Discover Top Posts Tagged with #scarecrow junkrat

Strange Honey- Chapter 10

She was back in the dream again. Or was it one of Jamie’s memories? Was he the cause of this? Although…it felt different. Somehow it was different. Why was everything in this vision so smeared and strange? The sunflowers around her were blurred and warped smudges of color, and everything looked like the world she saw when she had her glasses off. She was back above the field yet again, hung out on the pole above it all.

The sky above was wide and blue but it felt too close, like it was bearing down on her. The burning sunlight was hurting her again, searing against her skin that she still wasn’t sure was hers. And all around her…that hum of insects. They were blurred little things too; wasps and bees and flies and things she couldn’t identify- buzzing all around her and on her. She could feel them moving, the tickling of their legs and wings— like the wasp who had crawled into her throat before.

She could feel herself, but she couldn’t see herself? Perhaps that was why it felt more like a dream than it did a memory. She was a figment of a dream, something that was just a part of a more ethereal reality. But maybe while she was here, she could investigate this farm too? Or whatever version of a farm this was? If only she could get down off this…stupid pole…!

Mei struggled, trying to get her phantom limbs to respond. Everything hurt to move, but if it was just a dream, then it wasn’t real pain. And she could work through dream pain, if she tried hard enough. And she was a girl who always tried her best.

Steeling her dreamself, she pulled at whatever bonds held her there. The blurry world around her warped a little more, wavering like a mirage in the baking heat. But she could see the greenery of far-off trees and the barn in the distance, and the little pointed roofs of beehives just beyond the flowers. She just needed to get free and be able to reach them.

She was fairly sure that she was supposed to stay on that pole, and suffer in that heat. The prickle of little insect legs danced across her face, and the hum of a wasp sounded dangerously close to her ear. But this was a terrible dream to keep having, and she was not content to suffer there. So she thrashed and pulled at whatever was tying her to that pole, and demanded that it let her loose—

There was a noise, like the sky was moving. And then she was falling and even though everyone knew that you never hit the ground when you fell in dreams…she hit the ground. She landed hard down on the ground, and the ground was not solid, but a sheet of liquid red: a tide of blood on top of the hard soil. Little ripples moved away from her, but she could see nothing in the putrid reflections atop that blood.

Red under the green. Just like he had said…

She made her way through the stalks, the blurs of yellow swaying around and above her…and growing brighter as the sky seemed to darken. Was night falling or was it a storm? There were no clouds here, but the sky definitely seemed to be getting darker. Blacker and blacker but without stars…and was it getting closer? Could a sky do that? Perhaps in whatever strange dream this was, it could? She tried to ignore it, and moved with greater urgency. The sunflowers parted before her, until she could see the end of them, and whatever clear yard lay beyond.

Just a bit further now. She could see the beehives first. They were old wooden things, alive and buzzing with a swarm that she couldn’t see. And red was flowing out from beneath them, liquid oozing and dripping down to pool beneath them. More blood? Were the beehives producing blood instead of honey?

The sky got darker, and an old rooster-shaped metal weathervane creaked atop the barn and her attention snapped towards it. She’d never seen this barn before. It was nothing like the one by the house. This one was decrepit and shoddy, with boards falling away and the walls crooked and cracked. It stood tall and strange against the black sky, and something foul was emanating from it. Perhaps it was a smell or a sound or something she could not describe, as it was just a dream. But it seemed to radiate…wrongness.

There was a flicker of soft yellow from within, visible between the green stalks and the rotten wooden boards.

A light came on in the old barn.

***

She had to get away. Mei snorted awake again, kicking out both legs. They were hot and sticky and covered in the blood she had been wading through. The soil beneath her was soft and wet and the blood—

She was back in her bedroom, and the sheets were tangled around her lower half. It was sweat that had been soaking her, not blood. She was covered in perspiration again, wiping frantically at her exposed skin as she thrashed her way out of the bed sheets and away from the hot and clammy spot where she had been laying. All but falling onto the rug beneath beside her bed, she pulled off her pajama top and hurled it away from her. Cool air rushed over her drenched back and chest, her skin prickling with cold relief.

