The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight by R. L. Stine

us moved. We were waiting for the scarecrows to fall.
    Waiting for the headless scarecrows to collapse and fall.
    But they didn’t go down.
    Instead, they reached out their arms and moved stiffly, menacingly forward.
    “They — they’re coming to get us!” Stanley cried in a high, trembling voice.
    “Mark —
do
something!” I shouted, shoving him forward. “Make them stand on one foot or hop up and down. Stop them!”
    The headless figures dragged themselves toward us, arms outstretched.
    Marked stepped forward. He raised both hands over his head.
    The scarecrows didn’t stop, didn’t copy him.
    “Hey — hands up!” Mark shouted desperately. He waved his hands above his head.
    The scarecrows edged forward, silently, steadily.
    “Th-they’re not doing it!” Mark wailed. “They’re not
following
me!”
    “You don’t look like a scarecrow anymore,” Grandma Miriam added. “They don’t think you’re their leader.”
    Closer they came, staggering blindly. Closer.
    They formed a tight circle around us.
    A scarecrow brushed its straw hand against my cheek.
    I uttered a terrified cry. “Noooooo!”
    It reached for my throat, the dry straw scratching me, scratching my face, scratching, scratching.
    The headless scarecrows swarmed over Mark.
    He thrashed and kicked. But they were smothering him, forcing him to the ground.
    My grandparents cried out helplessly as the dark-coated figures surrounded them. Stanley let out a silent gasp.
    “Sticks — help me!” I shrieked as the straw hands wrapped around my neck. “Sticks? Sticks?”
    I glanced frantically around.
    “Sticks? Help me! Please! Where are you?”
    Then I realized to my horror that Sticks was gone.

29
    “Sticks?” I let out a final muffled cry.
    The straw hands wrapped around my throat. The scarecrow rolled over me. My face was pressed into the dry straw of its chest.
    I tried to squirm free. But it held on, surrounded me, choked me.
    The straw smelled sour. Decayed. I felt sick. A wave of nausea swept over me.
    “Let go! Let go!” I heard Stanley pleading.
    The scarecrow was surprisingly strong. It wrapped its arms around me tightly, smothering me in the disgusting straw.
    I made one last attempt to pull free. Struggling with all my might, I raised my head.
    And saw two balls of fire. Orange streaks of light.
    Floating closer.
    And in the orange light, I saw Sticks’s face, hard and determined.
    I gave another hard tug. And tumbled backwards. “Sticks!” I cried.
    He was carrying two blazing torches. The torches from the barn, I realized.
    “I was saving these just in case!” Sticks called.
    The scarecrows seemed to sense danger.
    They let go of us, tried to scramble away.
    But Sticks moved quickly.
    He swept the two torches, swinging them like baseball bats.
    A scarecrow caught fire. Then another.
    Sticks made another wide swing.
    The fire crackled, a streak of orange against the darkness.
    The dry straw burst into flame. The old coats burned quickly.
    The scarecrows twisted and writhed as the bright flames danced over them. They sank to their backs on the ground. Burning. Burning so brightly, so silently, so fast.
    I took a step back, staring in horror and fascination.
    Grandpa Kurt had his arm around Grandma Miriam. They leaned close together, their faces reflecting the flickering flames.
    Stanley stood tensely, his eyes wide. He hugged the book tightly to his chest. He was murmuring to himself, but I couldn’t make out the words.
    Mark and I stood beside Sticks, who held a torch in each hand, watching with narrowed eyes as the scarecrows burned.
    In seconds, there was nothing left but clumps of dark ashes on the ground.
    “It’s over,” Grandma Miriam murmured softly, gratefully.
    “Never again,” I heard Stanley mutter.
    The house was quiet the next afternoon.
    Mark was out on the screened-in porch, lying in the hammock, reading a stack of comic books. Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam had gone in for their afternoon