Thick, twisted trees loomed over the road, blocking all sunlight. Somehow, even though the trees had barely any leaves on the branches, they still managed to make the beautiful afternoon look like a scene from a horror story. Well, maybe that’s because it was.

“I don’t remember this road being so creepy,” Emily whimpered from the back seat. Her blond hair was tied up in two pigtails, a hairstyle she hadn’t worn since that day.

Rowan wanted to tell her friend that it was all in her head, but even Rowan couldn’t deny that the knot in her stomach got tighter and tighter the closer they got.

She took a deep breath and focused on her reflection in the passenger window.

“So, is anyone going to tell me why we’re going back there?” Emily asked, breaking the silence yet again.

“Rowan started having those visions again,” the driver, Rowan’s Dad, explained.

“They aren’t visions,” Rowan mumbled, not looking away from the window, “they’re just nightmares.” She moved a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“You don’t really believe that,” Dad countered. “You’re connected to him. And if he’s back at it, then we’re the only ones who can stop him.”

Rowan wiped her head around. Her blue eyes narrowed on her father, nose scrunched. “We didn’t stop him the first time. We ran away. We left her to burn along with him,” tears smeared her mascara and stained her cheeks. She always got like this; the guilt of having left. The guilt of not being able to do anything. It haunted her.

“There wasn’t anything we could have done, Rowan. People were being killed. How was I supposed to know that-”

“You could have listened to me,” Rowan snapped.

Emily’s load gasp interrupted. “Mister Langshaw, lookout.” She pouted between the two front seats.

Rowan’s eyes followed the direction her friend’s hand was guiding them to look.

In the middle of the road was a figure—a tall, slender-looking man with a wide-brimmed hat.

Rowan’s back striated. Feet pressed into the floor. Her body wanted to get as far away as possible. Her head started throbbing, and her eyes burned, but not from the tears that they had produced only moments ago. They stung from their connection. They stung because he was using them again. “Dad,” Rowan cried out.

Her dad pressed his foot into the gas pedal, “I’ll run him over.”

Rowan grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it towards her. She wasn’t in control of her arms at the moment. He was.

The car swerved as her father fought for control. “Rowan. Stop. Fight him.”

The car was headed for the ditch. The breaks squealed, but it was no use. The vehicle went nose-first into the ditch. The airbags deployed.

Everything was black for a moment. Rowan coughed and blinked her eyes open. Her head was throbbing. Ears ringing.

She moved her face out of the airbag and got a glimpse of something out the window. A shadow. Was it him? Who else could it be? The car door opened, and Rowan fell back into the darkness.

***Eleven Years Earlier***

Rowan ran around the yard, playing with Lucky. Lucky was a Collie mix; black fur covered most of her body apart from the white patch on her chest and tip of her tail. She also had three white paws and one brown. Rowan originally wanted to name her “Socks” because of how the brown and white patches on her feet went up to her knees and looked like socks. But after the dog had a near-death experience with a car, the name “Lucky” seemed to fit better.

Rowan picked up Lucky’s ball and tossed it. The dog dashed after it. Rowan tried to keep up. When Lucky got the ball, she waited for Rowan to get closer before dropping it at the girl's feet.

The two of them did this for hours, waiting for Rowan’s dad to come back from the field.

When the red pickup truck drove up the driveway, Lucky rushed off towards it, barking.

Rowan followed Lucky, calling her name. The dog stopped in the middle of the driveway and Rowan took her by the collar, escorting her towards the house. The two sat on the front steps. Rowan watched the truck maneuver into its usual spot.

A tall man with black hair and green eyes stepped out of the truck. Lucky tugged and pulled until Rowan let her go. The dog rushed over and tried jumping up onto him. “Down girl, down. I missed you too.” When Lucky calmed down, he petted her.

“Dad!” Rowan stood, grinning. Her father walked over with Lucky hot on his heels. He ruffled his daughter's hair, and the three headed inside. Rowan got two glasses and filled them with water from the tap. “Did you fix the thingy?”

Her father parked his butt on a chair at the kitchen table and proceeded to remove his big steel-toe boots. “Yeah, I fixed the irrigation system. There were some cracks in the hoses, so I just patched them up.”

Rowan delivered a glass of water to him. “Yay, so the corn will be ready in time for harvest?”

Her father offered her a warm smile, accepting the glass. He downed the water before answering. “Yes. But you don’t need to worry about that, okay?”