It burned when she breathed, and she realized she was hyperventilating. She swallowed down a last gulp of air and tried to slow it down, curling in on herself as she fell onto her side on the scratchy rug and hugged herself with both arms, fetal and shivering. At least now the pain felt real, and she was back in true reality again…she hoped.

It took several minutes to get her breathing back under control. For a while, all she could do was lay there, trying to get herself to believe that she was back in the present: that she wasn’t back in that awful dream. She lay there, counting every exhale and feeling every droplet of sweat as it rolled down her back. The muggy night air was still thick and humid and unpleasant, and her room was suddenly so small and dark and stifling. Eventually she uncurled and stood to shakily make her way across the room and turn on the old fan for some relief.

The mechanical whir as it rattled to life provided some comfort, as did the cold air that blasted across her chest and evaporated the sweat on her damp chest. She bowed her head and let it sweep over her, finally uttering one last shuddering sigh before straightening. A smeared splotch of color caught her eye from across the room. Much like in her dream, the sunflower looked blurry and strange without her glasses. It sat unwithered in the little vase of water she’d gotten for it, trying to care for Jamie’s gift. Even if she had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t the water that was keeping it healthy.

Its cheerful brown center and happy yellow petals were facing her, and for some reason she lifted both damp arms and clamped them across her breasts modestly. He wasn’t using that flower to spy on her, was he? She knew he could ‘hear’ her, but he hadn’t specified how. Could he see her through it too? It was silly to worry about at this point, but she tip-toed over to it and lifted one hand to carefully nudge the edge of its vase and turn it to face the wall.

Mei ran both palms down her face, her body still tired but her nerves shaken. She had managed to navigate somewhat through that dream, whatever it was. She hadn’t just been along for the ride, as when Jamie had remembered. It had been…somewhere? Somewhere else? Something else? As with any dream, it was nebulous and hard for her mind to grasp. But she had managed to get free, if only briefly, and see what lay beyond that field.

What if there was something beyond the scarecrow’s field, outside of the recurring nightmare? Although she couldn’t remember seeing a barn as tall as the one in that dream. Or blood-dripping beehives for that matter. And she definitely hadn’t seen a lake of red instead of soil. None of that added up. Maybe Jamie would have some clues there, if there was anything past his forest of sunflowers. Maybe she would ask him later. Along with the thousands of other questions she had for him, of course.

The breeze from the fan rustled her piles of papers and research, sending several of them drifting across the floor. With a sigh, she went to gather them back up. Among them were some of young Mr. Rutledge’s childhood drawings; the one depicting him holding hands and smiling with the towering figure of the scarecrow, and the crude portraits he had drawn of his family. Mei could only suppose that these had been drawn well before that incident from Jamie’s memories. Before that, they had been friends. Perhaps each others’ only friends.

But that had been before a young Mako had staggered back to the farm, covered in blood. That had been before he had screamed for Jamie to get away from him, pitching stones and sobbing with pain and fear. Before Jamie had done ‘something’. And there had been a ‘her’, a ‘her’ that Jamie had taken away somehow. Although Mei couldn’t really think of a ‘her’ on this farm other than Mako’s family at the time? And he had no sister in the records. His mother, perhaps?

She glanced down to the drawings again, depicting his versions of his family. It was difficult to tell what she looked like, from a child’s drawing. It looked like she had been a rather large woman, with curly black hair. But Mei was fairly sure the real woman didn’t have arms longer than her entire body, or tiny little stumpy legs without feet like in the drawing.

Making her way across the floor, the overhead lamp was clicked on, causing her to squint and wince as the room was flooded with light. She pulled on her glasses and lowered back amongst the mess, sorting through the stacks of folders and research she was still in the middle of sorting through. Where had that family lineage chart gone?

