Scarecrow Stories Novels & Stories

“I went and turned on the light by the door and watched from another window but he didn’t move. It was really starting to give me the creeps, you know? I mean, it was right under the light so I couldn’t see its face any more than, you know, which way the eyes were pointing. I went upstairs and got Ed’s gun and a flashlight and then opened the door to holler at him. That’s when I could tell something was wrong.” “What do you mean?” “Well, it was standing too still. It didn’t even flinch when I hollered,” she said. “So, I walked out a little closer and when I shined my light on it from the driveway I could tell it wasn’t a person. It was a scarecrow. Kind of a dummy held up with sticks with a

"See? We're a town of silly jokes and serious secrets. It's a delicate balance." The conversation flowed, a blend of playful banter and cryptic hints. Aurora learned about the annual "Glimmering Night of a Thousand Lanterns," a tradition shrouded in ancient folklore, the legend of the mischievous sprites that inhabited the old mill, and the unsolved mystery of the disappearing scarecrows. Each tale was more peculiar than the last, painting a vivid picture of a town steeped in both the mundane and the magical.

In 1890, my great-grandmother Takoda was only a child when her ancestors told her stories while they huddled around the campfire with handmade blankets from buffalo hide. Later, she told my mother the same stories about humans who could walk on all fours and pale skins and drink your blood. Nowadays, no one talks about the past, which leads us to believe they are just scary stories the tribe elders tell for fun or to put fear into the youngsters so we won’t enter the woods outside our borders. However, I believe nothing they say. But my grandmother does and never lets my family forget it. I usually get grounded for laughing at her, thinking she’s a crazy old woman.

“Ready to leave now?” I nodded quickly, cheeks burning. We took a step forward, but I stopped him again. “Maddox—wait.” His head snapped toward me, impatience flaring in his eyes. “What now, Maya? You’re driving me insane.” “We need to deceive them. Turn off the lights. And… and maybe—ugh, I don’t know what it’s called. The things farmers use to scare animals away in fields. Let’s make one.” He raised a brow. “A scarecrow?”

However, something strange happened right then. The scarecrow suddenly seemed to come alive and tightly attached itself to the man’s back.

As the stories got scarier, I noticed a few of the younger pack members huddling closer to their parents, seeking comfort and reassurance. Soon, it was my turn to share a story. Feeling the weight of the moment, I cleared my throat and began my tale. "In a small village, there was a haunted mansion. It was said that the spirit of a vengeful witch roamed the halls, seeking revenge on anyone who dared to enter her domain..." I let my imagination run wild, conjuring spine-chilling scenes and mysterious characters. The pack leaned in closer, their eyes wide with fascination, hanging onto every word I spoke. The suspenseful atmosphere made my heart race with excitement.

until it is in front of the crack that illuminated the room.She comes closer and peers outside.There are many things that she saw for the first time, the trees, the flowers, the animals, the insects, the sun, and the wind.Amazed, the fairy flies over the surrounding forest.Going higher she flies over a hill and even higher she finds herself on a mountain.The fresh air, the noises, the humidity, all those things made her happy.Then, a butterfly is caught in a dragonfly's boat, which then flutters its elongated wings in front of the fairy, the fairy follows.A beautiful bird also approaches the fairy and, ignoring it, goes to the dragonfly and devours it in one peck.The fairy begins then, foll

But after all the goosebumps, 'twas just a tree. "Relax," she tangles her arm with mine, "those trees scare the intruders if any. A similitude of scarecrow." "Oh, but you're scared, too." "Of course! This forest is creepy! This is where the tears of our dead pack are preserved. Sometimes, those watch-wolves heard an agonizing howl in here." "Then there are ghosts here?" "That can't be!" I finally made a chuckle for the first time in a while. "That story is just a legend. It's a stupid creed to be true."

Peacekeeper armor. He wrapped the star-metal wire around the locust limbs, creating jagged, spindly arms. He assembled a nightmare. It looked like a crucified skeleton made of metal and insect parts. "It needs a heart," Leo whispered. He reached into his own chest. Not literally, but metaphysically. He pulled a sphere of golden fire from his core. But he didn't make it pure. He twisted it. He added the memory of the Void he had felt in the Architect’s database. He added the anger of the burning South. He added the cold of the deep ocean. He created a ball of dread. He pushed it into the chest cavity of the Scarecrow. The construct jerked. The skull’s eyes lit up. Not gold. Purple-gold. A br

She would only end up telling them of how her great, great, great grandmother, told her great, great grandmother and her great grandmother, to her… Her stories usually leave one hungry and light-headed, or it would knock you out. “We should hurry to the village square then. There we would find the other children, who weren’t kidnapped by the children of the night.” Dodo said tauntingly. Ginika fumed when he heard Dodo’s words. She was mocking him again. He knew what he had seen. The elders in the village had warned them to look out for a raven, an owl or a bat. That these creatures were the harbingers of the children of the night, unless the elders were wrong, Dodo should stop making fun of