The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight (8 page)

The scarecrows stopped moving. They stood still as statues as they watched Mark pull off his scarecrow head.

Mark stared back at them, holding the burlap bag between his hands. His hair was matted wetly to his forehead. He was dripping with sweat.

The scarecrows hesitated for a moment more.

A long, silent moment.

I held my breath. My heart was pounding.

Then I let out a happy cry as the scarecrows all reached up with their straw hands — and pulled off their heads!

The dark hats and burlap heads fell silently to the grass.

None of us moved. We were waiting for the scarecrows to fall.

Waiting for the headless scarecrows to collapse and fall.

But they didn’t go down.

Instead, they reached out their arms and moved stiffly, menacingly forward.

“They — they’re coming to get us!” Stanley cried in a high, trembling voice.

“Mark —
do
something!” I shouted, shoving him forward. “Make them stand on one foot or hop up and down. Stop them!”

The headless figures dragged themselves toward us, arms outstretched.

Marked stepped forward. He raised both hands over his head.

The scarecrows didn’t stop, didn’t copy him.

“Hey — hands up!” Mark shouted desperately. He waved his hands above his head.

The scarecrows edged forward, silently, steadily.

“Th-they’re not doing it!” Mark wailed. “They’re not
following
me!”

“You don’t look like a scarecrow anymore,” Grandma Miriam added. “They don’t think you’re their leader.”

Closer they came, staggering blindly. Closer.

They formed a tight circle around us.

A scarecrow brushed its straw hand against my cheek.

I uttered a terrified cry. “Noooooo!”

It reached for my throat, the dry straw scratching me, scratching my face, scratching, scratching.

The headless scarecrows swarmed over Mark.

He thrashed and kicked. But they were smothering him, forcing him to the ground.

My grandparents cried out helplessly as the dark-coated figures surrounded them. Stanley let out a silent gasp.

“Sticks — help me!” I shrieked as the straw hands wrapped around my neck. “Sticks? Sticks?”

I glanced frantically around.

“Sticks? Help me! Please! Where are you?”

Then I realized to my horror that Sticks was gone.

“Sticks?” I let out a final muffled cry.

The straw hands wrapped around my throat. The scarecrow rolled over me. My face was pressed into the dry straw of its chest.

I tried to squirm free. But it held on, surrounded me, choked me.

The straw smelled sour. Decayed. I felt sick. A wave of nausea swept over me.

“Let go! Let go!” I heard Stanley pleading.

The scarecrow was surprisingly strong. It wrapped its arms around me tightly, smothering me in the disgusting straw.

I made one last attempt to pull free. Struggling with all my might, I raised my head.

And saw two balls of fire. Orange streaks of light.

Floating closer.

And in the orange light, I saw Sticks’s face, hard and determined.

I gave another hard tug. And tumbled backwards. “Sticks!” I cried.

He was carrying two blazing torches. The torches from the barn, I realized.

“I was saving these just in case!” Sticks called.

The scarecrows seemed to sense danger.

They let go of us, tried to scramble away.

But Sticks moved quickly.

He swept the two torches, swinging them like baseball bats.

A scarecrow caught fire. Then another.

Sticks made another wide swing.

The fire crackled, a streak of orange against the darkness.

The dry straw burst into flame. The old coats burned quickly.

The scarecrows twisted and writhed as the bright flames danced over them. They sank to their backs on the ground. Burning. Burning so brightly, so silently, so fast.

I took a step back, staring in horror and fascination.

Grandpa Kurt had his arm around Grandma Miriam. They leaned close together, their faces reflecting the flickering flames.

Stanley stood tensely, his eyes wide. He hugged the book tightly to his chest. He was murmuring to himself, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Mark and I stood beside Sticks, who held a torch in each hand, watching with narrowed eyes as the scarecrows burned.

In seconds, there was nothing left but clumps of dark ashes on the ground.

“It’s over,” Grandma Miriam murmured softly, gratefully.

“Never again,” I heard Stanley mutter.

The house was quiet the next afternoon.

Mark was out on the screened-in porch, lying in the hammock, reading a stack of comic books. Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam had gone in for their afternoon nap.

Sticks had driven into town to pick up the mail.

Stanley sat at the kitchen table, reading his superstition book. His finger moved over the page as he muttered the words aloud in a low voice.

“Never again,” he had repeated at lunch. “I’ve learned my lesson about this book. I’ll never try to bring any scarecrows to life again. I won’t even
read
the part about scarecrows!”

We were all glad to hear that.

So now, on this lazy, peaceful afternoon, Stanley sat at the table, quietly reading some chapter of the big book.

And I sat alone on the couch in the living room, hearing Stanley’s gentle murmurings from the kitchen, thinking about the night before.

It felt good to have a quiet afternoon, to be all alone to think about what had happened. All alone …

The only one in the room …

The only one to hear Stanley’s low mumbling as he read the book.

The only one to see the gigantic stuffed brown bear blink its eyes.

The only one to see the bear lick its lips, step off its platform, snarl, and paw the air with its enormous claws.

The only one to hear its stomach growl as it stared down at me.

