The Scarecrow: A Supernatural Thriller (Solom) Read online

  “Sure we shouldn’t take her to the emergency room?” Mom asked Gordon, who stood in the doorway as if he were late for an appointment.

  “No bones broken,” Gordon said, speaking with the authority of a former Boy Scout. “And both her pupils are the same size, so she’s not concussed.”

  “I feel okay,” Jett said, though she was tempted to feign some sort of internal injury so she could get out of the Smith House and into the relative sanity of a hospital. But that would mean Katy would eventually wind up here alone with Gordon. And with the Scarecrow Man. Jett needed to stay and watch over her, because Mom no longer seemed capable of watching out for herself.

  “Well, we’d better keep you out of school tomorrow, just in case,” Katy said.

  “You should have been more careful,” Gordon said.

  “The barn was dark,” Jett said.

  “I was hoping you’d be able to pull your weight around here. You’re a Smith now.”

  “Gordon, she’s just had a bad fall,” Katy said, defending her daughter for the first time in weeks. “No need to be mean.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was out there doing drugs. Maybe that’s why she lost her balance.”

  Katy’s voice rose in pitch. “That’s your answer for everything, huh?”

  “Well, you knew how I was when you married me.”

  “No, I didn’t. Not at all.”

  Gordon glowered, shook his head, and faded back into the hall.

  Katy stroked Jett’s cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. Things aren’t going too well right now.”

  “Something’s happening, Mom.”

  “I’ll have a talk with Gordon—”

  “No, I mean something weird is happening here in Solom. With you. With us.”

  Jett sat up, letting the covers slide from her shoulders. She was dressed in a nightgown and a black tube top. But now, with the whole world gone doomsday freaky, the whole Goth thing seemed a bit silly. Jett fought a hand out from under the blankets and gripped Mom’s wrist.

  Katy scooted to the edge of the bed and faced the window. The world outside was silvered by the moon, the light rimming the dark and silent walls of mountains. “I’m being haunted,” she said.

  “Like, by a ghost?”

  Katy nodded. “I think it’s Rebecca.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going nuts, too? No wonder Gordon’s pissed off at you.”

  “And I saw a man at the top of the ridge yesterday, standing by the fence near the Eakins property,” Katy said. “He was just standing there, looking over the valley. The goats had gathered around him.”

  “Was he wearing a straw hat? You know, like a scarecrow?”

  “No, this man had a black hat. Looked pale and sickly.”

  The preacher? The guy I saw in the boiler room? Jett told her mom about the encounter, skipping the part about buying drugs from Tommy.

  “Maybe somebody’s stalking us,’ Katy said. “Maybe that was the guy you saw in the barn.”

  “No, I saw the Scarecrow Man. He had one of those hay-cutter thingies—a scythe—and he chased me, and that’s why I fell.”

  “You sure it wasn’t Odus?

  Jett gave a dramatic sigh. “This thing didn’t smell like booze.”

  “Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought.”

  “I swear, Mom. I wasn’t doing drugs.” At least, not anymore.

  “I believe you, honey. But none of this makes sense.”

  “Like, you think ghosts are real but my weird trips are all in my head?”

  “I can’t think here. I should go to the kitchen.”

  “Fuck the kitchen, Mom. What’s happening to you?”

  The expletive caused Katy to blink as if Jett had slapped her. “Don’t cuss, Jett. It’s not ladylike. You’re a Smith now, and we need to behave like Smiths. We have a heritage to uphold”

  “But I’m not a Smith. Neither are you.”

  “That’s not what she says.”

  “She who?”

  “The woman in the pantry.”

  “Jesus, Mom, are you on pills or something?”

  “She’s nice. She wants me to be happy and take care of Gordon, just like she did.”

  “Hell-O. You’re scaring me as much as the scarecrow did.”

  “The scarecrow is a Smith. He’s been in the family for generations.”

  Jett waved her hand in front of Katy’s eyes, but Katy was nearly catatonic, staring at her reflection in the window. “Mom. You’re not hearing me. Solom is scrambling your brain.”

