Page 3 of Are You Scared, Krowe?

Four shots in, and I was right. I can socialize with the best of them, and I have.

Krowe was right, too, about me being popular tonight. I suppose they don't get a lot of West Coast transplants to the middle of Hollow Fields, Kansas. And just as I predicted, everyone wants to know all the things.

We're in the middle of a cornfield, just like he said.

The front of the cemetery is fenced, but the back isn't. It's like they gave up and decided no one was going to go stalking through cornfields just to break into the cemetery.

And you would, indeed, have to go stalking through it.

We left the truck at the start of the field, because there's no car path, and then had to pick our way through rows of corn.

I lost sight of Krowe a few times, but his hand in mine assured me I wasn't going to get left in the row of corn cobs and never find my way back to civilization.

Our party grounds are in the center of the corn, where a large space has been cleared away.

It seems a little reckless to have a bonfire in the middle of it all, lest the wind catch a stray ember and set the whole field ablaze, but it's clear they do this all the time.

Besides, I'm grateful for the warmth of the fire.

The flannel isn't cutting it alone, even with the alcohol warming my veins.

"I just don't get it, though.” The guy who introduced himself to me as Vick says, “You're so pale..."

It's the second time he's said that. This time, I choose not to dignify that with a response, turning my attention to Krowe.

He sits across the fire from me, leaning forward in his seat like he's thinking of making a break for it and coming to snag me from the present company.

Instead, he stays seated, his grin flashing brighter when he sees me wave.

"Cute couple." Jackson says, though his voice sounds far from entertained.

"We're not a couple." I shrug, bouncing the ball of my foot against the ground beneath my chair.

My fingers are frozen, and I stuffed them below my thighs, but it's not enough.

"In that case, let me keep you warm." Rhodes wiggles his fingers for me to come to him, and though I suspect he's flirting, I decide it's worth it for the chance to warm up a little.

.. and maybe make Krowe jealous. He's been watching me every time I look up, but other than the kiss in his truck, he hasn't made a move.

In fact, he hasn't really talked to me at all.

It's almost like he's ashamed of me all of a sudden.

I stand and cross to Rhodes' open arms, letting him snare me against his broad chest. He wraps the flaps of his letterman jacket across my back and then closes his arms to envelope me in his warmth.

He's a big guy, and his body heat is impressive.

.. and cozy. I breathe a sigh of relief and catch a drift of his soap or cologne, something distinctly cedar.

"That's it, New Girl." Someone mocks. "Let old Rhodes warm you up."

"I guess I should be grateful you all dressed... like that."

One dead quarterback costume is gimmicky.

Twelve dead quarterback costumes is weird. I know that, but I'm not sure they do.

Everyone here is dressed the same... jeans, the state university jacket, and a plain white tee beneath it.

The only thing different about each of their costumes is the manner in which they 'died'.

Jackson sports a bullet wound on the forehead, Rhodes has a prop knife sticking out of his shoulder blade, and the guy sitting next to Krowe has his neck painted with fake blood that drips onto his tee shirt.

I've done a good job avoiding the elephant in the cornfield, which is that it all feels a little. .. culty.

"You haven't heard about the Hollow Fields Scarecrow, yet, I take it?" Rhodes hums with laughter.

I have to tip my head back to look up at him.

"And here I thought you dressed for the occasion." Jackson laughs from somewhere over my shoulder.

"The Hollow Fields Scarecrow." I say slowly. "Nope, haven't heard about that yet."

"How did you think you were gonna be one of us without knowing the lore?" One of the guys laughs. His name is either Evan or Ian or... something like that.

"So, tell me about it." I shrug.

They're acting like it's some big thing.

I have the feeling they're about to tell me a ghost story, and my defenses are already rising, fully expecting to be hazed.

My luck, someone's gonna come stumbling out of the cornstalks acting like a crazed murderer.

I've seen enough scary movies to know how this is about to unfold.

Let's play a prank on the new girl, welcome her to the Midwest with a corny little prank.

"You need another drink." Krowe says, pulling me away from his friend and reeling me against him. The solid weight of his arm feels like a comfort it has no business being, considering I barely know him. But as he offers me a hard cider, the top already twisted off for me, I smile in appreciation.

Cider's still a bit bitter for my taste, but it beats the beer, and it will be easier to stay in the green than if I were drinking the bourbon. With an alcoholic mother, even if you don't drink a lot, you learn pretty quickly where your own lines in the sand are.

I drink half the bottle of cider right away, ignoring the bitter taste it as I prepare for whatever prank they're about to pull on me.

"Okay," I sigh, trying not to focus on the rolling in my stomach as all the liquor mixes around without anything to absorb it. I forgot to grab something to eat before I left, and lunch was hours ago. It's getting late. "Tell me about the scarecrow."

Rhodes' grin splits his face, making him look somewhat like a jack-o-lantern beneath the moon's pale glow.

