead. I tried to keep up but lost him in the dense jungle of our imaginations.
When I almost hurtled into him, he didn’t even seem to notice.
“That thing is creepy,” he said, staring up in awe at the scarecrow, nailed to its post like a hobo Jesus.
Its face was made of leather. Its clothes were ripped and torn.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
Will nodded and we backed away, then turned.
“Help me,” begged the scarecrow.
We screamed and fled.
Denzell Cooper is a multi-genre writer from Cornwall, England. For as long as he can remember he’s been a fan of horror and the macabre, and loves telling stories where creepy things happen to ordinary people. Find him on Twitter @DenzellCooper.