She found it eventually, tucked into a messy pile. There was Mr. Rutledge’s name at the very bottom, the lonely survivor of a rapidly dwindling family tree. And just above it were the names of his parents, along with the dates of their births and deaths. His father had lived a long life, being one of three children, though he was the only one to breed. A wife must have been brought in for him, as Jamie had said. By a tie of marriage, a woman’s name was next to his.

Kora Rutledge.

They had erased any traces of her maiden name, but kept her birthday and her death day. And after a few more minutes of ruffling through papers and doing some quick calculations, she finally had more pieces of this particular puzzle. Kora had married at the age of 26, moved onto the farm, and three years later she’d had a child. Their two lines came together, leading to Mako Rutledge. But the date of her death belied that she had died young…when her son had only been seven years old.

Her son, who had made his way back alone, back to the farm that was his sanctuary and his prison. But she had not been with him. Because in the scarecrow’s own words, he had ‘taken her away’.

Had Jamie killed Mr. Rutledge’s mother that fateful evening? She hated to even consider it, but the scholar in her could not deny that that was where the evidence was pointing. Even if she hadn’t yet figured out how. Her companion had proved that he was unconcerned with the concept of killing things, and he’d made it clear how he loathed the family whose land he haunted. But to be capable of murder? Murdering the mother of a young boy, especially?

The muggy night air suddenly felt cold, and she found the sweat-sodden lump of her pajama top and pulled it back on. A quick glance at the clock told her that she still had a good hour or so before sunrise. Maybe she could get in a bit more research about Kora and the rest of the Rutledge family since she was awake. So she climbed back into bed and took up her pen and her notebook yet again, getting back to work.

***

Back in the field…The sky was still dark now. Why wasn’t it bright and sunny anymore? The insects were buzzing and she was back in—

***

“Mei? Mei!”

She startled awake with a little snort as a familiar voice called for her downstairs. Sharp pain lanced through her neck as she lifted her head, moaning aloud as she stretched some life back into her sore muscles. She must have fallen asleep again, sitting up and slumped over her half-open notebook. And judging by how the last few notes she’d jotted down were not making any sense what so ever, it looked like she’d fallen asleep while writing.

Tossing her books aside and massaging her shoulder with an unhappy groan, she dragged herself out of bed and opened the bedroom door to shout, “Sorry! Mr. Rutledge?”

“Breakfast,” his voice called back. “The most important meal of the day. Can’t miss it.”

“Ah! I woke up and then accidentally fell asleep again. I’ll be right down, just give me a minute! Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

She skipped her morning shower, throwing open her drawers to pull on some fresh clothes and combing her fingers through her hair. A dead firefly fell out from where it had gotten tangled in her locks, and she bit her lip and put it next to the shriveled husk of the bee from some days before. Her dresser was turning into a graveyard all its own. Turning the sunflower in its vase so it could face the morning light, she hurried to slam her bedroom door and went pattering down the creaking wooden steps.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She apologized the entire way down, up until she slid across the kitchen linoleum and right into her chair at the breakfast table. “Oh! You made frittata!”

“Hrm?” Mr. Rutledge stood at the stove, wearing an apron that looked comically tiny on his gigantic form. The straps couldn’t even reach all the way around his immense girth, and dangled uselessly at his front as he turned about with a sizzling pan. “What’s a frittata? This is egg mess. Using the last of the stuff in the fridge before I head into town.”

“Well, may I please have some egg mess, then?” She requested politely, as he loomed over and scraped a portion of the egg and vegetable medley onto her plate. Taking a slice of toast from the center of the table as well, she began dutifully scraping it with honey as she did every morning’s breakfast. But not before examining the jar of honey itself, holding it up to the light. “Okay, I’m going to get this one. Don’t tell me, Mr. Rutledge.”

“Mm. Infused that batch. Give a guess.”

She noted its slightly pink tinge, squinting behind her glasses before reaching her tongue out to taste a smear atop her bread. Rolling her eyes back in a slightly exaggerated parody of taking in a wine’s bouquet, she smacked her lips a bit before answering, “It’s…peach infused! Right? Is that peach?”

He looked slightly pleased at that, his chair creaking as he sat across from her. “Peaches. Good job, Mei.”

