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Sarah left the old woman's house, heart still echoing with the question that refused to leave her head:
> "Why that house?"
But she tried to push it away. Maybe the old woman was just attached to the former residents. Maybe she was just sad. That's all, right?
Just sadness. Just memories.
Nothing more.
So Sarah brushed it off — or tried to — and returned to her new home.
Her parents, still busy with the agents and unpacking, didn't notice the distant look in her eyes. She joined them quietly, offering help. She wasn't really in the mood to think anymore.
Until one of the construction workers called out from the backyard.
> "I need you to come see this real quick. I'm not sure I have the right to cut it yet."
Her parents were distracted, so Sarah, curious, followed.
The backyard was… bigger than she remembered. Wide and green, almost wild — like a forgotten farm swallowed by time. In the very center of it all stood the scarecrow.
It was ragged. Weather-worn. Strange.
And it was looking at her.
No, not at them.
At her.
Its hollow button eyes weren't just staring — they were watching. Not lifeless, not dull. But alive.
Communicating.
Calling.
Sarah froze, then looked away quickly, heart skipping. No one else seemed to notice.
The agent gestured around.
> "This space could easily be turned into a backyard office or a guest house. Or even a relaxation area. Do you want us to remove the scarecrow and clear the field?"
It sounded reasonable. Normal. Logical.
But Sarah heard herself say:
> "No. Let's keep it. For now."
She didn't know why.
She didn't love farming.
She didn't even like being alone outside.
But something about the field… the crooked scarecrow… the way the wind bent the grass like whispers — it all felt strange, and yet… familiar.
Her dad nodded gently. "Alright. We'll keep it."
The agent shrugged. "Sure. If you change your mind, you know where to find us."
They returned to work.
But Sarah… didn't.
She drifted back into the backyard.
Drawn by something she didn't understand.
She walked through the grass until she reached the middle of the field… and sat.
Right beside the scarecrow.
It stood silently above her. Towering. Watching. Always watching.
It was ridiculous, she knew. Talking to a scarecrow?
But… something inside her felt warm. Safe. Seen.
So she talked.
First, it was quiet murmurs.
Then, she began to spill.
About Ella and Rose.
About the way they laughed when she cried.
About how they made her feel invisible, like a mistake.
She talked about Kim.
About her secret crush.
About the Valentine's ball… how her heart bloomed for a moment and then wilted like forgotten flowers.
She talked about her parents. How lately they seemed more... careful with her. Softer.
But it still didn't feel real.
She kept talking. And the scarecrow didn't move.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't judge.
It just listened.
And in its silence, Sarah felt understood.
By the time she noticed the sun setting, her father's voice was calling her from the house.
> "Lunch, Sarah!"
She blinked. The sky had changed. Time had passed.
She stood up slowly, brushing her palms against her skirt.
> "I'll come back," she whispered to the scarecrow.
"I promise."
And she walked back to the house, not quite sure if she had left something behind…
…or if she was starting to find something she didn't know she needed.
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