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A man is forced to face the nightmare of his childhood. |
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Mason felt the Scarecrow Man's eyes on him before he saw him. The man was sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette outside the mall's entrance staring at him like he had a bone to pick. The temperature couldn't have been more than twenty degrees, but he wore only a tattered Members Only jacket unzipped over a ratty flannel shirt. His beard reached his stomach and reminded Mason of so much Spanish Moss. Just another homeless guy, he told himself. Why would his mind would even try to suggest otherwise? He'd never seen the Scarecrow Man anywhere but his childhood dreams...if dreams was really all they were. He was holding his five month old son and squeezed the baby against his chest without realizing it. Chills ran down his spine and beads of sweat popped on his forehead in spite of the cold. In that moment, he was certain of the man's identity. The baby began to cry. His wife noticed as well. "Are you okay, honey?" she asked. As he strapped Jacob into his stroller, he couldn't resist another glance. The Scarecrow Man was gone. Mason wondered if he'd ever really been there. By that evening, he felt foolish about the whole thing. He'd seen a homeless man at the mall and automatically believed it to be his childhood recurring nightmare come to life. But in bed that night, his certainty returned. It was in his eyes. He couldn't disguise his eyes. ******************* His first encounter with the Scarecrow Man happened when he was five years old. In the years since, he'd often wondered what triggered its coming. He had a theory. He believed it was anger that brought him. He remembered being angry often as a child although there was no reason he should have been. His childhood was fine as anyone's, probably better than most--at least in his younger years. But he'd been an angry child nonetheless and directed almost all of it towards his father. He'd never heard of Freud or The Oedipus Complex at the time, but the old guy had it right in his case. He was an only child and all of his affection was saved for his mother. He loved her and didn't want to share her. His father wasn't the warmest of men, but Mason saw that his mother divided her love between them. On more nights than not before the coming of the Scarecrow Man, Mason slipped into his parents' bedroom almost as soon as he saw their light go off. He'd climb into bed next to his mother and feel as content as he must have in the womb. His father grudgingly allowed it until his fifth birthday. "Daddy has something to talk to you about," his mother told him at supper as he ate a slice of birthday cake. After he'd changed into his Star Wars pajamas, his father came into the bedroom. "Mason," he told him. "You're five years old. That means you're a big boy now. It's time you learned to sleep in your own bed. Do you understand?" "But I like to sleep with you guys. What's wrong with that?" "Big boys have to learn to sleep alone. You want to be a big boy don't you?" "I guess." "Just close your eyes and go to sleep. After a few nights, you won't even think of sleeping with us any more." His father left and closed the door, leaving Mason in the dark. Mama always gave him a kiss and said his prayers with him. She knew to crack the door when she left. His father didn't understand how scary the darkness could be. When the lights were gone, bad things came out. He was only five, but that was something he knew. He lay awake in the dark for a long time. At some point he became certain a monster stared at him through the slats of the closet. He could feel its eyes boring into him. He could hear it breathing. It had a throat full of phlegm. Why didn't it just attack him? What was it waiting for? His heart beat in his ears as he imagined the thing crashing through the closet and ripping him to pieces. He could see it chewing his flesh off his bones as if he were a piece of fried chicken. Panicked, he jumped out of bed and headed for his parents' room, half expecting the monster to jerk him back by the hair before he got out the door. Once in the hallway, he forced himself to calm down. Maybe they were asleep. If they were, maybe he could sneak in and lay beside his mother so quietly no one would notice. He crept down the hall and opened their bedroom door, cringing as it creaked on its hinges. Neither of them stirred. But as soon as he climbed into bed, his mother woke. "Didn't Daddy say you had to sleep in your own bed from now on?" she whispered. "Yes, but there's a monster in my closet." "There's no monster in your closet. Now go back to bed like a good boy." "I can't, Mama. There really is a monster in my closet. I'm not making it up." "Come on, Mason. We'll go back to your room and look in the closet and I bet we won't find a monster." "Will you stay with me until I go to sleep?" "Okay, honey, but just tonight. You're really going to have to learn to sleep by yourself." "Okay, Mama. Just for tonight. I promise." In his room, she turned on the light and looked in the closet. There was no monster. Just his toy box and clothes hanging from their hangers. He wasn't surprised. Monsters always fled when Mama came. That was how things were. With her beside him, he fell right to sleep. He kept his promise. Promises to his mother were important to him. After that night, he never tried to sleep with his parents