  “The best thing is to get some sleep. I’ll talk to Gordon about it. He’ll know what to do.”

  Sure, Gordon, always knows what’s best. That’s why we’re one big happy family, getting through it together, fighting the good fight, in the land of stoner goats and creepy preachers and killer scarecrows.

  “I love you, sweetie.” Mom hugged her, and the embrace reminded Jett of how things used to be, back in Charlotte before drugs and Dad’s screw-ups and the divorce and the first stirrings of puberty. Jett held on as if the universe was crumbling away beneath the floor and the bed was the last tiny island of sanity and hope. Warm tears ran down Jett’s cheeks. Everything was going to be okay, as long as they stuck together.

  Unless the scarecrow dragged his scratchy sack of straw out of the barn and came calling on the house. The September wind picked up, whistling around the window frame, and bare branches clicked against the side of the house. Or it could have been the tip of the scythe, tap-tap-tapping, probing for an opening.

  “Will you sleep in here, Mommy?” Jett hadn’t said “Mommy” in years.

  “A wife’s place is by her husband,” Katy said, staring out the doorway into the hall.

  “Mom?”

  Katy stood and walked slowly across the room like an old-school zombie. She paused at the door, blew a kiss, and turned off the light. “Pleasant dreams, Jessica.”

  “Mom!”

  The door closed, throwing the room into darkness. Jett, panicked, fumbled for the bedside lamp, and flipped the switch. She huddled in its glow as if it were the world’s first campfire keeping back all the behemoths of the night. Every rattle of a leaf outside became the footfall of a straw man, every creak of the wind-beaten house was the singing of the scythe, each flap of loose shingles was the fluttering wings of some obscene and bloated crow.

  Mom had gone over. Jett couldn’t rely on her. So much for getting through it together. She waited a few minutes until she was sure Katy had gone into her own bedroom. Then she tiptoed to the door and cracked it enough to check the hall. It was dark but empty, as far as she could tell.

  No way would she go to the barn loft with the cell. She’d have to do it from here.

  Jett crept to the staircase. She was passing the linen closet when she remembered the access hole and the creepy creature in the attic. Maybe it slept away the day there, like a vampire in its coffin. She quickened her pace, socks slipping on the wooden floor. She descended the stairs so quickly she couldn’t recall touching any of the treads.

  In the den, the banked fire threw a throbbing orange glow across the room. The phone was by the sofa, and she plopped down and dialed. The trophy heads on the wall glared down at her with glass eyes that seemed animated in the firelight. On the third ring, Dad answered.

  “Hello?” His voice was cracked with sleep. He was an early-to-bed type, especially when a woman was around.

  “Dad?”

  His voice cleared. “Jett? What time is it?”

  “Nearly midnight.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Mom. She’s losing it and everything’s going to hell.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “She just told me she saw a ghost.”

  “Shit.”

  “We need you.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “Badder than bad. But I can’t talk now.
Gordon might catch me out of bed. But please come.”

  He sounded fully awake now, but his words were mushy and slurred, as if he was wasted. “Okay. I’ll get there first thing in the morning, if you think you’ll be okay until then.”

  “Maybe,” Jett said, listening for cold fingers trying the front door handle.

  “Solom. I guess it’s about time I paid another visit, anyway.”

  “It’s a real happening place, Dad. Maybe too happening.”

  “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “So I keep hearing.”

  They talked for a minute more and said their good-byes, Mark offering a reassuring “I love you.” After Jett hung up, she knelt before the fire and stared into the pulsing embers, waiting for the soft touch of old boots on the front porch or the whisper of straw-filled sleeves in the attic.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I should have called first. I’ll be lucky if Gordon—or maybe Katy—doesn’t call the cops.

  Mark Draper pulled up to the Smith House just before 9:00 a.m, following a mash-up of Google Maps and the directions Jett had texted. He’d been to the mountains before, where Tennessee and Virginia met North Carolina in a craggy collision, but on this trip they’d seemed a lot more old, misty, and mysterious, the morning fog veiling the fall colors.