She managed a tired smile before digging into her egg mess and toast. The sunlight streamed in to warm them, and the birds were singing gaily and the cicadas had already started, interrupted only by the tinkle of windchimes as a little breeze disturbed them out on the porch. Mornings were always so nice here on the farm, even if it was so terribly dry and hot when the sun got higher. And even despite the drought, there was something that seemed idyllic about this simple, rural way of life.

If only she hadn’t known about the darkness lurking around every corner here, and the red under the sunflowers.

Another day had dawned and it was another chance to get to the bottom of the Rutledge family’s dirty secrets, and what they had to do with the living scarecrow out in the field. Kora Rutledge was now a name of interest, and Mei had Kora’s only son sitting right across from her. Maybe it was best to approach him first, even before asking Jamie about her. But Mr. Rutledge was such a quiet man, and even though he had warmed to her presence, he was still a cold and difficult-to-approach kind of a person. She couldn’t just ask him about bees and scarecrows and sunflowers and the fate of his mother. She might have been too curious for her own good, but she was not so cruel as to bring up his deceased family out of nowhere.

Clearing her throat, she stirred her egg mess around her plate and tried to think of the best way to frame her questions. “Mr. Rutledge? I’m still sorting through all those family records you let me borrow. They’re very interesting. Thanks for letting me see them, by the way. You have such an extensive family history here.”

His shoulders lifted very, very slightly, and Mei could tell he had raised his guard and was on the defensive. Even if all he uttered was a low, “Mm…”

“Er, yes. I’ve been trying to get them all into order again. Chronologically. It’s actually amazing that I happened to get assigned to a farm that’s been through so many generations.”

No answer. Mei swallowed and cleared her throat.

“There’s this really old map of the property layout, and I was hoping I could get your permission to walk around and take some photos? For my report?” She crossed her legs under the table uncomfortably, shifting in her seat at his lack of response. “I know you told me not to wander too far, so I thought I’d tell you first. A-and I saw that there’s a family plot on the map, and I didn’t want to be disrespectful by going there without checking first.”

He slowly lifted another forkful of egg mess to his chapped lips, chewing and swallowing in his usual too-long awkward silences. Mei hoped he was thinking it over. Instead, he took two more bites of his breakfast and she was just about ready to give up and change the subject before he finally answered.

“What kind of school report needs an old family graveyard?”

“Well I mean—It’s not necessary!” She held up both hands plaintively. “It’s just part of this place’s history, that was all. I was just going to take lots of pictures of the whole farm as well as your apiary. But I didn’t want to offend—”

“Mm…”

There was that noise of his again, the one that affirmed he had heard her but was of no help as far as being an answer. She prodded at her toast with her fork for lack of anything better to do with her hands, staring down at her plate.

“You can take your photos,” Mr. Rutledge finally rumbled after another long minute. He still seemed more intent on his breakfast than on her, lifting his cup of coffee. “But I’ll take you there, myself. Before I head into town. Go get your chores done. You’re already running late this morning.”

Despite the grumpy tone of his words, Mei brightened. “Oh! Thank you. I’ll try to be quick, just want a few pictures. Um. I mean, it will really paint just how many of your family’s generations have been here; this intimate connection with your land, all the Rutledges who came bef—”

He put his coffee cup down a little too hard, and Mei shut her mouth. He merely uttered a low noise in his throat, something that could almost be construed as a warning, then nodded his immense shaggy head towards the doorway. She made a show of pushing the rest of her toast into her jaws and hurrying to finish up, scuttling over to put her dish by the sink before fleeing the kitchen altogether, hurrying back upstairs.

Maybe she’d overstepped her bounds a little bit, but she had his permission. She hadn’t expected Mr. Rutledge to offer to join her, but perhaps the man was just being cagey about his family privacy. Frankly, she had no idea if she would find anything useful at the graveyard at all, but it was at least worth a look. And the photos might be a nice addition to her report on the farm itself. That had not been a lie. Mostly.