again. If he slept with his back to the closet, he didn't think about the monster hiding there as much. He was finding his father to be right. In spite of himself, he thought of sleeping with his parents less with each passing night. He hadn't wanted his father to be right. It made him angry if he thought about it. Why was Mama choosing Daddy over him? Why did they send him to bed early most nights while they sat up and watched TV? He hated hearing them laughing and talking while he lay alone in his room's dark exile. Some nights he even cried, but not loud enough for them to hear. That would have disappointed his mother. Daddy spanked him with the belt the day before he met the Scarecrow Man for the first time. It happened because of a pair of cap guns. They'd been in the yard having a gun fight. Mason was convinced no one alive could outdraw him. His hands were a blur as they went for the gun and his aim was deadly accurate. "I shot you right between the eyes, Daddy!" he yelled at him. "Go down! You're dead.!" But his father wouldn't go down. He stood there smiling like a dope. Rage festered in Mason like a sudden storm. "You're dead, Daddy! Why won't you go down?" He dashed toward his father and slung the cap gun at him as hard as he could. It clunked against the man's forehead and dropped to the ground. To Mason's horror, a spot of blood appeared on his father's head where the gun struck him. "What the hell's wrong with you, Son?" his father said. His tone sounded more bewildered than angry and now Mason felt the same. "I don't know. I got mad because you wouldn't act like you were dead." "You can't get away with a stunt like that, Mason Cross." His father took off his belt and gave him three hard licks with it. The last one went low and whipped the back of his thighs, making an angry welt. That was the one that made him cry. At the supper table that night, he wasn't sure if he was mad or sad, but whichever it was, he didn't feel like eating. When he'd done little more than stir food around the plate for a half hour, he asked in his most polite voice if he could be excused. "You may," his mother said. He went to bed voluntarily, something he never did. He strained his ears to hear his parents' talking. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but knew from their tone that they were arguing. "At least I'm not the only one in trouble," he said to himself. He went to sleep and when he woke again the house was dark. He'd heard something, but didn't know what until it came again-- a clunking sound, not unlike the sound his toy gun made against his father's head. He couldn't tell if it was coming from the wall his bed was pushed against or from outside his room. He heard it a third time and this time it seemed to come from inside the closet. His mouth went dry. He tried to call his mother, but fear paralyzed him. The Scarecrow Man appeared beside him. Mason saw him in the dim glow of his nightlight. He stared at Mason with yellow, pupilless eyes. It wore a straw hat and raggedy overalls over a filthy and ripped flannel shirt. Its beard shimmered and pulsated as if things crawled beneath it. It smelled like dirt-- not the good smell of his grandfather's farm land, but of swampy ground where dead things are buried and rotting. "You're not real," Mason whispered. He shut his eyes tight and opened them again, willing the Scarecrow Man to be gone. But he was still there, standing over him and staring. He felt it worming its way inside his brain. "Follow me," it said. But not with its voice. The words came from inside his mind. "No!" he screamed from the same place. But a part of him did want to follow it. Part of him wanted to see what sort of dark and evil place could spawn such a creature. Part of him wanted to reach out and caress the thing's beard to see what made it pulse and shimmer. As if in answer, a maggot fell from it onto Mason's face. He screamed and swiped at it, but struck nothing. When he glanced up again, the Scarecrow Man was gone. He didn't tell either of his parents about it the next morning. It was a Saturday and Mama made him pancakes. Daddy was home too. They were in a good mood and Mason was jealous. When he'd finished his breakfast, he'd opened his mouth to tell them, but at just that moment, Mama laughed at something Daddy said. Mason decided in that moment that he would never tell them about the Scarecrow Man although he couldn't have said why. It returned a week later. He wasn't angry when he went to bed that night and no maggot fell from its beard. It just hovered above him, staring with those ugly yellow eyes and beckoning him in his mind. Mason begged it to go away and never come back. At some point, it did go away, and he woke in the morning wondering if it had really been there or if was only a dream-- a very vivid, scary dream, but a dream nonetheless. A couple of days later, the Scarecrow Man was back again. Two weeks after that, he came for a fourth time. Each time was the same. He'd be on the verge of sleep when he'd hear the distinctive knocking sound that marked its coming. He could never tell from where the sound came, but in another moment it was standing over him, telling Mason to follow him. But Mason never would. Between the ages of five and seven, the Scarecrow Man visited him at erratic intervals. Mason could never discern a pattern in its visits. He might come three nights in a row and not return again for a month. He would plan to ask it what it wanted, why it