4. Chapter 4
Thud!
I fly up on the couch, heart trying to escape from my chest. Buttery shafts of yellow light shine across the wooden farmhouse floors, alerting me that it’s morning. I blink, the heaviness of sleep mixed with the adrenaline of whatever woke me coursing through my veins.
I whip my head around the living room and see that I’m alone. I attempt to calm my breathing and get my bearings, trying to understand what happened.
I’m naked, my phone on my tripod still set up to record. The pink rabbit I was using before my imagination ran off with me is on the floor.
“What the fuck.” I shift on the couch, noticing I’m wet between my thighs, and my clit is throbbing for relief.
I ignore the ache, heart still racing at how real what happened in my fantasy was. Or should I say my dream?
I breathe and grab my phone. It’s dead, and my ring light must have turned off by itself too. I didn’t know it did that.
With phone in hand, I grab a black silk robe I’d placed over the back of the couch last night and put it on, heading straight to the windows that look out to the cornfields. The shiver I felt so vibrantly in my dream travels up my back as I meet the face of my scarecrow. Silas.
Heat coils in my low belly as I stare at his unmoving face.
He’s exactly in the same spot as he was before, tied to his cross like a malevolent god to the creatures above and below.
My eyes never leave the cavernous ones I stared into in my dream.
Everything had felt so real. Real enough that I almost came.
If I ever told anyone about this, they’d think I had gone mad.
“Be patient, my eager one…For tomorrow night, we shall be together.”
My clit pulses and my nipples tighten under the silk of my robe, as his promise rings through my memory.
Silas remains perfectly still on his wooden cross, and my gaze travels down to his threaded lips. Threaded lips that sucked my neck, his wet tongue caressing my throat—a tongue that should most certainly not belong to a man made of straw.
A crow caws loudly outside, and I rub a hand over my face, laughing at myself. It was a dream. A kinky dream that stemmed from the fact I’d had an odd night at the festival and had been thinking of scarecrows all day.
“Get yourself together, Harper.”
I turn away from the window, grabbing the rest of my things to take up to my bedroom. A cold shower should do the trick—it will be the reset I need to feel settled again. Then I can get work done and prepare myself for socializing with Ava and her friends tonight.
Turns out, a cold shower didn’t work. My pussy aches, and no matter how many times I’ve tried to come, I can’t. It’s put a serious damper on my work, and I’ve had to let my whale know that the video is coming…or should I say coming soon. Hopefully.
God, I hope.
I stare down between my legs, looking at the crotch of the orange bikini underwear I have on.
I’ve had to change into a new pair twice already, but no matter what I do, how many strong vibrators I use, I can’t come.
Each time I’m close I think of the words Silas said in my dreams. To be patient, that tonight we’ll be together.
It’s incredibly laughable, because Silas isn’t real. The only way we’ll be together tonight is in my dreams. And the last time I checked, I don’t dream of what I want on command. Last night was simply a product of exhaustion, my fantasy before I drifted off, and too much talking of scarecrows.
My stupid clit pulses again and I flop back on my mattress, staring up at the ceiling of my bedroom.
It’s after five and the sun is setting. Since I’ve finished all the work I can get done without orgasming, I have time to kill before the get-together tonight.
Ava has yet to drop off my costume, but she texted me and said she’d leave it at my door by seven, and that the gathering wasn’t until eleven.
I text Codi to see how trick or treating is going to distract me.
Silas Valley does their trick or treating at the festival.
I could go, but with how unsettled I feel right now, it’s probably for the best that I stay away.
I think about being around a ton of people, and it sets me even more on edge.
I just hope that I’ve finally settled when I go to the gathering tonight.
I figure if worst comes to worst I can make an appearance, and then bail.
A new text in response to mine pops up from Codi, and I open it.
CODI:
It’s been going great. We’ve already had a ton of kids, good thing I bought candy in bulk.
ME:
Glad to hear.
CODI:
Are you settling in okay?
ME:
Fine. Didn’t get much sleep last night, but I’m going to a small party tonight with some locals.
CODI:
Love that you’re making friends already! And why didn’t you sleep? Did the ghosts keep you up all night?
ME:
No ghosts.
Part of me wishes it was ghosts keeping me on edge. That would be a better explanation than whatever is going on with me.
CODI:
I’m still not convinced. I can’t stop thinking of that creepy scarecrow. Some guy came dressed up as one with his kid. I got the shivers! Maybe that thing is haunted instead of the house!
I read her text again and look toward the bedroom window. All day I’ve had to fight going to the window and staring at him again. At one point I found myself wanting to walk out into the cornfield and talk to Silas. Asking him if what happened last night was real—because it sure as hell felt real.
That would be silly of me. But, he could be haunted. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. Ava did say he belonged to the founder of the town, which means he’s hundreds of years old. It still doesn’t necessarily explain the vivid dream of mine, but maybe he’s some powerful spirit?
ME:
Maybe you’re right.
CODI:
Please don’t say that!
Before I can respond, another message comes through.
