Chapter 14 Camille
My arms pump as I run into the cornfield, too pumped with adrenaline, fear, and worry to notice the cold.
Since the stalks are high, they’re excellent at preventing the snow flurries from touching the ground.
I can see them sparkling in the wind above my head as I slow down, huffing and moving more slowly now that I’m concealed.
I haven’t run through cornfields like this since I was a girl. It’s been so long that I don’t remember how they scratch your face and clothes, especially with the cold air nearly freezing and sharpening the outer leaves. I’m going to have tiny wounds all over by the time I get out of here.
And I will. I’m determined not to be caught by the crazy psycho stalker who’s never really been my number one fan at all. He’s been deceiving all of us. It makes me wonder who he’s working with because he said ‘we’ more than once.
“Camille. Where are you hiding? Can you tell I’m not too far behind you?”
I slap a hand over my mouth as the urge to scream takes over. He’s taunting me. I won’t be stupid enough to give him any further clues about where I’m at.
Instead, I slowly begin to walk between the stalks, staying away from the edge of the cornfield. It’s a vast area, and if I’m smart and careful, I have a chance to elude him.
His voice sounds farther away as he taunts me again, trying to spook me into revealing where I am. It won’t work.
I think I’m safe until someone grabs me, slapping a palm against my mouth to keep me quiet. It’s instinctual to fight. I flail and kick at the attacker, using every ounce of strength to get free. When I bite down on his hand, he curses.
“Baby, it’s me.”
All the fight leaves me with an audible exhale. Why didn’t he say something sooner? With a soft cry, I spin around and throw myself into Rex’s arms.
“Shhh, I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he whispers.
“I was so scared.”
“I know, but you’ve been so fucking brave. I’m proud of you.” He kisses me, and it’s over too fast. “I need you to be brave a little bit longer. Can you do that?”
If it means he gets rid of the stalker, I can do it. “Okay.”
“I’m not going to leave you for long. Trust me.”
“I already do.”
“Good girl,” he praises, kissing the top of my head. “Stay hidden.”
I hate that he’s leaving me alone, but now that Rex is here, I don’t feel as desperate or afraid. Staying in place becomes problematic after several minutes. I’m freezing, and it’s way too quiet.
I haven’t heard the stalker or Rex.
If they had found one another, I know they would have been fighting or yelling. This silence is unnerving.
I can’t stay here. I’m too cold. It’s not my intention to disobey Rex, but I have to get some circulation in my body, or I’m going to have frostbite.
I’m not walking for long when I pop through a row of stalks and end up in an open circle.
There’s a geometric pattern on the ground.
It’s an artful press of the crops in this area that’s probably used for irrigation, and was at some point.
It’s fascinating to stare at the intricacy of the design. It’s almost alien.
There’s a slight shuffle in the wind that sounds like a rustle of clothing. My head snaps up, and I’m suddenly staring at a scarecrow. The weird and terrifying part? He’s not attached to a pole.
The figure stands at a monstrous height, facing me, his otherworldly gaze focused on my position.
I’ve seen the scarecrows around Raven’s Crest for years, and they all have a haunting quality about them.
I swear they’ve always been watching, and now, with equal parts horror and intrigue, I know it’s true.
He’s menacing with broad shoulders that remind me of Rex. His body towers over the top of the cornstalks, and I swear he’s deciding what to do next. In his gloved hand, he holds a giant ax.
It’s just like Rex’s ax except this one. . . hums.
I must be crazy. It’s not making any sense.
Maybe I’ve collapsed, and this is all a dream. I’ve got to be hallucinating. Scarecrows aren’t alive. Right?
“There you are.”
It’s the stalker. I can’t tell who the bigger threat is right now. The hunching form of the scarecrow as he unleashes an inhuman growl, or the guy who’s been terrorizing me for weeks. They’re both intimidating.
The scarecrow solves the issue for me. He suddenly runs toward me, and I drop to the ground, covering my head in an attempt to protect myself from harm. He doesn’t touch me.
I watch in awe as he leaps over my head and lands with a hard thud on the ground. Monstrous, barbaric sounds fill the air that don’t seem possible for him to make.
The scarecrow doesn’t pause. He launches into an attack, choosing the man in front of him as prey. My jaw drops as I see him flip the ax in his hand around like it weighs nothing, almost showing off as he approaches the man he’s after.
The stalker freezes as he stares with wide eyes. He lifts his rifle and fires several bullets. They all pass through the scarecrow, and one slams into the cornstalk above my head.
I blink as I realize how close it came to taking my life.
There’s a roar of outrage before the ax swings through the air. I know I should look away. My whole body knows I’m about to witness carnage, but I can’t seem to do it.
Blood spurts from the stalker’s neck as the ax slices through the bones and tissue like a knife through soft butter. It splatters the cold ground and the scarecrow. The dark red blood spills from the headless shoulders as the body hits the dirt.
I swallow back bile as I push to my feet. I’m not sorry the stalker is dead, but I’m still too scared to be close to the scarecrow. He must sense that feeling because he moves slowly, wiping off the edge of the ax and removing the blood.
I stay in place as he approaches. He drops to one knee in front of me, and the oddest sensation rolls through me. It’s almost like I’m staring at the straw replica of Rex.
That isn’t possible.
He rises to his feet and strides toward the pole where he used to perch from, spinning around to stare at me with a look that pins me in place. There’s somehow emotion in his dark gaze. A connection I feel, and can’t explain.
I’m so tired that I rub my eyes. When I look at the pole, he’s no longer on the ground. The scarecrow is back in place.
I walk up to him, too curious not to inspect him more closely. His leathery skin and honey-colored straw seem to brighten a little as the moon shines silvery-white beams down upon us. It’s only then that I notice the shocking detail.
The letters B.G. are tattooed on the weathered skin.
I gasp.
It’s Rex.