Page 6 of Are You Scared, Krowe?

The blare of my alarm wakes me with a start. It's so shocking that I slap my phone, knocking it onto the ground where it clatters onto the hardwood before it slides beneath my bed.

The air in my room is cold. It's the first thing I notice when I'm done being startled to death.

Drawing the blanket up higher, I glance around, half expecting to see snow drifting outside the window. Instead, the latch is popped, and the window is completely open, letting the bitter cold in.

I guess the wind was brutal enough to force it open. Snow will be falling by this time next week, I guarantee it.

Using my blanket as a cloak, I hurry to the window, prepared to snap it back in place. Old farmhouses like mine are poorly insulated to begin with, and once the chill gets in, it doesn't leave.

Unfortunately, the latch is completely broken, so all I can do is fix the window in place and hope that the wind doesn’t pick up again before Dad can get someone out here to fix it.

Sighing my frustration, I decide to get a hot shower. If I gather my clothes and dress in the warm bathroom, I should warm up quickly, and that's exactly what I do.

I gather my clothing, tucking it against my chest, before dropping to my knees in search of the phone I abandoned when it woke me up screaming.

It's not far under the bed; I can see the glow of it, but I can't reach it without lying flat on my stomach.

That's how I end up laying there, groping blindly for the stupid little thing. My fingers touch something just out of reach, and as I stretch with every muscle I have, I only manage to knock it further under my bed.

Frustration courses through me as I stand, my left knee popping from the old football injury I sustained freshman year. The cold’s got my joints stiff, and my fingers are numb, too. I’m so not looking forward to the long winter.

When I reach for my phone from the other side, success comes much faster.

I get a grip on it with two fingers and drag it out from against the floorboards, noting the smear of something wet as I do.

It's not much; I'd probably have ignored it if my fingers didn't come away wet when I grip my phone just as the snoozed alarm begins to scream again.

"Easton!" My father yells, moments before his fist pounds against my door. "Quit snoozing that damn alarm and get your ass moving!"

"I'm up!" I assure him, which seems to be enough. I hear his footsteps recede, and I wait an extra second before I look down at my hand.

I nearly drop the damn phone again when I see the sticky red smear across my palm.

Fucking blood.

I blink, looking for the source of it. I expect to find a rogue piece of glass beneath my bed or maybe the pocketknife I lost a few months back, but there's no cut on my hand, no pain.

I'm not bleeding... so what is?

It's too dark to see anything, and when I turn the flashlight of my phone on, all it illuminates is the dust mites and cobwebs beneath my bed. But still, the blood had to come from somewhere.

I abandon my flashlight and end up on my stomach again, feeling around for anything that doesn't belong beneath my bed. I gather a stiff gym sock I forgot I jacked off in, one of Sophie's tiny pet toys, and a handful of dust. And then, finally, I feel something round beneath my palm.

As I roll it out into the open, I imagine a tennis ball or one of the ones I used in physical therapy last year.

I sure as fuck don't expect the little round thing to be a fucking head.

It's a crow's head; the beak's been broken off, but it's still covered in small black feathers. Glassy black eyes almost seem to stare into my soul as I stare at it in the palm of my hand, shock morphing slowly into horror.

My scream is cut short when I stifle it, wiping my hand on my boxers in an attempt to get the blood off of me. It's cold, but not yet coagulated, like the bird died recently.

It's fucking disgusting.

The crow must have flown into the window early this morning. Clearly the window won that match— it's not even shattered. It must be what caused the latch to pop, though.

Except, if that's what happened, where the fuck is the rest of the crow?

A quick glance around my room reveals nothing more… nothing out of place, no other heads, no body.

I grab the sock, ignoring the subtle crunch as I use it to wrap around the crow's head and fast walk to the bathroom. I'll deal with whatever the fuck this is after I've warmed up and brought my room back to an acceptable temperature. As it is, I feel like my toes may fall off from frost bite.

No way the corn fields didn't ice last night.

It's the thought of the corn field that brings me back to last night.

Sighing, I rake my hand through my hair.

We definitely took things too far. It wasn't supposed to go that way.

Sure, I wanted her; it's why I brought cider for her, why I spiked it.

And I expected Jackson would take his fill once I was done— he always does— but I hadn't planned on everyone getting in on it.

But the minute she passed out, Toby warned me that this was rape, that he'd tell if I went through with it, and then the only thing I could do was let him have his fun, too.

I had to let all of them have their fun.

And it was fun.

My cock is already hard when I slip my boxers away from my thighs, remembering the way she whimpered my name.

Kroweeeee.

I start the shower, giving it a moment to warm up before I step in, and wrap my hand around my cock, teasing my length to the memory of her tight little pussy squeezing me so hard I saw fucking stars.

The steam heats the small bathroom quickly, curling out from around the shower glass and fogging the mirror, obscuring my reflection.

I let my eyes close, focusing on the memories we made last night.

I already know they're going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life; I don't think anything could top it.

And I don't have to try, because just the memory gets me there quickly, imagining the way she looked when we left her. .. a pretty, broken scarecrow.

"Fuck!"

I explode in my hand, letting my cum spill over my palm as I stroke myself through it, my breathing ragged.

I squeezed my eyes shut so damn hard that as the bliss of that orgasm ebbs away, I realize my skull fucking hurts.

The vein over my temple is throbbing from coming too hard, so I keep my eyes closed a minute longer, waiting for it to ease.