She hurried to complete her chores; checking hives and feeding animals and watering the parched gardens. Mr. Rutledge worked in his usual silence nearby, carrying wood and nails to finish building the pigs a new shade shed, to protect their soft pink bodies from the unrelenting sun. The water was running low enough that they could no longer refresh the mud that kept them cool. Winifred in particular was unhappy about that last point, and was giving him an earful as she ran about his feet and tried to trip him.

Mei finished first despite her late start, washing the sweat from her face and taking up her spot on the creaking wooden porch swing as she waited for him. A bee hummed through the air not long after, alighting near her arm and looking up at her. Mei didn’t let herself look back, though she muttered a low, “Hi Jamie.”

The bee waved a tiny front leg.

“I can’t really talk until later today, remember? It’s still morning.”

The bee spun in an unhappy circle.

She pretended to shine her glasses down atop her lap as it crawled towards her. “Don’t be so impatient. I promised I’d come see you later, remember? There’s a grocery run later today so I’ll come then. But we still have things to do until then. Go on.”

If a bee could sigh, she could swear the bee sighed. It hovered back into the air again while she put her glasses back on…and then Mei blinked owlishly when it suddenly buzzed a little closer, rammed right into her cheek with its tiny fuzzy body, and then hurriedly flew off and out of sight. She was left dumbfounded for a moment. Had a bee just kissed her cheek? Did that count? What on earth?

“Mei. You still want to go?”

Mr. Rutledge was dabbing at her brow with a handkerchief, leaning his tools up against the porch. Shaking off the little peck she’d just been given, Mei swung her legs back down off the swing and hurried inside. Snatching up her phone and her notebook, she went clattering down the porch steps and moved to join him.

“Coming!” she said, and fell into step at his side. The old farmer loomed so large and so tall that he could throw her entire body with his shadow and her needing to take two and a half steps for every one of his. She always ended up needing to scramble after him in one way or another, but she tried to do it with a smile. “I hope it’s not too much trouble. I promise I’ll try to be quick.”

“Mm.”

“And…thank you, Mr. Rutledge. I mean it. I really appreciate it. A lot,” she said, still beaming. “It’s really nice to be able t—”

The toe of her shoe caught on a ridge in the path, and she tripped mid-sentence. Like some sort of idiot ballerina, she went sprawling face-first towards the dirt, and only stopped when her enormous companion lunged to the side and caught her. Flinging out one arm and snatching her around the middle, he managed to keep her from faceplanting by simply picking her up like a football, yanking her back up in mid-air. For a moment she hung there, looking down at the gravel that had been rapidly headed towards her, and then she was being tilted upright and gently set back onto her feet.

She fussed and straightened herself out sheepishly, embarrassment heating her cheeks more than the morning sun. “Sorry! Sorry about that!”

“Mm. Careful.” He started forward again.

“And thank you. Again.”

He paused in mid-step, looking down as if to start to answer her. But then he grunted sharply, lifting that massive arm again. Mei was about to question him when she saw why. That single little honeybee was attached to his forearm, its tiny form writhing angrily where it was stuck stinger-first into his skin. Mr. Rutledge barely reacted, only pausing to watch until it struggled enough that its barb detached from its own body…along with a string of its own innards.

The bee shuddered, weakening rapidly as it pulled itself apart in its rage. In aghast silence, Mei watched until its legs finally gave out…and the little bee dropped down dead, leaving its stinger behind. Mr. Rutledge barely reacted, glancing down as its little husk landed amongst the dried brown grass. He only flattened his thumbnail and scraped it along the wound, dislodging the stinger and casting it aside as if it were nothing. The honeybee’s suicide had been for naught.

“Hm,” Mr. Rutledge said. He stepped over it and kept walking.

Mei lingered there for only half a moment longer, frowning down at the spot where it had fallen. She looked up, glaring with disapproval all around her, but could not spot anything amiss to glare at. Then, with a little hop, she hurried to join Mr. Rutledge at his side once more. They walked on, and quickly left it behind.

He watched them go.

