The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page A

it was and about how the rocks on the bottom hurt his delicate little feet.
    But after a while, he got into it, too.
    The creek at this point was only about two feet deep. The water was very clear and trickled rapidly, making little swirls and dips over the rocky bottom.
    I lowered my line into the water and watched the red plastic float bob on the surface. If it started to sink, I’d know I had a bite.
    The sun felt warm on my face. The cool water flowed past pleasantly.
    I wish it were deep enough to swim here,
I thought.
    “Hey — I’ve got something!” Mark cried excitedly.
    Stanley and I turned and watched him tug up his line.
    Mark pulled with all his might. “It — it’s a big one, I think,” he said.
    Finally, he gave one last really hard tug — and pulled up a thick clump of green weeds.
    “Good one, Mark,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It’s a big one, all right.”
    “You’re
a big one,” Mark shot back. “A big jerk.”
    “Don’t be such a baby,” I muttered.
    I brushed away a buzzing horsefly and tried to concentrate on my line. But my mind started to wander. It always does when I’m fishing.
    I found myself thinking about the tall scarecrows in the field. They stood so darkly, somenacingly, so alert. Their painted faces all had the same hard stare.
    I was still picturing them when I felt the hand slip around my ankle.
    The straw scarecrow hand.
    It reached up from the water, circled my ankle, and started to tighten its cold, wet grip around my leg.

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    I screamed and tried to kick the hand away.
    But my feet slipped on the smooth rocks. My hands shot up as I toppled backwards.
    “Ohh!” I cried out again as I hit the water.
    The scarecrow hung on.
    On my back, the water rushing over me, I kicked and thrashed my arms.
    And then I saw it. The clump of green weeds that had wrapped itself around my ankle.
    “Oh, no,” I moaned out loud.
    No scarecrow. Only weeds.
    I lowered my foot to the water. I didn’t move. I just lay there on my back, waiting for my heart to stop pounding, feeling once again like a total jerk.
    I glanced up at Mark and Stanley. They were staring down at me, too startled to laugh.
    “Don’t say a word,” I warned them, struggling to my feet. “I’m warning you — don’t say a word.”
    Mark snickered, but he obediently didn’t say anything.
    “I didn’t bring a towel,” Stanley said with concern. “I’m sorry, Jodie, I didn’t know you wanted to swim.”
    That made Mark burst out in loud guffaws.
    I shot Mark a warning stare. My T-shirt and shorts were soaked. I started to shore, carrying the pole awkwardly in front of me.
    “I don’t need a towel,” I told Stanley. “It feels good. Very refreshing.”
    “You scared away all the fish, Jodie,” Mark complained.
    “No.
You
scared them away. They saw your
face!”
I replied. I knew I was acting like a baby now. But I didn’t care. I was cold and wet and angry.
    I stomped onto the shore, shaking water from my hair.
    “I think they’re biting better down here,” I heard Stanley call to Mark. I turned to see him disappear around a curve of the creek.
    Stepping carefully over the rocks, Mark followed after him. They were both hidden from view behind the thick trees.
    I squeezed my hair, trying to get the creek water out. Finally, I gave up and tossed my hair behind my shoulder.
    I was debating what to do next when I heard a crackling sound in the woods.
    A footstep?
    I turned and stared into the trees. I didn’t see anyone.
    Another chipmunk scurried away over the blanket of dead brown leaves. Had someone — or
something
— frightened the chipmunk?
    I listened hard. Another crackling footstep. Rustling sounds.
    “Who — who’s there?” I called.
    The low bushes rustled in reply.
    “Sticks — is that you? Sticks?” My voice trembled.
    No reply.
    It
has
to be Sticks,
I told myself.
This is Grandpa Kurt’s property. No one else would be back here.
    “Sticks — stop trying to scare me!” I