From The Scarecrow’s Eyes

Ernest Roberson Sr.



Jenny Bush had lived with her grandparents since she was 15. Jack and Irene Bush lived on a farm on the outskirts of Springfield, Illinois. Jenny was petite, had blonde hair, and was twenty years old. Jack was sixty-five, and Irene sixty-four. Jack had been farming since 1964. Jenny would often go into the corn field, and come back hours later. Irene had seen her do this from the front screen door on different occasions. And thought that was unusual behavior. Jenny walked out of the corn field onto the dirt road and towards the wooden house.
 “What are you doing going out there in that field, and staying so long for?” Irene asked from behind the closed screen door.
 “Seeing Mr. Scarecrow, grandma.” She replied, walking up the wooden steps.
 “Mr. Hell. He’s just straw, with clothes.” Irene said.
She opened the screen door, went onto the porch, and sat in the rocking chair.
“What Jenny?”
 “You’re wrong about that scarecrow. He talks to me, and tonight he’s going to make love to me.” Jenny said as she sat in the porch swing.
 “Go in the house right now young lady,” Irene said, harshly.


Jenny did as her grandma said slamming the screen door shut behind her. Jenny decided to take a bath, change clothes, and then laid on her bed in her room upstairs, until her grandma called for her to eat later on that evening. 
“What’s the occasion, Jenny?” Jack asked, from his burgundy recliner.
 “I got a date grandpa,” Jenny said, standing on the bottom step of the staircase.
 “With who?”
 “Mr. Scarecrow.”
 “I’m tired of hearing that shit. Tell her Jack that scarecrow isn’t alive, nor is it human.” Irene said, from the kitchen.
 “Your grandma’s right Jenny.”


“No, you’re both wrong.”
 “He talks to me, and tonight we’re going to make love”
Jack and Irene talked over dinner. As they let Jenny think of her crazy talk. She ate, excused herself from the round wooden table, and went back upstairs to her room.
 “That girl,” Irene said.
As dusk fell outside, Jack and Irene bathed, then went to bed.
 “Long day tomorrow combining that corn,” Jack said, covering himself with the blanket.
Jenny got up at 11:15, and walked quietly down the wooden staircase. She opened the front door, and screen door, then she closed them both quietly. She then walked towards the corn field towards Mr. Scarecrow. When she got to her destination, the scarecrow and her talked.


Irene woke up and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, which read twelve in red.
 “Jack, Jack,” Irene said softly, turning from her left side onto her back.
Jack was gone. Then she thought of Jenny and the scarecrow. Irene pulled the covers off of her and got up out of bed. She went down the staircase, out the front door, and towards the corn field. Jenny had begun undressing, slowly. She’d pulled off her denim jacket, and now was unbuttoning her red sweater. As she was unbuttoning the last button her sweater a breeze blew it opened showing flesh and her red bra.
 “What the hell are you doing?”
 “Grandma,” Jenny said, turning towards her with the sweater unbuttoned.
Irene was holding a pitchfork in her left hand that she brought with her from the house.
 “You and that scarecrow. I’m going to show you he’s not human.”
Irene held the pitchfork with both hands then, rammed it into the scarecrow’s abdomen. Jack was dressed as the scarecrow, and he tried to say stop, but it was too late. Blood poured out his belly, his mouth, and his head fell towards the ground. Jack remained standing by the ropes on his arms tied to the crossed support.
 “You killed Mr. Scarecrow.”
Irene never knew that she killed Jack. She pulled the pitchfork from the scarecrow and now tried killing Jenny. The two fought one another and Irene had dropped the pitchfork. Jenny knocked her grandma to the ground and spotted the pitchfork. She got the pitchfork from the ground, as her grandma got up.
 “This is for killing Mr. Scarecrow,” Jenny said, holding the pitchfork with both hands. She drove the pitchfork into Irene’s abdomen. Irene fell to her knees holding the pitchfork with both hands trying to pull it out of her body. She fell over on her left side limp at the feet of her husband, Jack “Mr. Scarecrow”. Jenny buttoned up her sweater as she looked down at her grandma.


Jenny walked out of the field and looked towards the house. A warm breeze rustled the dry corn stalks as she began skipping down the road away from the house and farm.

The End