***

The Rutledge family plot was in the opposite direction of the sunflower field, closer to the little strip of woods that separated them from the main roads. It was still somewhat of a long walk, along a barely visible dirt trail that ran along the property fence’s edge. It was overgrown and ill-maintained, and the grass brushed at her calves as they traveled onward, grasshoppers skittering away from their path. She couldn’t help but wonder if a certain someone was going to send the poor grasshoppers on a suicide mission against Mr. Rutledge next, but luckily they seemed more interesting in fleeing.

Close to to the highway, close enough that she could hear the distant passing of an occasional car, Mei saw a rusted iron fence surrounded by trees. A crooked gate had been tied shut where the handle had broken off who knows how long ago, and was so laden with spiderwebs that it might as well have been sewn closed. Mr. Rutledge grumbled as his large hands fumbled to undo it, and the hinges screamed and spiderwebs broke in half as he yanked several times to force it open.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” he admitted.

“That’s understandable, it’s okay,” she said. “They’re sad places. If you want a moment alone with them…?”

“It’s fine. Go on in.”

He beckoned her forward, and she brushed aside a few remaining webs to enter the graveyard proper. He definitely wasn’t lying about not having been here in a long time. The place was completely overgrown, weeds and wild plants choking the paths and blocking the names on the stones. She waved off a cloud of gnats that rose from the disturbed grasses, lifting her phone in both hands and taking several shots of the abandoned plots.

She heard Mr. Rutledge grunt as he turned sideways, squeezing through the open space at the gate behind her. But he merely lingered near the entrance, looking on as she knelt and began clearing away the overgrowth blocking the headstones. Most of the gravestones were very old, battered and smoothed from seasons of harsh weather. Some of the inscriptions had become hard to read, filled in with now-dead moss and mold. She pulled out her handkerchief to scrub the debris away, her camera clicking again and again.

A few of the names were recognizable from her studies of their records. She couldn’t seem to find an order to them And most of the inscriptions seemed fairly normal, as far as graves went: words about God, and loss, and hopes to be reunited. The pictures would be nice for her report, but it seemed to be a completely normal family plot. It was almost refreshingly nomal…and a little disappointing, after everything else.

One of the older graves was so choked with vines that she had to call Mr. Rutledge to come help her remove them. The headstone under it was battered and worn, perhaps the oldest of them, and nature had started to swallow it up. But once the last vine had been ripped away and Mei had cleaned it up a little, she could make out the faint etchings in the stone beneath.

Nikau Tai Rutledge.

It was Mr. Rutledge’s great great grandfather, the one who had founded this land. It was decorated with a simple but rather eerie skull face above his name. His stone had no birth date, but it did record his death. After a bit more pruning and cleaning she could even read the epitaph, damaged though it was.

‘The First to See Beneath, But to Rise Above — So Prosperity Blessed Him’

It was nice that prosperity had blessed the man, but the words before it were certainly strange. He had seen beneath, but risen above? Was that some old parable or saying? Maybe a bible quote?

“Hey, Mr. Rutledge. Do you know what this means?” She asked aloud, reaching forward to touch the stone gently. “…Mr. Rutledge?”

There was no answer, and Mei looked up when the man suddenly moved past her, heading deeper into the little plot and behind a large stand of crowded trees and bushes. She hefted herself up and went to follow, having to make a little jump over a tangle of briars, and only narrowly missed slamming directly into the old farmer’s back when he stopped short with a strange little jerk. She windmilled both arms to keep from falling for the second time that morning, righting herself and peering at the back of his head in consternation before taking a few steps to the side to peek around his wide body.

In front of them, just behind the bushes, was an immaculately kept grave plot. There was no sign of vegetation or wear, standing in stark contrast to everything around them. Not a single weed grew within the rectangle of laid bricks and the headstone looked like it had been lovingly cared for and cleaned. When Mei adjusted her glasses and squinted, she could make out the name.

Kora Rutledge.

This was Mako’s mother’s burial site. But even more strange than its well-kempt appearance amongst the ruins, was the splash of color that sat atop it. It was little wonder that Mr. Rutledge had halted so suddenly.

