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Sarah's mom could not sleep. She paced her bedroom restlessly, her bare feet dragging across the wooden floor. Shadows bent along the walls as she muttered under her breath, her voice rising and falling like broken whispers.
"She doesn't listen to me… she never listens. I give one order, one order—stay away from that field. But Sarah—Sarah just does what she pleases. Reckless. Careless. She makes me fear for her, every single time."
Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her temples, talking to the empty room—
Then came the sound.
A faint rustle.
From the field.
She froze, her chest tightening. Her mind screamed one name—Sarah. Was she out there again? Was she walking toward that cursed field?
With shaking hands, she clutched the curtain and yanked it open.
And her world collapsed.
The scarecrow's head snapped—violently, unnaturally fast—toward her window. Its stitched smile stretched wider, its burlap jaw bending in ways it should not. Two burning red eyes flickered awake, glowing like embers in the night.
It stared directly at her.
And then, slowly, deliberately—it smiled.
Her breath caught in her throat. The grin was no longer stitched—it was alive, mocking her, challenging her.
A strangled cry escaped her lips. She stumbled back, nearly tripping over her own feet, before bolting downstairs in a frenzy.
"Sarah! Sarah!" she screamed, clutching her daughter's arm and shaking her awake. "I swear I saw it! It looked at me—its head, it turned, and it smiled! I swear to God I saw it this time!"
Sarah rubbed her tired eyes, groaning. "Mom… I know you don't want me going to the field anymore, and fine, okay, I won't. But please—I'm exhausted. I had a long day. Just let me sleep."
Her mother's face twisted with panic, shaking her head violently. "No, no! I swear, Sarah, I swear to God I saw it! It looked at me, it smiled at me! I'm not crazy!"
Her voice cracked, trembling between rage and desperation. She grabbed the phone, fumbling with the buttons. "I'll call the police. I'll tell them to burn that field down, I'll—"
"Mom!" Sarah caught her wrist, holding it tightly. Her tired voice was firm. "And what will you tell them, huh? That a scarecrow turned its head? That it smiled at you?"
Her eyes hardened. "They won't believe you. Just like last time. They'll call you a mad person again. Please—stop this. Stop with all these… lies."
That single word cut deeper than a knife.
Lies.
Her mother's entire body went still. The phone slipped from her trembling fingers and clattered to the floor. Her wide eyes shimmered with something broken, her chest rising and falling in silent, violent breaths.
And then, without a word, she shuddered.
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