  As he’d rolled through the little cluster of churches and businesses of Solom, he had the sensation of traveling back through time. He didn’t believe in the “simpler times” nonsense that conservative pundits like to spew across the media, because every era had its share of hatred, bloodshed, and inequality. But Solom seemed to stand apart from even time itself, with its falling-down mill and warped, gray general store, as well as the dark, turbulent river that plowed through the ancient, crumbling dam. Mark tried to reconcile these images with Katy’s sophisticated description of Gordon Smith, but it was like superimposing footage from two different movie genres. Mark had asked Katy as few questions as possible about Gordon. While he was curious, as all ex-lovers are, he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of that curiosity.

  Gordon Smith seemed to be doing all right for himself, judging from the restoration work on the old farmhouse. A new SUV was parked beside Katy’s Subaru. Jett had told him the Smith property comprised thirty acres, a decent chunk of it in valuable valley land. Goats milled around the barn, and a row of chicken roosts were lined across the barn’s front wall. The rich tang of manure filled the air, but the air contained a freshness and greenness despite the season.

  Mark got out and wiped the last sleepiness from his eyes. Three cups of coffee hadn’t changed the fact that he’d left Charlotte before dawn. Now he had to take a whiz, but he ordered his bladder to calm down. He didn’t want his first sentence to Katy’s new husband to be, “Could I use your bathroom?”

  He was approaching the porch when the door opened and Jett’s head poked out. “Daddy!” she squealed, and despite the grin that spread across his face, a dagger of memory pierced his heart. She’d sounded the same way when he picked her up after her first day of kindergarten. Now she was living under another’s man’s roof, his ex-wife was sharing that man’s bed, and he was years older and wearier.

  They ran to each other and Jett jumped into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “My, you’re getting big, honey,” he said. “This fresh air must be doing wonders for your appetite.”

  “Daddy,” she repeated.

  “Let’s have a look at you.” Mark held her hand as she twirled like a ballerina. She was in flannel pajamas and wore gray bunny slippers. Her hair was dyed a shade darker than she’d worn it in Charlotte and held a hint of purple. She had grown at least an inch, maybe two, since he’d last seen her.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “I told you I’d be here whenever you needed me.”

  “And I need you. We need you.”

  Mark gave her another hug. “What did your mother say about my coming?”

  Jett looked at the ground. “I didn’t tell her.”

  Katy appeared in the open doorway, hand at her throat, clasping the front of her nightgown together. She was as beautiful as Mark remembered, red hair shining in the sun like lustrous copper, freckles dappling her cheeks, her pert lips parted in an unspoken question.

  “Hi, Katy,” Mark said, feeling stupid. He waved.

  She blinked twice and rolled her green eyes. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  “I came to see my daughter.”

  “You can’t just show up out of the blue. We have a custody agreement.”

  “I asked him to come, Mom,” Jett said. “To help us.”

  Katy looked at the two of them as if they were co-conspirators in some bizarre practical joke. “We don’t need any help.”

  “You don’t think so, but you’re spaced out, Mom.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she said, but looked at the barn as if she’d misplaced something and couldn’t remember where she’d last seen it.

  “What kind of trouble are you in?” Mark asked Katy.

  “I don’t know. Something about the barn. And recipes.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “I’ll have to ask Gordon.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Taking a shower.”

  “Okay, I’ll just wait here with the world’s bestest girl.” He put his arm around Jett as Katy went back inside. “So what’s all this about the barn?”

  “Well, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

  “Look, we’ve always been honest with each other, even when we mess up. If it wasn’t for my drug use, you might not—”

  “This isn’t about drugs, Daddy. It’s about the man in the black hat and the scarecrow and the goats that tried to eat me, and maybe about Mom losing her mind. She thinks the house is haunted.”

