A Sprinkle of Mystery

Part 2 of "The Scarecrow"

Even though this little town has seen magic of varying kinds before, it didn’t stop the incident with my uncle’s scarecrow from being a mystery—to me, at least. It was very cut-and-dry to an outsider, and what goes on in my family is none of their business.

Honestly, I didn’t think it was any of my business until that barn showed up overnight, with a talking scarecrow in it. I had always known Uncle Henry was an odd character, but he still cared about the rest of his family. His eccentricities didn’t get in the way of that.

But what made him odd? What makes that scarecrow different? This whole town is odd in one way or another. We have a harvest festival where jack-o’-lanterns do stand-up comedy, where ravens judge the best pumpkin carving, where mice judge cheese, and where Halloween decorations are enchanted to make people laugh and smile—

That’s it.

I need to find whoever enchanted that scarecrow to get the full story. If this magic is so commonplace, why did the scarecrow have his own rules? Why did he not want to display his abilities to anyone? Why had I learned about it 18 years after Uncle Henry left for war?

________________________________________

Sheriff Blakely had been the one to first approach the scarecrow about two months ago, when the barn appeared. After a phone call, we arranged to meet in a diner a block away from the police station, in the center of town. It was a very hot and humid late summer day, but the height of the corn and the pumpkins of varying sizes in the fields were signs that fall was around the corner. Harvesttime is an event to be celebrated and cherished around here.

“I didn’t think there was anything more about that barn and the scarecrow that needed to be uncovered,” Blakely said after we sat down. “It all seemed pretty self-explanatory; your uncle’s talking scarecrow wanted to protect Henry’s property, so he made it invisible.”

“I think that’s the complete story to you and anyone else who was there,” I replied, “but I want to know why Uncle Henry didn’t tell me or anyone else about the scarecrow being... alive and magical.”

“Probably so the neighbors didn’t find out.”

“That just says he didn’t trust us.”

“Word slips out even when you don’t intend it. It happens. If he had other reasons, well, he took them to the grave in France.”

“I’d like to know what his reasons were. In a place like this, where magic is normal, why would keep something so simple as a scarecrow a secret.”

“Perhaps it had less to do with your uncle and more to do with the scarecrow itself. You were there when he said he ‘broke his own rules’ about not using magic in front of people.”

I nodded. “I was thinking that earlier. I want to ask everyone at the harvest festival in a few weeks, see if I can find who made that scarecrow.”

Blakely shrugged. “Ask as much as you want, Marty. I just hope this doesn’t overtake your life. You’re one of the youngest teachers up at the high school. I’d hate to see you ruin your career by searching for something you might not ever find.”

“I don’t think that’ll happen.”

“I don’t think so, either, but I’m just telling you as a warning. Some people become obsessed with things like this, and it completely ruins them.”

He wasn’t wrong, though something in my gut was telling me that I didn’t need to worry about losing myself.

________________________________________

I alternated between grading papers and reading the pamphlets for the upcoming harvest festival that night, making a list of who I wanted to visit. Some stands weren’t going to stay the entire weekend, and I didn’t want to miss them.

It took me a few hours to grade and read. Around eleven, I stood at my bedroom window, observing the street below. Only the streetlamps were on. Every window in every house I could see was pitch-black, and it was silent. I could see the trees of the park past the next several blocks, where the festival would be, and I could only pray that I would find my answers.

I thought about it over the next several days, and tried not to let it interfere with teaching. I managed to relax a little on the first day of the festival by getting up bright and early, a couple of hours before the festival even started. With photographs of the farm, the scarecrow, and Uncle Henry in my pocket, I strolled down to the park.

Just last night, the park was completely empty, with only benches and picnic tables and a large playground near the city pool. In a matter of hours, it had been transformed into an autumn and Halloween-themed wonderland. Pumpkins and haybales were everywhere. The delicious smell of cider donuts had filled the air. Gallons and gallons of freshly pressed apple cider lined multiple stands.

There was something for everyone here. Plush toys, decorations, food, candles, tools, blankets, pillows. Of course, no harvest festival would be complete without a few stands selling Christmas things—and this festival in particular wouldn’t be complete without magic.