Sitting there atop his mother’s grave, at the foot of her headstone, was a single cheerful bright yellow sunflower.

***

Mei slowly looked up at him, unsure how he was going to react. Mr. Rutledge himself seemed unsure how he was going to react. He stood there, staring down at the grave plot, and swallowed thickly.

“Mr. Rutledge?” Mei finally asked gently.

He looked up, genuinely seeming to have forgotten that she was there. He pulled off his hat, uneasily running one large hand through sweat-dampened gray hair, and tried to find his words as he stared down at the flower. “Mm. I guess I left it…when I was here last…”

It was a piss-poor lie, and they both knew it. But Mei said nothing to the distressed old man, letting him pull ahead to stand at the foot of his mother’s grave. With a groan, he eased his bulky frame downward onto his knees, so heavy that she felt the ground shudder when he landed. For another long while he just sat there, before reaching out and going to pluck the sunflower from the base of the headstone. It practically gleamed, more yellow than the unrelenting rays of the sun, held in the palm of his massive hand.

But even as they both watched, it suddenly began to darken, withering and blackening on the edges and curling inward. It wilted at his very touch, dying faster than anything was supposed to die— and was only helped along when Mr. Rutledge suddenly clenched his fist around it with a sickening crunch, engulfing the bloom’s center as the once-yellow petals turned to brittle ash and sifted through his fingers. With a low growl, he threw the remains of the dead flower to the side, away from his mother’s plot.

Mei pinched her lips together and remained silent, making herself smaller as she hugged her notebook and papers with both arms to her chest. Mr. Rutledge leaned down, painstakingly brushing away the flower’s dust away from the headstone before placing one hand atop it, using it to help pull himself upright with a groan. But his hand remained there for a long moment, calloused fingertips brushing the smooth stone before he finally backed away and returned to Mei’s side.

She looked up at him, voice still soft. “Your mother? Kora Rutledge?”

“…Mm.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mm.”

“We can go, if you need. It’s all right.”

“It’s fine. Don’t remember much of her…Died when I was a boy.”

Nothing she didn’t know already, but Mei couldn’t help but be surprised that he’d told her even that much. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rutledge.”

“Mm. Wish I’d stayed.”

“Stayed?”

“With her.” He kept his gaze forward, stoic as before as he stood at his parents’ graves; one choked with weeds and forgotten, the other well-preserved and clearly mourned..even if not by him. “Don’t remember all of it. Was just a boy. But I was with her.”

Mei’s gaze lifted back to him. “May I ask what something happened?”

The man uttered a heavy sigh. “Went out too late. Milk had gone bad, needed more. Think she was baking something. I wanted to go with her. Was raining. I was bored. Got in the truck and we went to get groceries. Too late in the afternoon.”

She listened intently to the short, clipped answers he gave. He was not the most verbose of men, but she hung onto every clue he gave her. This was…important. And she paid close attention.

“Raining really hard,” he continued. “She let me get a chocolate bar. I remember that, for some reason. Remember eating my chocolate and us rushing to get home before…Mm. We were driving fast. Something happened, not sure what. Think she might have swerved not to hit a deer or an animal. Roads were wet.”

“Oh no…”

“Remember being flung around, didn’t have the belt on. Think I hit my head or went shocked. Woke up with the truck upside down, my arm and side hurting real bad.”

She remembered the memory of his younger self, staggering along the road and covered in blood. It had been a car accident, all along? Perhaps it had been shock that had made him angry enough to attack Jamie? Maybe she had expected the worst from the poor scarecrow all along and had made a mistake?

Mr. Rutledge pulled off his hat, fanning his sweating face as it faced the sun. “Crawled out the windshield. Glass everywhere, but couldn’t feel it. She was laying with her top half out of the driver side window. She was still awake, kept telling me it was going to be okay. She managed to crawl out but her legs weren’t working right. Broken bones, probably. Kept trying to stand but couldn’t. Didn’t have phones like yours, back then. Couldn’t call for help.”