  Mark wiped his mustache, unable to comprehend what his daughter was saying. Had she dragged him up here for some dramatic story? He was glad to see her, but if she started lying to get attention, he predicted trouble ahead for both him and Katy. So far, Jett hadn’t punished either of them for the divorce, but she no doubt harbored a seething anger.

  He was about to question her when Gordon came onto the porch. Mark nodded in greeting, straightening his spine and lifting his head, because Gordon had at least three inches on him.

  Jett led Mark up the porch and made introductions, even though they’d met briefly when Katy was packing for the move. Gordon’s face was an impassive mask, but Mark could sense an arctic tempest brewing behind him. Then he smiled. Mark gripped Gordon’s hand, wondering whether to go for the macho thing and try to squeeze the hardest. Instead, they both pressed flesh as if afraid of catching germs.

  “Welcome to Solom,” Gordon said, turning and going back inside. “Make yourself at home.”

  Jett gave him a sideways glance as if to say, “See what I have to live with?”

  They sat in the study. Katy fidgeted, hustling around the room and arranging magazines, Gordon’s collection of religious relics on the mantle, and the plastic cases of DVD’s that were stacked in front of the television. Mark noticed folded blankets stacked beside the sofa and wondered who had been sleeping downstairs. He was alarmed to find pleasure at the thought of Katy’s abandoning her marital bed. Whatever her sleeping habits, she certainly was a lot fussier about housekeeping than she’d been when they shared the same roof.

  “Can I get you something to drink—” Mark could tell by her exhalation that she almost said “Honey,” one of those lingering endearments that were difficult to shake off despite a legal document terminating such pleasantries. Mark himself knew the price of a relaxed guard, having lost a recent girlfriend by accidentally calling her “Katy” in a moment of passion. Gordon didn’t seem to notice the interplay, but Jett sat forward on the sofa, attuned to the air of expectation that filled the room.

  “I had coffee on the way up,” Mark said, and that reminded him of the pressure in his bladder.


  “So, to what do we owe this …rather unexpected visit?” Gordon asked.

  “I’m sorry. I thought Jett had cleared it with you guys. I would never intrude otherwise.”

  “You didn’t think to call me?” Katy asked, standing by the cold fireplace holding a throw pillow against her stomach. He admired her long fingers, the nails painted cherry, the freckles scattered across the backs of her hands like star maps he’d once memorized.

  “I—”

  “It’s some personal stuff,” Jett cut in. “I didn’t want you to make excuses and keep him away.”

  “Jessica, we all appreciate your need for a broad support network,” Gordon said. “But in my house, I need to know what’s going on. We’ll let it slip this one time, but from now on, everything gets cleared through me, okay?”

  Gordon flashed Mark a wink that suggested “Oh, what we fathers have to go through, right?” A freshet of anger sluiced through Mark’s veins. Pompous ass. Wearing a turtleneck sweater on a Sunday morning, looking like Captain Nemo with that same sanctimonious burden of saving the world from itself.

  “How about breakfast?” Katy said. “I was making some scratch biscuits.”

  Scratch biscuits. The old Katy couldn’t even handle Bisquik, and microwaving yeast rolls had been about the peak of her culinary skills. Country life must have inspired her. Or beaten her down.

  He found himself scrutinizing her as he listened to Gordon. Had she lost weight? She’d done something different with her hair, the trendy, cheek-sweeping cuts she’d preferred giving way to a longer, more free-flowing style that feathered across her collarbones. Damn. She was still beautiful, but then, that had never been one of her shortcomings.

  “Actually, I was hoping to take Jett out for breakfast, if that’s okay. Where’s the closest McDonald’s?”

  Gordon gave one of those bluff, hearty laughs that were simultaneously cheerful and irritating. “Try Titusville. That’s our county seat. Population eight thousand when Westridge is in session. Three thousand during Christmas break. But it’s a twenty-minute drive, probably longer on a Sunday when the little old ladies drive their Olds Cutlasses to church.”

  “Let me fix you something here,” Katy said. “We have fresh eggs and bacon, and I have a new waffle iron, too.”