had chosen him of all the little boys in the world to terrorize. But when the thing stood over him, fear ruled him. He only wished for it to go away and never return...except for that small part of him that wanted to follow it. That part of him terrified Mason almost as much as the Scarecrow Man itself. Two weeks after his seventh birthday, his family moved. They bought a house in the suburbs and sold the small trailer he'd lived in all his life. His father found a new job that paid more than his old one. Mason had a bigger room and would start first grade at a larger school than where he'd gone to Kindergarten. He'd lain awake for hours during his first night in his new room wondering if the Scarecrow Man would follow him here. If he did, Mason promised himself he would tell it to never come back again. He would do it no matter how afraid he might be. He would tell it he was a big boy now and big boys didn't have these kinds of little boy dreams. To give himself courage, he placed something under his pillow. When the time was right, he would use it. The Summer passed without its coming. He began to think that it was gone for good. But the night before he started first grade, it appeared. There was no knocking to announce it this time. Its stink woke him from a deep sleep. He turned on his back and saw it. Its eyes were more deeply yellow than before. Its face gyrated like the shapes in a kaleidoscope. Maggots and worms slithered across its beard. Its hat was so crumpled and dirty it might have been run over by a tractor trailer. It was grinning. Mason had never seen it grin before. "Follow me!" it demanded in his mind. In the past, its beckonings were only a strong suggestion, but tonight, it was an imperative. He almost allowed it to lead him away that night. He almost touched its hand. But he remembered his promise to himself. He remembered what he kept beneath his pillow. He drew the Hans Solo blaster and leveled it at the Scarecrow Man. "What do you want from me?" he said. You've been chosen, it answered in his mind. "Choose someone else!" He pulled the trigger of the blaster. It emitted a shrill squeal that wrenched him back to reality. He found himself firing the gun at nothing. He got out of bed and turned on the light feeling a surge of adrenaline pouring through him. He looked under the bed, almost expecting to see him hiding there. But it was not. He searched his closet, but it was not there either. Then he noticed something on the floor. Afraid to touch it, he got on his knees to see it more closely: a piece of straw less than half an inch long. He touched it warily, afraid it would shock him. But it was only an ordinary piece of straw. He could think of a dozen reasons to explain how it came to be there. He might have tracked it in on his sock. Maybe it was left from the house's previous owners. Maybe it had stuck to the bed or one of his dressers during the move. But Mason knew where it came from-- the Scarecrow Man's hat. It had left it as a message. He found a zip lock bag in the kitchen and put the piece of straw inside. He stored it in his bottom dresser drawer. After re-stowing his Han Solo blaster, he went back to bed and thankfully, didn't dream. He planned to shoot the thing again if it came the next night, but it didn't come. Time passed and the Scarecrow Man never returned. He wondered if he'd really killed it with his Han Solo blaster. He began to convince himself that he'd only been dreaming and that the piece of straw he kept in a zip-lock bag in his bottom drawer was nothing extraordinary at all. But he kept it anyway because a part of him knew better. ************************* As an adult, it was hard to think of his later childhood years. In his mind, he stored those years away as the Tragic Ones. When he was nine, his mother gave birth to a baby girl. Five months later, she found her dead in her crib. Her death was inexplicable and attributed to SIDS. Two years later, Mason's father, who had been healthy as a horse all his life, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The cancer spread quickly and four months later the man was dead. Mason could hardly stand to see his mother grieve. "It's just the two of us now," she told him at the funeral, squeezing his hand. He felt ashamed, as if it were his fault. When he was a small child, to be alone with his mother had been his greatest wish, but he hadn't wanted it like this. Tragedy wasn't done with him. A little over a year later, he was home alone waiting for his mother to return from a teaching seminar she'd attended out of town. He was worried. She should have been home hours ago. The phone rang and he jumped for it. But it wasn't her number on the caller ID. When he answered, a state patrolman asked to speak to an adult. "Just a minute," Mason said. He pretended to summon his father. He spoke in his deepest voice when he came back to the phone, identifying himself as Mr. Cross. "Your wife has been in an accident," the patrolman said. "We're sending someone to speak to you about the matter." "Is she okay?" Mason asked. The cop's pause was answer enough. "I'm not at liberty to discuss her condition over the phone," he said. He learned she'd been killed in a five car pile-up on the Interstate. A deer had picked the wrong time to cross the road. He'd drifted along in a haze after that. One of his mother's teacher friends allowed him to live with them during his senior year in high school. After graduation, he enrolled himself