Ｗａｔｃｈｅｒ ╭₪₪₪𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘹 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘦₪₪₪╮

[Bunny]

The corn rustled softly, the sound was eerie. It was hallow, the way the leaves rubbed together. Dry, like the hum of a crickets legs. Leaning back against her old beat up junker she eyed the field in the growing darkness. Amberley hadn't known that she'd even had a great aunt, let alone that she'd known about her. Yet, when she'd passed this property had fallen to her. Fifty acres, most of it covered in this dead or dying corn and one old farm house, if one could call the monstrosity of Victorian architecture a farm house. The old picture she'd gotten of the house in the will had been lovely, it was less so in person. It was a real fixer-upper, but it wasn't like Amberley had anything better waiting for her. Her pale pink eyes fell to the solitary figure in the corn. A scarecrow. In truth, it gave her the willies, scarecrows always had.

Turning, fingers pulled at the handle of the backseat, struggling to pry the rusty door open. "Come on, you sonofabitch!" The words were tired, though there was no anger to them, just an exhausted frustration. As the door pulled open, she said a small thanks to whoever was listening and pulled her duffle from the patched backseat. Slinging it over her shoulder, she turned back to the field and for a moment, she couldn't find the scarecrow and she felt her heart leap to her throat. Then she found him and she exhaled, a shaky laugh following. Scarecrows didn't move. Tucking her shoulder length white locks behind an ear she watched his hat ripple in the wind for a moment. A small smile curled on her lips. He was gonna scare the shit out of her for a while.

Blowing her bangs out of her eyes she shook her her head again and turned back toward the house, her converse crunched over the gravely dirt that lead up to the house. The pale lavender of her skirt seemed to get brighter as the sun sunk below the horizon. Shivering she shifted her duffle, the strap causing the cropped skeleton sweater to bunch uncomfortably. The door gave an creak and she snorted softly as her free hand searched for the light switch. Fingers caught the little protrusion and light blinked to life in the front room. Saying a soft thank you to whoever was watching over her, she dropped her bag with a soft thump at her feet. The inside was cleaner than she'd expected, still a touch grimy, there was less dust and cobwebs than she'd thought there would be. There was also a distinct lack of furniture. "Oh man..." While Amberley hadn't expected much, she'd been hoping for a moth eaten couch or perhaps a questionable bed to crash on. She wasn't some princess that would refuse.. A bed was a bed and she could work on getting better one in time...

Moving through the house, she inspected it, mostly for small creatures, but she also took stock of what had been left for her. Upstairs, in the bedroom, which did thankfully have an old bed. In all honesty she was shocked it had been left in the house, when all else had seemed to have been removed.. It was beautiful, the old wooden frame perhaps in need of a little TLC, was elegant and of good make. She didn't know for sure the age, but it was clearly vintage. Hmmmning to herself she moved deeper into the room and looked out on the property as it stretched before her. There from the upstairs window, she could easily see her scary friend. Leaning against the windowsill she watched the corn swaying around him for a long moment before turning away. Amberley couldn't say why she was so drawn to that silly scarecrow, being scared of them as she was... yet, every time she could spot him, she tried. Perhaps she was making sure he didn't move. Chuckling, she headed back downstairs.

---

Hours later, Amberley was curled up on the questionable mattress, blankets layered beneath her, a thin sheet over her as she flicked through her phone. She didn't have a signal out here, but she'd downloaded some movies and the like knowing it would take her some time to get someone to come out for the internet.. The water.. gods, so much more too. In time she fell asleep. The worry about her friend forgotten.. for she'd have been lying to say that she hadn't still been scared of him. Her shoes lay discarded to one side of the bed, her skirt and sweater carefully laid on her bag... in nothing but a pair of panties Amberley had tossed and turned for some time until sleep finally claimed her. Here in her dreamland, she wanted to know why she'd gotten the property. A murder of crows took to the sky and she watched with horror as her dream changed and her scarecrow moved. The dream faded and darkness was her only company as she slept..