“Did she—”

“Wasn’t the crash that killed her. Shouldn’t have gone out that late in the afternoon. Still far away from the farm, down in that ravine by the side of the road. Think she realized what was going to happen, eventually. Started telling me I had to get home. Started telling me I had to leave her there…Leave her there in that ditch while it started getting darker…”

Mei’s eyes widened in quiet realization.

“Tried dragging her a few times. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to leave her, but she kept saying I had to. Kept saying I needed to go, needed to start walking, needed to head back. ‘Get help’. That’s what she said. Even though she…” He sighed again, exhaling through flared nostrils. “She knew. Eventually started screaming at me to get out of there, driving me away, yelling. Guess she got desperate. Wish that hadn’t been the last time I’d heard her voice, though.”

“Mr. Rutledge…”

“Didn’t know what else to do. Walked home."

“I’m so sorry. That’s so terrible for a child to go through. And your poor mother.”

“Mm. They said the shock must have got to her heart,” he replied flatly. “They brought her body in the next morning. Life lesson, that day. A hard one. Never forgotten it. I…”

At a loss, she hesitantly lifted one hand and placed it upon his arm. His head lifted very slightly and grumbled a low tone of recognition, but that was all. Mei only patted him as gently as she could. That had been the most that she’d ever heard him speak, and it had been to pour his heart out about that night: a night that she had seen firsthand, through another’s eyes…

Another’s eyes that were currently watching them. There was a very faint little movement atop Kora’s gravestone. Another bee crawled across its surface, flickering its wings and going still.

Mr. Rutledge put his hat back on, turning back towards the gated entrance. “Didn’t mean to talk that much. Didn’t mean to take up your time…Take your pictures if you need them. You know the way back. Need to head out for the grocery run. You need anything not on the list? You want a ride into town?”

The grocery list was the very last thing on her mind, brow knitting in concern. “No, no, I don’t think so. And thank you, but I think I’ll stay here and get some work done. Maybe next time? And you’re not taking up my time. I’m glad to listen, any time. Not just for school, either, but…I don’t know? Just to listen? I know you d—”

“Yeah. Come back to the house when you’re done here.”

“O-okay.”

And with that, Mr. Rutledge turned and made his way out of his family’s graveyard, the very last of his line who would one day join those buried here. She watched him go, as he rounded the bend through the trees. The overgrown iron gate screeched open as he squeezed through, and she heard heavy footfalls leave and get further and further away as he must have started the long trek back towards the house.

She stood there, listening to the rustling grass and the screeching of insects, trying to digest everything that he had just told her. Terrible things had happened that day, during that storm. A frantic mother had driven away her only child, wounded and helpless, back towards the farm that she herself could not reach. No wonder that the young Mako had been so distraught. He had barely made it back inside the border before sundown…and he had been alone.

That had been why Jamie had dragged him inside the fence. That had been why he kept looking towards the road. That had been why he kept waiting, looking for the other figure that should have been following him…but was never going to come.

Kora Rutledge had been trapped outside their land, after the sun went down. She had still been alive. And it seemed that none of them, not even Jamie, had been able to leave to help her. But why? What had kept them here, and what killed them after the sun set? Was it still keeping both Mr. Rutledge and Jamie imprisoned here? …Was she imprisoned here? What was doing this?

Not only that, but it seemed that Kora had been the only Rutledge being mourned in this lonely place. Something or someone had been caring for her burial plot all these years. And they had been leaving sunflowers for her too. Clearly, she had been important, but why would he so lovingly care for this place if he had been the one to do this to her...?

There was a buzzing noise and a faint tickle. The honeybee landed on the back of her hand, its tiny body trailing on the backs of her knuckles as it looked up at her. With a slow and careful movement, she brought it up towards her. It fluttered and buzzed again, looking up towards her.

She pursed her lips, pushing her glasses back on her nose as she set her little bee companion with a stern gaze.

“Jamie. Let’s talk.”

#scarecrow junkrat

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#scarecrow junkrat