"You sure you can handle it? Not gonna piss yourself, are you?"

"I'm good, thanks." I laugh.

He's brought up a great point that I've been trying to ignore, though.

Out here in the middle of the cornfield, there's no bathroom, obviously.

I suppose it's not a problem for them, what with having the privilege of whipping their dick out anywhere, but I sincerely hope they're not pissing on the corn.

I hope even more sincerely that the night is almost over, because as nice as it's been, I actually do have to pee, and I have zero interest in doing that here.

There's a chorus of laughter, broken by the soft kiss of Krowe's lips on the side of my jaw. I turn to him, surprised; he only smirks before pulling back.

"It's been fifty years, down to the day, since the Scarecrow was born."

"Ooh," I roll my eyes from Jackson back to Rhodes, who smirks.

"The seventies were a good decade for music and drugs." Someone chuckles. "Bad decade for the crops."

"Corn was the only crop that made it that year.

.. 1975. Some say the town was cursed. Strawberries never bloomed, beans never sprouted, even the apples in the orchards were full of rot.

But the corn grew that year, and that made it the most important crop our town's got.

The problem was the animals were suffering from the lack of crops too, which made the corn the only option. "

I watch the face of the man telling the story, Nico, and wonder whether they realize in the seventies there were grocery stores... even in Hollow Fields.

I understand needing to protect your livelihood, but they're acting like they would have all starved if they couldn't harvest the corn.

"The farmers tried everything, but the damn crows wouldn't stay away.

They'd wake up to rows of cobs stripped and pecked at, rows of product they couldn't sell after months of work.

They put out scarecrows, shot birds right out of the sky, sprayed them with the hose. .. but the crows always came back."

"Old Man Thompson was a bum that used to live in that old house up on the hill there.

" Rhodes gestures to empty space behind him.

"You can't see it. But he got sent to fight in Nam, and when he came back his momma was gone and buried.

There was a new family living there, and he snapped.

Killed the parents while they slept, so they wouldn't stop him when he went after the children.

Four of them, and he slaughtered them all like pigs. "

"Oh, God." My stomach feels acrid, suddenly weak with the incredibly violent turn the story took.

"There ain't no God in that house." Someone intones.

"They found him cooking the father's head on the stove.

Said it was the only way to get rid of the man's evil thoughts.

Sheriff came and locked him up, and the town deliberated his punishment.

Death sentence seemed too harsh for someone who was clearly mentally unwell, and a mental asylum didn't seem right for someone who fought for our country.

There were debates and petitions, protests in the street over what everyone wanted done with the bastard.

But the family he killed? They had a son who came home from college to deal with the estate, and everyone agreed it should be his right to choose the punishment for Old Man Thompson, seeing it was his family the man slaughtered. "

My head is spinning, and I'm having a hard time following the story now.

I was prepared for something silly, and it started that way.

But it quickly turned into something... vile.

I think I might be sick, but Krowe's the only thing holding me up right now, so I swallow it down and focus on taking shallow breaths through my nose.

"He remembered the problem with the crows and decided it was only fair.

They came for him in the middle of the night.

.. dragged him out of the jail and brought him here.

.." Nico gestures to the stake set out at the back of the clearing, where a limp scarecrow hangs with some straw slipping out of the bottom of its pants.

"They... left him there?" I gasp, unable to get a good breath.

Jesus, what is wrong with me? Everything feels… wrong.

"Oh yeah.”

The faces behind Krowe blur together; I can tell they're talking, laughing, but I can't make out any sound other than Krowe, who nods his head, making mine move with him.

I'm leaning my head against his chest, too tired to keep it up.

I think I may be hyperventilating or something.

.. maybe that's why the air feels so shallow.

"They stripped him down and tied him up.

They expected the crows would peck out his eyes by morning, but the next morning, he was still there, perfectly fine.

And the next. On the fifth morning, they found him out there with a headless crow in his hand.

He'd gotten so hungry he captured it and ate the head.”

“It turned into a spectacle... everyone wanted to go out in the mornings to check on the scarecrow, see if he was still alive.

And he always was... for six months, he lasted out there, tied to that stake, naked and exposed to the elements.

And then one day, when everyone went to check on him, he was gone. .."

"Just disappeared. Imagine that."

"No one's ever seen him since. But the crows don't come here, even to this day. And for that, the town gives thanks to the Scarecrow."

"I think..." I huff, my nails snaring in the fabric of Krowe's shirt. "I need to go home."

"You shoulda gone home a long time ago, New Girl."

"You shoulda never come at all."

Nausea swells past my throat, and I know I won't be able to fight it back this time. It's all I can do to turn away from Krowe, to spare him ending up covered in my vomit.

But my legs feel like they've disappeared.

The minute I turn from him, I feel myself falling.

The ground rises to meet me fast.