 

[Lady Jace Beleren]

The cool autumn air blew through the corn as Amberly yanked at the rusted door of her vehicle. The scarecrow's oversized hat rustled along with the dry leaves of the stalks surrounding it. For a moment, it made the thing look like it moved. Except, the wind could not explain the shifting of limbs, the slight lifting of the head. It could not explain the way the head moved to follow the new young woman on the property. Most of all, it could not explain the way the seams of the eyes opened, revealing startlingly white eyes, with only rings of black to define their form. The scarecrow sat on his post and did what it had done for an impossibly long time. It watched.

He had not been surprised when the girl had rolled up to the house. No, he understood that when one human disappeared, another new one would usually come to claim the land. It helped that he had felt the vehicle coming, always felt when humans were coming. Anything within the 50 acres of farm, and a bit beyond, was connected to him. If he focused, he could feel every blade of grass, every insect in the dirt. Something the size of a car suddenly entering his territory was like being jostled by the shoulder. Usually, it was used to protect the land and keep its secrets, his secrets. Now, it drew his attention in a new way.

The woman, a small thing even compared to the elderly one who had disappeared, was not like the others who had been to the property. Many had owned the land in the long time he had watched over it, but none were so... colorful. He knew the green of leaves, the brown of dirty, the shifting orange of autumn. He had seen humans grow old and their hair change to grey. None of it compared to what he saw. Her skirt was a shocking pink, like a warning that she might be poisonous. The black and white of her clothing was decorated with bones, with death. Even her hair was strange, not the grey of old age, but a startling white like fresh snow. It was all so different, yet to someone who had been here as long as him, seeing something so shockingly new made it impossible to ignore.

He followed her with his senses, the winds carrying words to him even over the rustle of corn, her feet reverberating through his intangible connect to the earth. It was not until her shoes left dirt and strided over the wood of the porch that he lost her. He could never sense what happened inside the house, it was too man-made for that. Instead, he did something he rarely did. With an unnatural contortion of limbs, he lifted his body up and off the post that held him aloft. Pulling the post free from the ground, he moved position to be able to see the window that led to the sleeping room, though his angle was nearly useless. Without so much as rustling the dry corn leaves, he moved to plant the post again, taking his normal position and becoming just a normal scarecrow again. A moment later, his eyes met with the woman, his gaze turned to the window as she looked down to him.

--------

When night fell, the scarecrow was able to move more freely. It reminded him of the time long ago, though it was simply vague and cloudy memories now. He had been something else long ago, before the corn had been planted, when everything had been trees. Humans had come, fought with him for the land. It had gone on for years until a bargain was made. The humans would revere the land and he would help them survive, help the land grow. That had been years ago, centuries or more. So long ago that he had forgotten what the trees had looked like, long enough that the humans had forgotten their side of the bargain, cut the trees and planted their corn. But he could not blame them. They were such fragile things, disappearing into the earth after so few years. He would keep his promise nonetheless, always keep it to honor those that had cared as much as he did about this land.

It was that same respect for the property, the need to protect, that had made him take on this form, made him forget what he had been. It was what drove him to stay here and what drove him to inspect this new human, to understand what made her so different.

Planting his post again, this time beside the house, the scarecrow climbed it with ease and stood on the crossed section that normally held his arms. This, combined with his incredible height, gave him what he needed to look inside the window. Inside, there was almost no light. Only a strange rectangle illuminated the face of the woman who laid in the bed. For him, the darkness was no impediment. Every detail was visible. He could see the curves of the sheet, the way it rested over her body. Something about this prickled at his mind, made him feel something he had never felt before. It was a warmth that started in his abdomen and spread to his face. Had he ever seen a human wearing so little? Surely he had, had seen the bare bodies of humans on many occasions. Why did this little thing covered in this thin sheet draw his eyes so intensely? Make him feel this warmth? It prickled at him, this mystery. It was surely only to understand this that he stayed atop the post for so long, watching her, taking in her shape. It was not until she began to toss and turn in her sleep that he finally left, feeling a strange shame.

