---
Sarah dragged her feet along the narrow road, her schoolbag pressing into her shoulders like it carried the weight of stones instead of books. Every step felt heavier than the last. The world around her was hushed, as though the air itself was holding its breath.
When she reached the front door, her key trembling between her fingers, the sensation of being watched crawled up her spine. Slowly, she turned.
The scarecrow.
It stood in its usual place at the edge of the yard, a dark silhouette against the red-tinged sky. At first glance, nothing had changed. But then Sarah saw it—the head had moved. Tilted just slightly, but tilted toward her.
Her mouth went dry.
The sinking sun bled crimson light across its burlap face, making the seams look like cracks filled with fire. The button eyes glimmered faintly, as if something stirred behind them. The shape of its body felt wrong now—its shoulders leaning too far forward, its straw-stuffed arms dangling too close to the dirt, like it might step toward her at any moment.
Sarah's chest clenched. She whispered to herself, It's just stress. Just schoolwork. Just exhaustion. She yanked the door open and darted inside, refusing to look back again.
---
After changing and freshening up, Sarah busied herself in the kitchen. The clatter of pots and the simmer of stew calmed her nerves—until she heard it.
A rustling.
Like straw brushing against wood.
She froze, her hand gripping the spoon tightly enough to whiten her knuckles. Slowly, she turned, eyes sweeping the kitchen. Nothing.
She shook her head, forcing herself to breathe. "I'm imagining things," she muttered, and went back to stirring.
The rustle came again. Louder this time. Sharper.
Sarah's skin prickled. It wasn't from outside. It was inside the house. From the basement.
Her breath hitched. She set the spoon down, her trembling hand reaching for the basement door. The metal knob was cool, biting against her palm.
"Who's down there?" she asked, her voice barely steady. Silence pressed back.
She swallowed and tried again. "I said, who's there?"
No answer. Only that faint pull… a strange, unspoken urge that drew her closer to the basement. It was as if the dark itself was calling her name.
Her fingers tightened on the knob. She was about to twist it open when—
"Sarah."
Her mother's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Sarah spun around, relief breaking through her fear. Tears welled as she ran into her mother's arms. "I missed you. I'll be a good girl now, I promise! Please don't leave me alone again." She clung to her mother, sobbing into her shoulder.
Her mother stroked her hair once, gently. Then she eased Sarah back, her expression calm but strange.
"Don't go to places you don't understand," she said softly.
Sarah blinked, confusion trembling in her chest. "What do you mean?"
Her mother didn't answer. She simply turned, her figure gliding toward her room. Sarah stretched out a hand, desperate to keep her close.
"Wait—Mom!"
The door slammed shut in her face with a hollow finality.
Sarah stood frozen, the echo of her mother's words digging deep into her chest. Slowly, she turned back toward the kitchen. Through the window, the scarecrow still stood.
Its head was tilted even further now, the red glow of dusk catching its button eyes. They gleamed like something alive.
Watching.
Waiting.