The bones of SCARECROW's victims

The Bones of SCARECROW’s Victims

06/07/06

Dear diary,
Something weird happened to me today. I don’t know how to explain what I felt when it all happened.

It began this morning when I was walking towards the creek, behind my house, moving along through the thick, dry grass and bushes there that hid my invisible path, when I tripped. The non-existent path, forgotten as I began to topple over my own feet; my hands sustained deep grazes that oozed droplets of blood, as my hands automatically flung out to stop my fall. I could see below me, at the bottom of the hill, the muddy creek and its water rushing water over jaggered rocks where my body was heading for. I saw the slimy tangle of weeds floating freely in the water’s current, casting shadows among the fish that swam there. But that was not all I saw; bones lay close to the edge, the rotting flesh clinging to skin that insects so desirably ate and I was rolling towards it, sure that if I didn’t stop I would fall exactly where it lay buried, only centimetres in the bronzing earth.

I was lucky, my prays answered, as my rain jacket caught on a jutting out stick from the ground, and I grabbed hold with my dear life, on the steep hill before me. From there I could easily hoist my body upwards onto the flatter level of dirt and rocks, and stare down at the water bank where, from the top of the hill, the body rested inconspicuous beneath the long, gently swaying grass. The day’s mood had changed abruptly, now a cold chill swept through the area, ruffling my clothes that I so desperately clung to my slowly freezing body. The sun was sinking beyond the horizon, behind the layer of pink and orange that lit up the sky but not in a joyful, peaceful way. It was scary, like time was moving too slow for the mind and I could see every detail clear as though on slow motion.

The body was arranged as though the person had been sleeping and had simply never woken up; their clothes, faded in colour, and loose around the threshold of the bones, was dressed in a most particular way. Baggy grey pants with a checkered button-up t-shirt were oddly stuffed with straw, the golden-yellow strands sticking out from lumps placed within the clothes. Then there was the face; gruesome hollow cheeks and skin the colour of melted wax tinted grey sunk low around the eyes. My curiosity, haven gotten the better of me, made me step further towards the lifeless body before me, examining the eyes that seemed to dark to be real. However, they weren’t eyes, I discovered, but shining black buttons with matching criss-crossing thread, stitched across the mouth, sealing it shut.

I did not just come across a normal deceased body! I knew it was on purpose that this person was to look like a scarecrow, and as though the wind was answering me, a torn and frail piece of paper fluttered by. I snatched it up before it could fly away and read the bold black letters screaming from the paper aloud:
“SCARECROW”
I don’t even know how I managed to stay calm at that point, maybe because my whole insides were freezing but I took one more glance at the body and ran back up the hill, as fast as my legs could carry me.

13/07/06

Dear diary,
It’s been a horrible week. My insides still give a violent shutter at the thought of the body down by the river’s edge. I just hope I told the police everything thing I know, which I cannot easily forget, when the memory of it was still fresh in my mind when they came shortly after I told mum and dad. It was a big shock for everybody around here, a small country town with the only incident being our neighbour being shot in the arm on a hunting trip. But that was an accident, this was murder.

SCARECROW, SCARECROW. It’s all I ever think about now.

15/07/06

Dear diary,
No this cannot be happening! I think I'm losing my mind!
I keep dreaming about the creek; how bodies endlessly float there, all their button eyes staring back with their criss-cross smiles etched into my head. Then I hear a croaky voice; a person singing continuously in a musical tune that sends chills down my spine, joined with high pitched laughter calling for me to join the rest before carrying back on with the song.

“I come, I go.
There’s no way to know.
When next I’ll show.
Cause I'm the SCARECROW!”

On and on it goes, with a figure dancing gleefully around me, straw falling from its body.

“I'm like a shadow.
While you’re just too slow!
Not friend, instead foe.
You can’t escape the SCARECROW.”

The last words were whispered into my ear and I could feel the rough sack, of what I thought what be the scarecrow’s head, scrape against my neck. That’s when I had bolted up, in the dead of night, feeling the need to talk to you diary. Because I'm scared and I feel as though that these murders (yes, murders) are more than just your ordinary killings from psycho murderers. This is the work of someone, or something... supernatural.

16/07/06

Dear diary,
It’s night time and I haven’t fallen asleep because of the danger of being trapped in one of those nightmares. Yet, I feel as though there’s another reason too. As though I won’t rest until I find out more. Or so I can at least defend myself from whatever is happening these days.

But I have to do something! I can’t though because my parents have forbidden me to go anywhere near the hill beyond our house, let alone the creek.
The police are saying that the body they found is a missing Sydney women by the name of Charlotte Jones and that she’s been missing for almost a year. There searching the nearby bush lands around the outer area of Sydney (where we live) to find any clue as to how her body got here. Some say that the body came from the creek but I don’t want to believe that idea because I use to swim in that creek in Summer and the thought that I had been swimming among a dead body is frightening beyond belief.

However, the feeling is still there. That I have to DO something or I reckon I’ll go mad.

19/07/06

Dear diary,
I just got back from the creek! It’s the dead of night and I'm freezing to my bones from the out pour of rain that’s going on outside. I’ve found something though. Footprints, and they were fresh, in the mud beside the river bed. Not less than five minutes could someone have been there before me. I even tried to look through the haze of vapour to see if I could see any outline of anybody. But of course, I didn’t. If the Scarecrow doesn’t want to be seen, then it won’t be. I’ve figured that much out from more of my dreams.

Anyway, I saw something else. There’s something at the bottom of the creek. Ghostly and translucent like. I couldn’t see properly but it looked like a white rock covered in weeds. Weird, but I can’t investigate further until daylight and even then I’ll have a harder enough time trying to get past my parents.