--------

The next few days were a similar game for him. The woman moved about the property, investigating the area, finding what was needed and what should be fixed. He found her fascinating, the new clothing she wore just as strange and colorful as the day before. Wherever she went on the property, he followed. If she moved out of sight, he lifted his post and replaced it somewhere else in the corn. He was reckless and it showed. More than once, she had traipsed through the corn to confront him, yelling in his face about how he should tell her if he was real. It was strange, but he had held the secret for too long to give it away just because she asked.

Then, when night fell, the scarecrow took up his position at the window, drank in the sight of her curves. It filled him with warmth and drove him even deeper into his need to see her. Soon, it had changed to the desire to touch. By the end of the week, he was burning with a curiosity that he could not comprehend, a million questions in his head that he never knew he could ask.

He wanted to pull the sheet aside, to crawl into the bed beside her, to discover more about her. Her taste and the feeling of her skin. He wanted to understand her the same way he understood the land.

Finally, it came to a head and he found himself on the post, pretending he could not respond as she once again accused him of being alive, this time even more heated than the last.

 

[Bunny]

Having grown up in the city, Amberley was used to having people around. The press of bodies and the feeling of eyes... yet one without the other was disconcerting. She was imagining it, that had to be it. The house was in a rural location. It wasn't as if she had crazed hillbillies hiding in the corn. At least she was pretty sure there were not. For a moment she had wondered if she was feeling the eyes of animals, but much like the hillbilly hypothesis, she was pretty sure it was just as wrong. There was another theory, though if animals and hillbillies were out, she didn't want to consider the fact that it could be the scarecrow. That was some horror movie shit that Amberley was in no way prepared to deal with. It didn't stop her from matching out into the middle of the corn to shout at him. This, Amberley told herself, was stress relief. A way to work out the anxiety and fear without seeming like a crazy person. Riiiiiiiight. It did make her feel better though, which was something she needed.

Amberley was unsure if she was in over her head or not. The house had been willed to her and she needed a break from the city and Nathen. That creep had been stalking her for years. Here, she'd be safe. At least that was the hope. More than once she'd wondered if it was his eyes she'd felt, but she had the word of several friends he was still in the city. Beyond that, the house needed some serious TLC and it wasn't something that she was ready for. She wasn't the most handy of people and she most certainly lacked the funds. There was only one thing about inheriting the property that brought her joy. She might not have looked like it, but Amberley loved to garden. While a far cry from farming that might be required in the new year, she took joy in planting native plants along the driveaway. She even found a few trees that her research had told her once had been plentiful in the area. For being so remote, even with the abundance of corn, the land felt... naked. If this was really to be her home for years to come, why not put the effort in?

--

It had been a long day. One filled with a bunch of small things that slowly tilted her. Her car had broken down in town. Her favorite shoes had been ruined walking back home. Her food, that she'd set to cook while she was away, hadn't actually been turned on. So she had nothing warm to eat. The scarecrow never seemed to be in the same place and yet she knew he couldn't move. Cutting herself with a knife as she chopped veggies for a salad had been the last straw. Tears in her eyes, Amberley had looked up, expecting to see the scarecrow, and she did, but it looked as if it moved and for a moment, that trick of the light had been enough to send her over the edge.

It was a trick of the light, she knew this even as she stalked out of the house barefoot. Lavender shorts didn't protect her legs from the corn stalks or their leaves as she stalked towards him, her black top with the cute snake and skull was tied up, exposing her midriff as she crossed her arms under her breasts glaring up at the scarecrow. She didn't like him and while she had deiced to try and keep him, face her fears and all that. Yet she couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't stand the flickers of light around him, the fact that she could always see him. Her hand was wrapped in a pastel pink bandana, the center turning red as she pushed at his hips. "You are so fucking creepy!" This wasn't about him, not really. Frustrated, lonely and scared, she needed to let this anger and fear out. Fear that she couldn't do this. Fear that Nathen would find her. Anger that she thought she could do this. Balling her hands she hit his chest, tears falling down her cheeks as she pushed, shoved and hit him.

