`Scarecrows'
A three-hour flight from California to Minnesota and a short trek down a dirt road led a group of friends to their Airbnb in the forest.
The two-story wooden house seemed sturdy and minimalistic. The inside consisted of two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a small living room. The back door led to a yard full of dirt and mounds of leaves, though the most noticeable feature of the yard was the tall quaking Aspen trees. The warm red and orange hues of the leaves resembled fire or cider against the silver Maples that grew in the surrounding forest.
A sweet elderly couple greeted the friends at the door with a shakily drawn sign.
“Welcome!” the man said, smiling warmly at the group before him.
The friends introduced themselves to the man but when they extended their hands to his wife, the man's eyes dulled and his smile wavered.
“She doesn't talk,” he explained.
The man smiled again and tucked the sign under his arm. He led the group to their rooms. The two girls in one room and the two boys in the other. The group settled into their rooms, thanked their hosts and set off to explore the area.
The forest had potential for a good photoshoot. The lake wasn't too far down and was nice for a swim in the summer. The man informed them about a pumpkin patch near the lake that the couple owned. The pumpkin patch was what stole the friends' attention.
As they weaved through the rows of pumpkins, they found the plump orange fruits were guarded by an army of scarecrows. Each scarecrow was decorated carefully with details. If you looked at the patch from afar, the stuffed decorations could've been mistaken for real people. Some scarecrows were adorned with strands of hair, glasses perched on their noses or tattoos etched on their arms. Every detail was specific, giving each scarecrow a unique character to them.
The friends explored until sunset and then returned to the man and his wife, who were sitting on the porch. The group told the man the activities they had partaken in. The friends praised the scarecrows that were sprinkled throughout the patch, and the man beamed.
“Those scarecrows are a part of our hobby,” the man stated. “We decorate a new scarecrow and stick it in the pumpkin patch; we hope to have one scarecrow per pumpkin!”
The friends grinned and conversed with the man until nightfall, when the man announced that he and his wife would be going to sleep and that the group should do the same.
Exhausted, the friends complied, retreating to their assigned rooms. Sleep followed. The only sounds to be heard were the gusts of wind flowing through the windows and the leaves fluttering to the ground. When the clock struck 2 a.m., though, a new sound pierced through the silence: A mutter of words mixed with a clear melody.
The voice of a woman sang through the wind and caused the falling leaves to cease. A song about a pumpkin patch. The song disturbed one of the boy's, who woke and stepped out of the room to listen. The woman continued to sing, her voice whisked away by the wind at times. The melody was haunting, melding with the wind. The boy advanced to see the singer and his foot caused a board to squeal.
The song stopped abruptly and the wife appeared in front of the boy — swiftly and without warning.
The boy yelped in alarm and fell back, noticing the woman's pearly eyes and sunken cheeks. She grinned and brandished an item from her dress pocket. She continued her song in the yard with the boy. Bloodcurdling screams supported her chorus.
Another scarecrow was added to the pumpkin patch.