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The drive was long, silent, and strangely calming. Sarah pressed her forehead against the car window, watching the trees blur into each other like memories melting into dreams. Rose, Ella, Kim — all behind her now.
She whispered in her head, "Fresh start."
When they finally turned into the driveway, Sarah's breath caught.
The house wasn't what she expected.
It was a mansion, yes, but aged. Old. Like it had been sleeping for years. Vines crept along its brick walls, windows stared back like forgotten eyes, and ivy kissed the crumbling fences with patience.
Her mom stepped out of the car and smiled. "With a little love," she said softly, "this house will be on top of the world."
That was the first time Sarah heard her mom sound… hopeful.
They spent the next few hours unpacking, dusting, sweeping away cobwebs and memories. Her dad called in painters, and the air was soon filled with the scent of wood, dust, and new beginnings.
To Sarah's surprise, neighbors came.
Some brought warm cookies. Others handed her mom jollof rice in foil trays. A little boy even waved at her from his gate, his front teeth missing and smile unshaken.
Sarah started to feel it — that rare feeling called belonging.
But… not everyone smiled.
There was a woman across the street, an old grandma who stood behind her faded lace curtains, eyes narrow.
She didn't wave.
She didn't smile.
She just stared, then closed the curtains.
Sarah didn't notice. But she did feel something. A tickle at the back of her neck. Like something unseen was watching her blink.
That night, the house was alive with sounds — laughter, cleaning brushes, footsteps across floorboards. Her mom handed her a lantern and said,
> "Pick any room upstairs, love. It's all yours now."
Sarah wandered the hallway, doors creaking like old secrets. Then she saw it — her room. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew.
The air smelled like lavender and forgotten stories.
She unpacked quickly, hung her sketchbook beside the bed, and pulled open the window.
Cool air rushed in.
She looked outside and her heart paused.
In the backyard… was a field.
Tall corn stalks swayed in the dark, and patches of vegetables clung to life. The land whispered history — someone once cared for this place.
But right in the center of the field stood a shape.
A tall, ragged figure.
Arms out like they were waiting for something.
The scarecrow.
Its head tilted slightly, as if watching the house.
Or maybe watching her window.
Sarah narrowed her eyes.
"…How about that," she whispered, a smile tugging the corner of her lips.
"Now I guess I can blame all my problems on a sack of straw."
She laughed. A little.
But it didn't echo back.
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