Real potions are forbidden here because their ingredients and effects can be... unpleasant, to say the least, and most of our resident witches and warlocks have given up the potion practice. They make a decent living with selling little enchanted novelty pieces, like holiday decorations. It was these sellers in particular I was looking for.

It was early in the day and not very lively. Many people were walking around with cups of coffee or tea or hot cider. Some figurines on tables were dancing about, but I couldn’t find any scarecrows.

I was lost in my head when an enchanted skeleton jumped out in front of me, wearing a top hat and holding a cane. “A good morning to you, sir! Might I interest you in some magic?”

“Not at the moment, my apologies.” I smiled weakly. “Could you point me in the direction of—” I pulled out my pamphlet, searching for the first name on my list, “Madam Farina?”

“My maker! Absolutely!” Whirling around, the skeleton danced its way over to a very large tent, saying “good morning” to everyone.

After a quick “thanks,” I disappeared into the tent. There were scarecrows and skeletons and jack-o’-lanterns and small statues scattered about, hanging from hooks or sitting on tables. There was also a table with baked goods, including a chocolate cake the size of a Thanksgiving platter. Sitting behind a counter was an older woman, bundled in a dark-blue cloak. Wisps of silver hair stuck out from under her hood. She smiled at me. “Can I help you, or are you just browsing?”

“I have some questions,” I said. “Did you sell a scarecrow to a Henry Weston?”

Farina closed her eyes in thought. “If I did it was long ago.”

I took one of the photographs from my pocket. “He was a farmer around here. He was drafted in World War II, and killed in France in October of 1944.”

Gently taking the photograph, Farina studied in. She rubbed her chin with a gnarled hand, then looked back up at me. “The scarecrow I gave Farmer Weston was a gift. Many decades ago, I ran an ‘orphanage’ for enchanted things abandoned by much crueler witches. Things they ‘mistakenly’ gave too much heart. Things that couldn’t bear to harm a living being.” She gestured for me to sit. “Would you like a slice of cake?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

Though her hands were shaky, Farina cut a very neat slice of the chocolate cake. “Don’t worry, it’s not cursed,” she said with a grin. “Now, the scarecrow. That one in particular had a traumatic past, and he was unique because he couldn’t forget it. Most enchanted beings come and are very excited to move on to more loving homes. This scarecrow couldn’t move on, and, sadly, I wasn’t sure how to help him. It seemed like pure coincidence when Henry came in to find a scarecrow, and the two connected.”

“I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences,” I said.

“Neither have I. That scarecrow rejected everyone except Henry. What it was that made them bond so well is beyond me.”

I thought while putting another forkful of cake in my mouth. “The scarecrow claimed he wasn’t allowed to use magic.”

“He was afraid the witches who made him would track him by magic. You can tell him that he doesn’t need to worry anymore. Those witches are long gone.”

I nodded. “I’ll try. He’s in hiding now. He turned invisible, along with one my uncle’s barns. He won’t come back, unless it’s on his terms.”

A sad smile came over Farina’s face. “Then I would suggest letting him be.”

A weight lifted from my shoulders. I had been expecting a much more complex story, but I was glad that there wasn’t something more sinister at play. My uncle’s neighbors had long moved away. The witches that created and abused the scarecrow were gone. I could rest easy, and continue to hope that one day, in my lifetime, the scarecrow would return.

After finishing the cake, I stood up, and held my hand out to Farina. “Thank you for telling me. I’ve been searching for answers ever since the barn with the scarecrow showed up this past summer.”

“Ah, so that’s what all the fuss was about that morning.” Farina laughed. “You can come by anytime if you have questions, young man. I appreciate you taking the time to listen.”

“No problem,” I said. “How much for the cake?”

“Oh, don’t worry about paying. I think sitting and listening to me is payment enough. Honestly, I’m happy you gave me an update on my scarecrow. My only hope is for him to have another happy home, but that’s not something I can control.”

“I’ll let you know if he comes back.” After bidding farewell to Farina, I left the tent, satisfied. The festival was becoming much livelier now, and with my questions answered, I felt I could just enjoy it with everyone else.