It wasn't enough. "You move, I know you do!" This was far from the first time she'd accused him of it. She'd screamed it at him. "You know what. No." She could take control of one thing. She could remove him. Stop freaking herself out. Her hands moved to the stick, gripping it tightly. "I can't do this anymore." Maybe without him, she'd be able to be normal. Well.. not yell at a scarecrow crazy at least. She'd never been normal....

 

[Lady Jace Beleren]

The time spent watching the new human had taught the scarecrow a few things. First, she was not adept in the care of the land and the house. That much was obvious from how easily the little tasks she attempted had overwhelmed her. In fact, most things seemed to overwhelm this little thing. In the most heated moments, she would always look toward him, anger burning in her eyes. The second thing he had learned was that she was rather determined. She studied the area and even went so far as to plant new flowers. It seemed that the human wanted to become better, fill the gaps in her knowledge as best she could. The scarecrow would make sure to protect those flowers with all the same reverence he showed the other plants on his land.

These little things, things that pleased the scarecrow about this new human, did come with a negative. He did not enjoy the moments when she stalked out into the field and yelled at him. He did not particularly mind the yelling. It was a human thing that he could not understand. What bothered him was that it made him want to move. He had revealed himself to humans before, though it had been generations since he had done so. It was sometimes helpful to let them know they were watched, protected. He had even been caught moving once or twice before. With this human, it was different. He simply wanted her to know he was alive.

This time, as the human crashed through the corn toward him, it was different. She seemed like she had broken somehow. She screamed at him, accusing him of moving and calling him creepy. This, too, was fairly normal. Then, she began to hit him, push him. There were tears, another human thing he did not understand. Finally, she gave up. Leaned down and grasped the post that held him aloft. This he could not allow. He would not be moved. He could protect the land without his disguise, but how would he watch her?

This would require something different from his current form. His magic let him move the lanky and frail body of the scarecrow without much difficulty, but he would fall apart if she continued to attack him. He needed to be something more solid. So, while she leaned down, he thought to the shape of things, the bodies of creatures that he had seen in nature. The limbs of the scarecrow became more full, the clothing filling in with the mass of a real body. Some of it was guess-work, some inspired by things that were certainly not human. Still, he kept to what he could understand. By the time the post began to pull loose from the earth, his new body had formed. With a grotesque little pop from his new bones, his arms lifted him off the post and he stepped down.

The first thing that was obvious was the difference in size. The female human was several feet shorter than him. Combined with the wide brim of his hat, he cast her completely in shadow. As he moved, bits of hay and leaves fell from inside his coat, filling the air with a dusty smell. Sensation flooded him as this real body connected to whatever it was that made him sentient. Out of instinct, he jostled the coat and dislodged more of the itchy debris. No long directly a part of his body, the scarecrow could not will the burlap sack that had been his face to open. Instead, he took one of his gloved hands and reached up to pull the large hat free. The other grabbed the burlap itself, tugging it free with the gentle snap of threads. As the sack came off, a mop of golden hair, the same as the hay he had discarded, fell around the new face.

The face itself was strange, so different and inhuman, yet strangely handsome. There was no mouth, no nose, only the vague suggestion of them. Everywhere there were little stitches, like he had been unsure how to stay together without them. Most striking of all, though, was the eyes. He had those same ghostly white eyes, staring at her without blinking. Finally, came the strangest part. In an imitation of a greeting he had seen so long ago, the scarecrow leaned forward in a bow and held the hat to the side.

