The sun rose with an eerie quiet, one that made the house feel too still, too careful.
Sarah's father stood on the porch, watching the clearing crew work through the last stretch of the field. But something felt... off. The men weren't moving as fast as before. Their chatter had quieted. And there were fewer of them.
He walked toward them.
"Is everything okay?" he asked one of the workers.
The man turned, clearly distracted. "We... we're looking for someone. One of our guys went missing last night."
Sarah's father tensed. "Missing?"
"Yeah," the man said, rubbing his temple. "Last night, he went to take a leak in the middle of the field—near the scarecrow, actually. That was the last anyone saw of him. We've been calling his number, shouting around the field, but nothing. He's just... gone."
Together, they walked to the center of the field, right where the scarecrow stood tall, unmoving, with that stitched grin frozen wide across its face.
But there was nothing around. No footprints. No signs of a struggle. No trace at all.
"We're sorry, sir," one of the men finally said, lowering his voice. "We're heading to the police station to file a missing person report. Until we know what happened... we won't be able to continue."
Sarah's father just nodded. He understood. Deep down, he really did. People don't just go missing without warning.
But something inside him twisted.
A whisper in his chest, barely a voice but full of intent, said:
"It wasn't random."
"This is your warning."
He shook it off, exhaled, and returned home.
---
When he told the family about the worker's disappearance, Sarah's mother gasped—but Sarah?
She smiled. Not because someone had gone missing—but because it meant the field wouldn't be cleared. At least not yet.
She raced to the back door and ran barefoot through the grass, heart thumping with excitement. She made it to her favorite spot in the field—the base of the scarecrow.
" guess what they won't clear the farm time soon!" she whispered with a grin. "I don't know how, but... thank you."
The scarecrow didn't move, but she felt it.
It was listening.
Really listening.
So, Sarah just kept talking.
What was supposed to be a short visit turned into an afternoon of stories, laughter, and a one-sided conversation full of life. She talked until the sun started to set, not even realizing how much time had passed.
"I'll be back tomorrow, okay?" she said, standing and brushing off her skirt. "School starts again, but when I'm back, I'll tell you everything. Just wait for me, alright?"
She turned and ran home, never noticing the way the scarecrow's head turned slightly behind her, or how its stitched smile seemed wider... sharper.
---
Inside, she found her father sitting in the living room, unusually quiet. A faded, yellowed newspaper sat in his hands. She walked over, curious.
"What are you reading?"
"Nothing, sweetheart," he said with a stiff smile, folding the paper closed. "Just... something old I found on the floor."
She didn't think much of it, simply told him she was heading to bed.
But her father remained seated long after she was gone.
Because that old newspaper?
It had an article. One he couldn't ignore.
It spoke of the previous owners of their house... a family of three.
Found dead. All at once.
The body of the father was found in the exact center of the farm—his eyes wide open, staring at the scarecrow.
Sarah's father placed the newspaper on the table and clenched his fists.
"No matter what," he muttered to himself.
"I'm going to get rid of that scarecrow."