The only one to see the hungry look on its face as it magically came out of its long hibernation.

“Stanley?” I called in a tiny, high voice. “Stanley? What chapter have you been reading?”

BEHIND THE SCREAMS
THE SCARECROW WALKS AT MIDNIGHT

CONTENTS

About the Author

Q & A with R.L. Stine

Fright Gallery: The Scarecrow

Very Superstitious

Scarecrows in History

Teaser

Bonus material written and compiled by Luke Woods

R.L. Stine’s books are read all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 300 million copies, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written the teen series Fear Street, the funny series Rotten School, as well as the Mostly Ghostly series, The Nightmare Room series, and the two-book thriller
Dangerous Girls.
R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and Minnie, his King Charles spaniel. You can learn more about him at www.RLStine.com.

From Jodie’s first description, her grandparents’ place sounds like a lot of fun. Have you ever spent any time on a farm?

R.L. Stine (RLS):
No. Except for the time I really needed a job and got one as a scarecrow. I had to quit that job. I kept getting a rash on my back from the pole.

Stanley uses the book of superstitions to make people respect him. What would you use a book like that for?

RLS:
I’d use a superstition book to look for ideas to scare people. Superstition is all about being afraid. I think people who are very superstitious make good characters in scary novels.

Do you have any superstitions?

RLS:
Yes. I have never written a Goosebumps book that takes place where I live—New York City. It’s just a superstition. Would it bring me bad luck if I wrote a book about New York? I don’t want to find out.

Are you ever scared by an idea that you come up with for a book?

RLS:
No. But sometimes I get scared by the ideas my
readers suggest for me. One boy said I should write a book about a vampire chicken. Now, that’s pretty scary!

Who or what do you think is your scariest Goosebumps “bad guy” so far?

RLS:
I think the scrapey, scratchy scarecrows in this book are pretty creepy. However
… I
don’t want to give anything away—but there’s a lot more evil to be revealed about Chiller House shop owner Jonathan Chiller in the HorrorLand books. He gets scarier and scarier the more you get to know him.

Speaking of Goosebumps HorrorLand, the seventeenth book,
The Wizard of Ooze,
involves a squishy, oozing comic book character. If you could choose between being a superhero or a supervillain, which would it be?

RLS:
You mean I’m not a superhero?! I’ve written so many of them. I invented my first superhero when I was 9. His name was Super Stooge. He wasn’t exactly the smartest superhero. He used to fly headfirst into walls! Let’s face it. Everyone knows that supervillains have more fun.

To find out how R.L. Stine celebrates after finishing a new book, pick up
YOU CAN’T SCARE ME!
and look in the back of the book!

FIRST APPEARANCE
The

Scarecrow Walks at Midnight

ORIGINS After a secret chant from an old book of superstitions was recited, all of the scarecrows on the farm came to life. While most of them were put back by a reverse incantation, a few of the creatures secretly roamed the farm at night.

SPECIAL POWERS Not only do the scarecrows keep pesky birds away from the crops, they keep the farmers in line, too. They are mischievous creatures who won’t hesitate to go to great measures to accomplish their tasks. They tend to follow their master, but that can be confusing when your head is filled with nothing but straw.

WEAKNESSES Lack of brains. Fire.

LIVING OR DEAD? Alive (sometimes)

FAVORITE PHRASE The sound of wind blowing through crops

HOBBIES & INTERESTS Scaring crows. Scaring farmers. Scaring children. Long walks at night.

LAST SEEN Staying very still in the cornfields

Stanley is extremely superstitious, but even he can’t remember everything there is to watch out for. He constantly refers to his book of superstitions in order to avoid bad luck. Here are some easy-to-remember rules to keep the bad spirits away.

STEP OH A CRACK,
BREAK YOUR MOTHER’S BACK.

AVOID WE LINES ON WE SIDEWALK
FOR YOUR POOR, DEAR MOM.

AVOID A BLACK CAT’S PATH OR YOU WILL
FEEL THE WRATH,

EVERYBODY LOVES KITTENS, BUT THESE CATS
WILL PAMPEN YOUR PAY.

BREAKING A MIRROR SHOULD BE IN YOUR
FEARS, WHILE BRINGING BAD LUCK
FOR SEVEN YEARS.

MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL,
PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

WALKING UNDER A LADDER CAN ONLY
MAKE YOU SADDER.

THERE’S PLENTY OF ROOM TO 60 AROUND IT.

THROW SOME OVER YOUR SHOULDER
OR IT WILL BE YOUR FAULT WHEN YOU
ACCIDENTALLY SPILL THE SALT.

PEPPER IS MUCH SAFER.

A HORSESHOE A DAY KEEPS BAD LUCK AWAY.

AND YOUR HORSE WILL ENJOY
THE FASHION STATEMENT.

ALWAYS KEEP A COUPLE OF NUMBERS
IN BETWEEN YOU AND UNLUCKY THIRTEEN.

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED WHY CLOCKS
ONLY 60 UP TO TWELVE?

Can you think of any other superstitions? Try to come up with some fun rhymes to remember them. It might just help your luck some day.