 

[Bunny]

The stupid stick seemed stuck in the hard ground but Amberley wouldn't give up so easily. Tugging at the stick, she was unaware of what was happening above her.. Though only just. She could feel the shift in the air, the weight of it. She wouldn't have known it as magic though and in her anger, she ignored the warning. The stick gave some and she made a delighted sound of triumph. The scarecrow gone, things would be better. Right? That was at least the assumption she was laboring under. In the heat of the moment she didn't take time to consider the stress relief that the stupid thing provided her when she was at her wits end. In this moment there was only anger and frustration. The need for something, anything to go her way. Just one win in her book... Then she could reset.

The stick gave more, though little did she know it had little to do with her efforts as much as him. It wasn't until the popping sound that she shifted to look up. What greeted her was nightmare fuel in its truest form. She watched as something stepped down off the pole and it tumbled to the ground, crushing the corn behind it as she gazed up at him. Her eyes widened and the pale pink of her eyes shrunk as far too much white showed. Mouth agape, she watched in horror. Taller than her by a great deal, he shaded her with his wide hat. When he moved, she took a step back, hay falling from him. For the moment she watched like this was some sort of train wreck, unable to look away, unable to move.. The hat removed, it didn't help her fear even as golden blonde locks tumbled forward. The horror that had come with what amounted to him removing his own face having stunned her.

She could see his eyes now, a brilliant white. His face, she could see the appeal, somewhere in her dim, fear soaked mind, but it was distant. When he bowed, it seemed to trigger something in her and she turned, stumbling to all fours for a moment. scrambling to stand Amberley was not in full awareness of her surroundings and her bare foot rolled on the pole and she gave a small cry of pain as it twisted. Not letting that pain stop her she ran/hobbled through the corn, not daring to look back as she ran. The fear hadn't come out in a sound. No, Amberley had always pictured being a screamer in the horror films.. as she slammed into her front door she gave a small whimper as she pawed at the handle, trying to find it while finally looking over her shoulder. he was clearing the corn as she finally pulled the door open, falling across the foundation. The soft cry of pain as she tried to push herself to stand again. Easy to bruise, she'd be a patchwork of colors after this flight.

Leaving the door open she leaned heavily on the rail as she climbed the stairs. The rail was wobbly and Amberley would have preferred to not be putting her weight on it, but there was little chance of escaping him if she didn't... The first sign of trouble was the crunching of wood, then a groan of something under her hand as the railing gave way. for a moment, she was airborne and she could see his large frame silhouetted in the doorway. The fear and panic seemed to slow down to a crawl as she fell, arms and legs flailing as she screamed. This wasn't at him and while there was fear, it wasn't immediately directed at him. Her body bounced as it hit the floor, her head slamming into the floor. Her vision darkened for a moment and she could see him coming closer as she blacked out...

 

[Lady Jace Beleren]

The scarecrow truly understood very little about humans. She had confronted him directly about being alive, yet when he moved, she seemed to respond with nothing but fear. He watched her scramble on the ground, his head tilting in an animal curiosity. As Amberly stood to run, he reached out a gloved hand, only for her to fall again, this time yelping in pain. The woman was in a full run before he could even react, though calling it a run was generous. Thinking back to the times he had shown himself, this really was quite the norm. Centuries upon centuries of weariness expressed itself in nothing but a drop of the shoulders before he followed.

While Amberly was rushing to the house, the scarecrow moved with no hurry. He took long strides, moving quite fast only because of his height. As he walked, the corn made no sound, the dry leaves brushing and shifting as he passed, but refusing to release sound. The whole time, he easily tracked the bright pastel colors in the corn, towering above the stalks. They kept this game up all the way to he house, her running as fast as her body could take her and him following, his gait eating up distance. It was not until she reached the porch that he hesitated.

While Amberly struggled with the door, the scarecrow stood at the edge of the wood, looking down at the step. One more stride and he would be on something man-made, disconnected from his land. Had he ever been away? Ever left the soil? Even the post that he rested on when pretending to be a lifeless decoration was made with his power, a part of him. Perhaps it would be best to just wait for her to come to her senses, to come back to him. After all, pursuing her while she was afraid would not go well.