When it does, I open my eyes slowly and jump, my cum-coated hand out like I can fend off whatever the fuck I just saw in the mirror.

But when I turn, there's no one.

I'm alone in the bathroom, the shower still filling with steam from the hot water.

It takes a moment to calm the rapid beating of my heart before I gather the courage to look back at the mirror.

There's no one looking back at me except for me.

But for a moment there, I would swear there was someone behind me... someone watching me.

Someone dressed as a scarecrow.

It's fucking ridiculous, and I know it. I need coffee or an energy drink. We were out too late last night, and I didn't sleep well. I'm just on edge from the fucking crow.

Realization comes back to me, and I look down to find my dick coated in blood and cum.

Fuck, that's vile.

When I make it downstairs, Dad's at the table eating bacon as Sophie tells him a story about this boy at school who put a frog in the teacher's desk.

Sadie is painting mom's face, her tongue poking out between her teeth as she focuses on getting the lines just right.

When I get a look at mom, my stomach nearly bottoms out.

"Oh, Easton!" She says excitedly. "I thought you were gonna sleep forever. I didn't hear you come in last night."

That's code for 'you were out late'.

Sadie and I still live at home because the economy is trash, and that comes with rules, but they know better than to try and give us a curfew of any kind.

"Was with the guys." I tell her softly, kissing the top of her head. She smells like White Rain, and I wonder if she wore extra hairspray today to keep her hair out of her makeup. It's going to be covered by the hat on the table, I'm sure.

"Scarecrow, huh?" I muse, slinking into the vacant seat and taking the bacon my little sister didn't yet steal from me. She smirks at me when I catch her eye, knowing she's guilty.

She's lucky she's so damn cute.

"Oh, you like it?" Mom laughs. "We're all dressing up at work."

"Work?" I laugh. "It's a Saturday."

"Mm." She agrees, unable to speak as my sister lines her lips with a little pencil.

Sadie's two years older than me, just about to graduate, and she's obsessed with what she does.

She's also good at it. I forgot about the prosthetic wound she gave me last night and had a hell of a time getting it off in the shower.

"But we have a booth at the Hollow Night Festival, and Tammy and I are doing a Wizard of Oz theme. "

"Cute." I murmur, drowning the lie with a sip of the orange juice Mom left out for me.

Dad sighs at his phone before hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What's wrong, daddy?" Sophie asks, clearly concerned by his sudden shift in demeanor.

"Nothing, pumpkin." He sighs again, but when he picks his head up, he manages a smile for my sister. "Just work stuff."

I look down at my own phone, finally acknowledging the notifications I didn't pay attention to earlier.

And now that I do, I see I've got a lot of them.

Calls, texts, a few snaps. I know what those are, so I navigate to them first, angling my phone away from my family as I admire my girlfriend's tits in the topless selfies she sent me.

They get progressively dirtier, culminating in her with the camera set up between her thighs and something thick and long in her hand.

I watch as she plunges it inside of herself, but my attraction turns to disgust when I see what she's fucking herself with.

A fucking corn cob.

The video closes when I drop my phone, drawing everyone's attention. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t break this thing from dropping it.

"You okay?" Sadie laughs.

"Just... fine." I shake my head. "I accidentally clicked something I shouldn't have."

Mom cringes, but Dad only laughs as he rises, holstering his gun at his side and fixing his hat on his head.

"I need a minute, Easton." The tip of his head indicates that it's a minute he doesn't want delicate ears to overhear, so I rise, shoving my phone in my back pocket.

I step out onto the front porch with him, noting that the bitter chill in the air is every bit as brutal as I suspected.

"There's a missing girl." Dad says, watching my face for a moment.

"Oh, shit." I frown. "Like, a kid or...?"

"Twenty-one. Still a kid, though. Brain's not fully developed yet, you know."

"Right." I nod, my stomach twisting as I get the sense I know exactly who he's talking about.

But Gianna is supposed to be home in bed by now... fuck, she should have been long before I even woke up. It can't be her.

"So, who is it?"

"The new family that moved into the Old Pembrooke home. Name's Gianna."

I swallow.

"Think she ran away? Aren't they from the city?" I laugh. "She probably thinks Hollow Fields is too slow a type of living for her taste."

"Her mom doesn't think so.” Dad’s mouth twitches like he’s thinking about saying more. “She's real worried. Apparently she's posted up at the station right now, so I gotta get down there to check on things. But, you know, it's Hollow Night..."

"Is it?" I glance at my wrist, as if I've ever worn a watch.

"Mm." Dad agrees. "So, you don't know nothing about her disappearance, right, son?"

"No, sir." My throat is thick; the lie threatens to choke me.

"And if I drive out to the corn fields... I'm not gonna find her, am I?"

"I doubt it." I shake my head. "It was cold last night. I don't think anyone woulda gone out there."

Dad nods, clearly buying my lies.

"Right. I'm sure everything's just fine.

Probably just went for a run or something.

" He sighs, looking out at the neat green grass of our front lawn.

It'll be brown soon, choked out by winter.

"I'll see you at the game tonight. Fieldcrest, right?

Sadie's got the night off so the whole family will be there. "

I nod, wishing I could be grateful for having a supportive family that's willing to come watch me ride the bench. I haven't played much at all since my injury last year. I'll have to get coach to put me in somehow.

"Right, then." Dad nods, clapping me on the shoulder. "I'll see ya tonight."

"Yeah." I nod. "See ya."