As they walked away from the farm, the group remained silent, each of them lost in their thoughts. The night air was still cold, but the wind had died down, leaving the farm eerily quiet. The weight of what they had done—and the scarecrow’s unsettling behavior—hung heavy in the air.
The gym fell silent as the group stared at the scarecrow. It stood among the decorations and dancing students, completely out of place yet somehow unnoticed by everyone else. Its burlap face looked almost smug, its button eyes gleaming in the dim light.
The walk back to town felt longer than it should have. The night had settled in fully, and the only light came from the distant streetlamps at the edge of Mill Hollow. The scarecrow hung limply over Jordan’s shoulder, its head bouncing slightly with each step. Sam kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see something lurking in the darkness.
The small town of Mill Hollow, Illinois had always been quiet, especially as Halloween approached. The air grew colder, the nights longer, and the old legends crept into the minds of those who dared to listen. One legend, in particular, spooked the townsfolk—the legend of the Wandering Scarecrow.
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