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

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.


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