in college and paid the tuition from the life insurance policies his parents left him. He focused like a laser on his studies, neglecting any semblance of a social life, feeling unconsciously that he would bring death and misery to anyone foolish enough to befriend him. He graduated with a bachelor in psychology in three years, a Master's Degree in two more, and earned his Doctorate three years after that. He met Sharon by chance at a seminar he conducted on dream interpretation. He'd done his best to push her away in the beginning, but she was persistent. They married and a year and a half later, Jacob was born. His life held meaning again, but he lived in constant fear that he would lose all that he had at any moment. He felt in the hidden part of his soul that the Scarecrow Man wasn't done with him. ***************************** "Did you see that homeless man sitting on the bench outside the mall?" he asked his wife as they drove home from the mall? "Yeah, I did see him. He was creepy." "I think he was staring at me. He scared little Jacob too. We should do our shopping somewhere else next time." She laughed. "Find a different place to shop just because we saw a creepy homeless man? Was he a former patient of yours or something?" "Yeah, something like that. He always spooked me." -------------------------------------------- Jacob's squalls woke them that night around two in the morning. Mason got up to check on him. He lifted him out of the bed expecting to feel a wet diaper beneath his hand. But the diaper was dry. Jacob continued to cry and Mason held him close to his chest, rocking and cooing. "What's wrong, baby?" he said. "Daddy's got you. Everything's all right." Jacob quit crying for a moment. He looked towards the closet with wide eyes and resumed. "I've got you, little Jacob. Let's go back to sleep." He turned his back to the closet, shielding the baby from it, but Jacob strained to see around him. "What are you looking for? Do you think something's in that closet?" Even as he said it, chills ran down his spine. He put Jacob down and searched the closet, finding nothing out of the ordinary. He was frightened and felt ridiculous for feeling that way. The closet was filled with more baby clothes and paraphernalia than Jacob would ever need. Thinking of the Scarecrow Man contorting himself in a position to make itself fit there, he had to smile. First the homeless man and now this. He was truly losing it. Jacob finally quieted, but Mason found himself unable to leave him alone in his room. He knew his baby had seen the Scarecrow Man in the closet in the same way he knew the true identity of the homeless man at the mall. The baby bed had wheels, so he pushed it into their bedroom and parked it within arm's reach. Sharon was sound asleep. "Did I ever tell you about the recurring nightmares I had as a child?" he said aloud. "I don't think they were dreams at all. I think he cursed my whole family and now he's back for more. Do you think it's something I should have told you before we were married" She garbled something unintelligible and was asleep again. Mason lay awake through the night, half expecting to see the thing standing over him at any moment. -------------------------------- Monday morning, on the way to his private practice, he saw the same homeless man standing on the side of the road at an intersection. He didn't dare look at him, but felt his stare the entire time he waited for the light to change. He looked in his rear-view mirror as he pulled away, but the man was gone. "I'm truly losing my mind," he said to himself. At work, he saw patients in a steady stream until lunch time. At 11:45 his receptionist told him the waiting room was finally empty. He told her he was going out and would be back in an hour. When he stepped into the waiting room, he found that it wasn't empty after all. The Scarecrow Man sat in the corner staring at him. Somehow, he bit back a scream. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw an empty chair. "You know what, Tina? I don't feel so good," he told his receptionist. "Can you reschedule my appointments for the rest of the day? I need to go home and get some rest." He drove aimlessly around town for over an hour before deciding what he had to do. "You're home early," Sharon said when he got home "Is something wrong?" "No. I've just been stressed. I needed an afternoon off." "You have seemed a little out of sorts since last night. Is there something you need to talk about?" He almost told her everything, but knew if he did, she would convince him it was all his imagination. She would talk him into seeing a shrink and getting some medication. "No," he said. "I'm going to take a drive. Take some time to clear my head. I was thinking about something I used to have today. I want to see if I can find it in the attic. It used to always make me feel better. "What's that?" she asked. "I'll show you if I can find it." He had to search for awhile, but found both items he was looking for in the bottom of a box pushed to the very back of the attic. The zip-lock bag with the half inch piece of plastic and the Han Solo blaster were both there. He put the bag in his pocket and held the blaster like a talisman against his chest. "Is that a Star Wars gun?" she asked when he came down. "I can't believe you still have that." "Yep," he said. "I always thought it was my good luck charm." "What are you going to do with it?" "The same thing Han Solo did with it. Use it to protect