Rowan nodded and took a seat. She chugged her glass of water before jumping back out of her chair. “Can I help make dinner?”

Dad leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Of course. What are you wanting?”

“Pork chops and potatoes!”

He stretched his arms over his head, then stood. “How about tomato soup?”

Rowan frowned. “Again?” She let out a heavy sigh, but nodded. “Okie.”

After dinner, Rowan helped her dad clean up from dinner. He washed the dishes and she dried them. “Can we play a game after?” She asked while drying a fork.

“Sure. But only for a bit. You need a bath after playing outside all day. Then it’s off to bed.”

Rowan placed the utensil in the drawer with all its friends. “But I’m not tired.”

“Well, I am.”

“Then, you should be going to bed.”

“I will be, but first, I have to be the adult and tuck you in.” He handed her a wet plate.

Rowan took the plate and dried it, watching as her dad reached Into the bubbly sink to pull the plug. The drain gurgled as It drank up the water. Dad rinsed the remaining bubbles, then helped Rowan put the last of the dishes away. Rowan handed her dried plate to him. “Alright, let's go play.”

As they left the kitchen, Lucky jumped up out of her bed and started barking. She ran to the front door, stood on her hind legs to see out the window, and kept vocalizing her urgency. Dad grunted, following the dog to look outside. Lucky was on all fours again, running around in circles, eager to be set free.

“Is someone coming over today?” Rowan went to a window that looked out at the driveway. She gasped. “Someone’s here!”

Her dad nodded once. “It’s Tom. Wonder what he wants.”

“Do you think he brought Emily?” Rowan bounced.

“No, she’s probably at home with her mom. But you can come out and see.”

They both put their shoes on and headed out. Lucky ran up to Tom as he got out of his blue Toyota.

“Hey Tom,” Rowan’s dad called from behind Rowan. “What brings you by at this hour?”

Rowan circled the car with Lucky. The dog sniffed the ground.

“Evening Richard, Rowan. Sorry to bother the two of you, but someone left something behind at my motel. I thought you might get good use out of it.”

When Emily didn’t step out, Rowan pressed her forehead to one of the back windows. She cupped her hands around her upper face to help see through the tinted glass. “You didn’t bring Emily?”

The adults headed to the trunk. “Sorry, kiddo,” Tom unlocked the trunk and opened it. He gestured inside. “What do you think, Richard?”

Rowan’s dad arched his brow. “Someone left this in a motel room?”

Tom laughed, “Yeah. Weird, right?”

Rowan peeled her face away from the car's window. She pouted, watching Lucky. The collie's usually wagging tail was between its legs. It stayed close to Rowan.

“Very.”

“So, do you think you can make use of it?”

“I don’t see why not. I can put it out in the field for a bit.”

“I can throw it out if you don’t want it, Richard.”

“No, no, I’ll take it.” He cleared his throat. “Hey Rowan, can you move this to the back of my truck?”

Rowan sighed. “Okie.” She dragged her feet over to the trunk. Peering inside, the girl tilted her head. Old brown straw covered in ratted old clothes lay in the car's back cavity. “What is it?”

Tom knelt to Rowan’s height. “It’s a scarecrow. They’re used to scare away birds from fields and gardens.”

“Oh.” Rowan nodded slowly. “Why?”

“Because they eat the seeds and crops,” Tom said matter-of-factly.

Rowan looked to her dad for confirmation, and he gave a single nod. “Oh, okie.” Rowan turned back to the heap of straw. She reached inside and scooped it up. It was heavier than expected, warmer too. Rowan dragged it over to her dad’s truck while the men chatted. Once at the tailgate, she adjusted her grip in preparation to lift the scarecrow. A sudden pain shot through her hand and up her arm. Rowan yelped. The scarecrow dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Rowan cupped her burning hand with the other. Her palm was covered in bright red blood. “Dad!” She cried.

Her dad rushed over and crouched down to her height. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Rowan's body trembled. She stared at the heap on the ground. “The scarecrow bit me.”

He cupped her cheek, tilting her head so she was looking at him. “It’s not real, it doesn’t bite. Come on; let's get you inside.” Her dad grabbed the scarecrow with one hand and flung it into the back of his truck in one swift motion. He lifted Rowan and carried her in.

She looked back at the scarecrow as it lay in the back of the truck. Blood smeared its face. But then it disappeared, absorbing into the fabric.

Elizabeth Duivenvoorde

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