CODI:
Okay, gotta go, more kids are here. I’ll call you to do a full catch up tomorrow. Maybe you’ll meet someone hot at this party!
I heart her text and set my phone down, grabbing my laptop that has a scary movie paused on it. It was another attempt to distract myself from the situation between my legs.
I minimize the movie and pull up Google. Before I moved, I researched quite a bit about Silas Valley, but I never got too deep into its history. I looked more at its political leanings, and what kind of restaurants and vibes it had. Not into the town founders, and their scarecrow, Silas.
I type in “Silas Valley Scarecrow” and I’m met with several articles written by the town newspaper over the years.
I open the first one and I’m met with a black and white photo of Silas.
The picture doesn’t do him justice; the flat image taking away the details of his features.
However, it doesn’t make him appear any less terrifying. Though I do love that about him.
I tear my eyes away from the image and read the article.
It has the same exact information Ava gave me, nothing new.
Every article from the town I read after that is more of the same.
I was hoping they’d at least mention how they keep him looking so good.
Ava said they take care of him, but I’m curious about what that means.
Does the town have someone who knows how to restore scarecrows?
The information makes me both laugh and feel uneasy.
The idea of someone taking him from his place and potentially pulling him apart makes me oddly ill.
Obviously, whoever has been keeping him in pristine condition has done a great job.
I think of the last person that lived in this farmhouse and wonder if they helped.
The scarecrow is part of this property after all; do I take care of him now?
With no idea, I click back to a new search.
Typing in “Silas Scarecrow Harvest” to see if anything else comes up outside of the town articles.
My eyes widen when several images of beings that look like Silas pop up, just different variations.
Some are bigger, taller, but all of them have the same face, hollow eyes, and threaded mouths.
The first article holds my interest right away, the title reading: “Silas: The Forgotten God of Harvest.”
I devour the article from top to bottom, learning of this god I’ve never heard of.
He was popular in the fifteen and sixteen hundreds, the latter lining up with the founding of this town.
The worship of Silas and how he came to be is not exactly clear; some say he was the product of witchcraft, while some records found say he rose from the earth, from the dire prayers and wishes of townspeople who were starving due to famine.
“But why were you forgotten, Silas?” I ask.
I quickly read through the article, learning that Silas is said to only come to life on the last day of October, starting to stir and make his presence known in the few days leading up to it. I read until I find a word that stops me in my tracks: sacrifice.
My mouth goes dry, and I whisper the next part to myself.
“While the worship of Silas ramped up with popularity in small townships not often traveled by outsiders, it quickly lost steam due to the practice of sacrificing one human every All Hallows’ Eve.
The blood of the sacrifice spilled by Silas was said to ensure a fruitful fall harvest to last the people during winter, and bountiful crops to grow and thrive throughout the remainder of the year.
Because of this barbaric practice, Silas has since become the long-forgotten harvest god.”
My stomach churns, and in my mind, I hear Silas’s words to me: “Such a willing sacrifice, aren’t you?”
Full body shivers wrack through me, stomach churning again. I read over the article once more before it occurs to me. The missing man that Codi reminded me of. The one that nobody could find when we came here as kids.
I type out a Google search, and sure enough, it comes up. Jamison Heart. A young man who passed through for a short time to get his car fixed while on a road trip, but never returned to pick up his car. To this day, there’s been no trace of him.
I do another search, this time looking for missing persons cases in this area over the years, but nothing else comes up.
Relief floods my system, and I laugh. I’m being ridiculous.
I knew the crime rate here was low. This is all just lore.
Last night was just a dream, and having Silas call me a willing sacrifice is simply because I watch too many horror films and read too many scary stories.
Moreover, even if the people of this town did give into the sacrifice shenanigans hundreds of years back, it’s not like they do it now. More than just one person would have had to disappear.
My doorbell rings, and I clutch my chest. It takes me a minute and another ring of the bell to get myself together. I roll my eyes at myself for even being a little scared by all this just as my phone chimes with a new text. I snatch it off the bed and see a message from Ava.
AVA:
Rang the bell and left your costume for you by the door. I totally forgot to tell you that tonight is close to your place. You’ll be able to walk. I’ll ping you the location when I’m there.
I read over her message as my heart settles into a more normal beat. I shoot a quick text back.
ME:
But there’s nothing around me?
AVA:
You’re in a small town now, Harper! Most of our get-togethers take place in a field around a bonfire.
I rub my hand over her face, unsure what to make of this information. I’m going to be hanging out in a field, the night after my strange dream of Silas chasing me in a cornfield, and after I just learned all this information?
“Fuck,” I groan. “It’s lore,” I remind myself yet again. But there’s the part of my brain that says I’ve always believed in lore before.
No. Nope. This is ridiculous. I’m not going to be a sacrifice for a harvest god tonight.
That is absolutely stupid of me to even think about.
This is a regular town, and Silas is a regular scarecrow that most definitely does not come alive once a year to kill someone. Everything is going to be fine.