myself. " She laughed. "You're a strange man, Mason Cross, but I love you." "I love you guys too. More than anything in the world." He kissed them both and left. He drove to the mall and sat on the bench where he'd seen him the previous night. He put the blaster inside his coat. The afternoon had been crisp and sunny, but as it passed the temperature fell. Clouds covered the sun and a freezing rain began to fall. He buttoned his coat and tried not to shiver. He didn't know how long he would have to wait, but didn't doubt that he would come. He ignored two calls from his wife as the day turned to night and the freezing rain turned to snow. He watched the people come and go and imagined they suspected that he was mentally ill. Maybe they were right. The mall was empty before Mason discovered he was no longer alone. The homeless man was beside him. Mason hadn't seen him sit down. Mason shivered in the cold, but the other man seemed unaffected. His beard was long and unkempt, but did not undulate with a thousand squirmy insects and his eyes were not yellow or pupilless, but a dull gray. He still wore the Members Only jacket and the tattered flannel shirt, but also sported a good pair of work-boots and faded but serviceable khaki pants. "Hey Bub. Thought I was the only one down on my luck enough to be out in this weather," His voice made Mason's skin crawl. It was deep and gravelly and sounded like someone gargling marbles. Mason didn't feel like making small talk. "I came here to meet you," he said. "I think you know that." "I don't know what you're talking about, Bub. I'm happy to share a bench, but I never saw you before in my life." "Don't play dumb with me. You know who I am and you know why I'm here, so cut the bullshit." "I hope you don't mind me saying so, but I think you've gone round the bend, friend." Mason pulled out the blaster and pointed it at him. A part of him felt ridiculous, as if he were pretending to be seven years old again. But another part of him knew it was right. The homeless man snickered when he saw it. "That's a toy, ain't it?" he said "An old one too. I had one when I was a kid myself. Han Solo. Am I right? He offed a hell of a lot of stormtroopers with that thing." Mason nodded. "And once I thought it killed a monster that came into my bedroom at night and terrorized me." "You thought? It didn't work as well with monsters as stormtroopers, eh?" "Apparently not." "So why'd you bring it?" "I thought it would bring you. Seems like it worked." He smirked "You've gone round the bend alright, Bub. You'd best refill your meds.... and soon." Mason pulled the plastic bag with the piece of straw from his pocket. "I believe you left this to me when I was seven. Maybe you meant it as a message. Maybe it dropped from your hat accidentally, but either way, I've kept it for the last twenty-five years to help me remember that you were real. And now here you are." He was smoking a cigarette now. "For amusement's sake let's say you're right. What's your plan?" His smugness was infuriating. Mason pictured wrapping his hands around the man's throat and choking the life from him. But he kept his cool. He needed to work this through. "I don't have a plan. I just want to understand what you want from me. I want to know why you murdered my baby sister, my mother, and my father. I want to know what it would take to make you go away forever." The man nodded. He blew a stream of smoke into the freezing air. "You sound right sure of yourself there, Bub, and I'm telling you I'm nothing but a broke down man on a bench. But I've done some philosophizing in my time so I'll share it with you since you're hankering to know. There's things that lurk in the dark, you see, and sometimes something calls those things. There's no accounting for it. It just happens--a toss of the dice, a random flash of lightning. People like you want to make sense of it, but there's none to be made. It just is. And once it happens there's no escaping that dark thing. There's nothing to be done but to embrace it. If you fight it, you only make it worse for yourself and everyone around you. It's a harsh truth, I know. But it's what I believe. What do you make of it?" "I don't believe that," he answered. "There has to be a way to satisfy that thing or a way to kill it. There has to be a way to make it leave someone alone." He laughed. It was an ugly hacking sound. "You're quite the optimist, aren't you, Bub? But you're wrong and I've said all I have to say on the matter. So why don't you scamper back to whatever cozy hideaway you came from and leave me alone? Toss me a little spare change on your way out if you don't mind." Mason stood, but didn't leave. He forced himself to put his face so close to the Scarecrow Man that he almost touched his nose. This close, he could smell the faintest hint of the foul odor that had wakened him on so many childhood nights. "I know what you are," he said. "And tonight, one way or the other, we're going to finish this." The Scarecrow Man dropped his cigarette in the snow at his feet and stomped it out. He grabbed Mason's wrist. His grip was like a burning shackle and his nails dug into Mason's skin. The familiar stench wafted over him, penetrating the cold. The homeless man assumed the visage of Mason's childhood dreams. A centipede surfaced from its beard and dove again beneath it. Pus seeped from its eyes. A grimy, beaten straw-hat materialized on its head. "You always wanted to follow me," he said in