My great grandparents were simple folk from the mid west. They had owned a few farms and lived off their land. When they died, they left the only farm house that was still standing in the family. My mother said I could go check it out, and if I felt like it was something I could handle on my own, it would be mine to have. But the more I learned of this property, the less it became about me having a home to call my own, it was the legends of the family scarecrow.
There had been many stories in our family that this particular piece of land was cursed. My great grandparents were not good people and had tortured many of their slaves. And so apparently one of the slaves that was used in many breeding rituals was a young witch. The tale of her says, that the last thing she saw before she died, was the lonely scarecrow out in the field. There were a few pictures of it in old family albums, and undoubtedly, it was creepy. After her passing there were accounts that anyone that came into contact with the scarecrow would have nightmares so awful, than ran screaming from the property. Dreams of their skin being carved off of them by something they could not see. Dreams so realistic that it caused more than a few to go insane. Eventually the farm was abandoned, and no one dared touch the scarecrow.
When I arrived at the property I was filled with dread, and a calming sense of terror. This was a perfect place to bring my victims to.. a sleepy little town.. Evil just lurked about. It was too perfect. I headed down to the farmhouse with a sense of purpose, me and this scarecrow spirit were going to get to know each other really well.
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