Just as the scarecrow considered turning around, he head the splintering of wood, the sound of something giving way. His white eyes snapped up and he saw Amberly falling in what felt like slow motion. There was a surge of energy, this organic body responding to stimulus in a way his previous could not. He was mounting the porch before she hit the floor. As her body bounced, her head striking the floor with a thud that was rather concerning. His second foot left the ground and suddenly he felt like he was in the dark, unable to feel the grass, the creatures. He ignored this loss and took fast steps, kneeling next to Amberly.

As he stared down at her unconscious body, the color of his eyes shifter. The white gained color, more defined shape, taking on a brilliant gold. Still a bit menacing, predatory, but more natural. A gloved hand moved to rest on her forehead. Disconnected from the land as he was, his senses were dull. It was like looking around a dark warehouse with nothing but a candle. He could see the damage, the slight inflammation already starting in her brain. His hand moved down, going down her throat and over the swell of her breasts, searching for damage. The scratchy and cracked leather of the gloves moved over her belly and down her thigh, thinking nothing of her he was touching her. More inflammation at the ankle, but no bone damage, no bleeding.

The gloved hand wrapped around her injured ankle, squeezing in a way that would likely provoke a yelp if she were conscious. Even without touching it, the land was bound to him, his to command. So, he borrowed from it. He pulled the life energy from the plants, a tree at the edge of the corn suddenly going through a change of leaves, a dozen curling into a crunchy orange and falling to the ground. The ankle, already beginning to bruise when he touched it, was once again pristine when he moved away. His other hand slid under her head, lifting it gently. A few stalks of corn went from a lively yellow to wilted brown stalks in a heartbeat as the damage to her brain mended itself.

Even as he fixed her body, the scarecrow placed his other hand under her rear, lifting her off the ground like she was a feather. He placed her to sit in his lap, ready to address and more injuries with a more detailed eye, his supernatural senses seeing more and more as he laid her against his chest. She was covered in tiny scratches, the kind that a person would not even notice, from moving through the corn wearing so little. It was not until her unconscious body let her arm fall against his leg that he noticed the cut. To him, with so little knowledge of humans, this was a serious injury. She was bleeding.

Using one arm to prop her up and lift her hand, leaving her now fully sitting in his lap, the scarecrow took the other to undo the handkerchief wrapping her wound. It was so small that he had to pinch the fabric between two fingers to untie it. Already, the wound was barely bleeding, more messy than anything. Without any of the hesitation a human might feel at the sight of blood, the scarecrow opened his mouth. It was not so simple as the parting of lips. Instead, it appeared almost like someone had torn a jagged line across his face. It split open to reveal a monstrous maw, an impossible tongue lolling out as his breath rattled like dry leaves. The tongue moved and wriggled with control and accuracy, the tip finding her wound as he leaned down over her. It was one long swipe of his tongue, slow and thorough, his saliva leaving a shining trail behind. What was not left was the cut itself. Only a silvery line of puckered skin, a healed cut that would soon fade, was left.

Letting her hand fall from his grasp, the scarecrow looked down at Amberly, the the shape of her form that had captivated him over the recent days. Her injuries mended, he was able to calm, to enjoy the sight of her, take in her figure as he had when she slept wearing nearly nothing. This new body pulsed with urges, with ideas. Now a solid, living thing, the scarecrow gave in to the desires that had ravaged his mind and now rampaged in his new flesh. That same monstrous maw grew closer to her face, the tip of his long tongue finding the curve of her neck and sliding upward to the rim of her ear. At the same time, his free hand moved to grip her thigh, finding the way it shaped against the gloved fingers to be exceptionally pleasant. He pulled her closer, cradling her to his chest as he tasted her, something more sensual and hungry replacing the blankness of his stare.