Mason's mind. "And now you finally will." A darkness thicker than any Earthly night enveloped him. He could no longer see the Scarecrow Man, but could feel its burning, steely grip on his wrist. He had the sensation of movement, but could not discern the direction. The reality he'd always known slipped away from him like a thin skin. Below it was something beyond human experience. Visions of things his mind could not make sense of flashed before him. Contorted, writhing, tortured bodies and faces assaulted his senses and evaporated to nothing. His body felt as if it would boil and freeze at once. He felt he was in the midst of evil and darkness at its essence, and he could not help but be infected by it. "Let me go!" he tried to scream to the Scarecrow Man. But in spite of his protestations, he could not deny that he wanted more. He felt like a man born to be an addict introduced to his first hit of heroin. In a moment, an abyss opened before him and he felt it sucking him in like a black hole. The Scarecrow Man carried him towards it like Charon leading a soul through the River Styx. Mason knew there would be no return from that place, that it was a realm of madness beyond human imagining, but he yearned to enter it. He wanted to be broken down to his basest form, to delve into the deepest, darkest part of his soul and embrace it for eternity. But at the cusp of no return, the vision of his wife and child swam to the forefront of his mind. He saw his wife holding Jacob in their bedroom with the light on as she wept with worry for him. Where was he? Why hadn't he called? He was acting so strange when he left with that old Star Wars gun. Why hadn't she questioned him more? Why hadn't she stopped him and made him explain himself? She was afraid something terrible had happened to him. She'd already called the police, but they weren't too worried. They said to call back if he hadn't made it home by morning. She'd looked for him at his usual haunts-- the bookstore, a coffee shop and pub they frequented, the movie theater, the park. But she hadn't gone to the mall. If she had, she would have been puzzled to find him sitting on a bench engaged in lively banter with a homeless man. But if she went there now, he didn't know what she would see. Because he was not there. Where he was now was no definable place at all. He had to get back at her. The abyss called to him, but he had to resist it. He could not leave them alone. He tried to turn back, but had no control. The edge of the abyss drew steadily nearer. "Let me go!" he tried to scream at the Scarecrow Man. He tried to claw at the hand that still held his wrist in a searing grip. But there was no Scarecrow Man to fight. He felt the pain of his grip, but possessed no wrist from which to loose him. He pictured Jacob and Sharon in his mind and saw every pore of their bodies magnified a thousand times larger than life. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to be by their side again. He wanted to make his life with them. He wanted their love for as long as could have it whether it was a single day or fifty years. He wanted it infinitely more than whatever base and maddening thing lay in the abyss that loomed before him. From seemingly another galaxy, he heard her calling his name. He felt her touch against the skin he thought he no longer owned. "Mason! Wake up, Mason! I love you, Mason. Please wake up." The mouth of the abyss, open wide like a hungry maw, loomed ahead of him another moment before it began to recede, by centimeters at first and then exponentially faster until it was little more than a black pinhole in a sea of white. As it disappeared completely, he felt the tiniest tinge of regret at its passing. ------------------------------- He opened his eyes to see Sharon's face close to his. Her touch was real. He was colder than he'd ever been in his life. He tried to tell her he loved her, but only blubbered incoherently. His lips were so much frozen wood. "Mason. You're alive!" Sharon said. "I thought I had lost you." She pulled him from the bench and he fell hard on his knees, but they were so numb he barely felt it. With a Herculean effort, he forced himself to his feet again. She was pulling him to her car, but he stole a final glance back and saw the homeless man--the Scarecrow Man-- lying in an unnatural position on the sidewalk below the bench. His head was half-covered in snow. "Is he dead?" he tried to ask. His words were unintelligible, but she understood what he was trying to say. "He's dead," she said. "And I think you almost were too. I would have called 9-1-1, but there was something... bad...evil about him. I decided it would be best to let him be." She helped him in the car and took him home. Jacob was crying from his car-seat in the back. She took him out and put him in his father's arms. Mason held him all the way home, feeling his warm baby body against him and crying tears of his own. He didn't believe the Scarecrow Man was dead. But he did believe the abyss was behind him. He held his wife's hand as he drove and kissed his son on his cheek. He was where he wished to be and that was all that mattered. "Did you want to keep these things?" his wife asked. She handed him the Hans Solo blaster and the piece of straw in the plastic bag. He took them from her and held them for a moment. "No," he answered. "I don't need them any more." He tossed them out the window and didn't look back. |
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