Edwin ducked to one side as the dog hurtled past, but Bryony couldn’t move out of the way in time. Luckily the dog didn’t seem to notice her, and brushed Bryony aside with a muscular shoulder as it sped on towards another target.
Bryony’s gaze followed the trajectory of the dog’s assault path, and she saw a figure striding into the farmyard. It was a tall man with dark auburn hair, large sideburns and a handlebar moustache, wearing a brown tweed suit with shiny black riding boots.
Captain Rathbone!
Edwin cupped his hands across his mouth to shout a warning, but Captain Rathbone had already noticed the black dog speeding towards him. The Captain stopped, and just smiled as the baying beast lunged at his throat.
Then suddenly the dog froze, its rear legs on the ground, front legs pawing the air inches from the Captain’s beaming face.
Edwin realised the dog’s collar was attached to a long length of rope, and it was the rope that had saved Captain Rathbone from a nasty mauling.
The Captain continued to smile at the dog, and Edwin wondered if he had known about the rope all along. The dog snarled angrily, foam dripping from its quivering jaws.
“Back! Whoa! Easy, boy!”
A gruff voice echoed across the farmyard, and a hefty, broad shouldered youth emerged from the barn. He wore a green army style jacket, camouflage combat pants, and chunky boots encrusted with mud. He had a ruddy face, a bulbous red nose, and dark wiry eyebrows. His eyes were small, like a ferret’s, and glinted with hostility as they regarded the Captain.
“What you doin’ ‘ere?” demanded the youth, halting next to the barking dog.
“I’m sorry,” said Captain Rathbone, cupping a hand around his ear. “I can’t hear you over that dog.”
The youth shouted at the dog, which showed no inclination to stop barking, so he yanked hard on the rope, and the barking became a strangled whimper.
Edwin flinched. Although he wasn’t keen on dogs, he hated seeing animals mistreated, and took an immediate dislike to the ferret-eyed youth.
“That’s better,” said the Captain, once the barking had ceased. “Now one can hear oneself think. Those of us that indulge in such luxuries, that is.”
The ferret-eyed youth glared at the Captain. “What are you doing on my farm?” he growled, sounding every bit as unwelcoming as the dog.
“Just out for a pleasant stroll,” explained the Captain, still smiling.
The ferret-eyed youth didn’t return the smile. “I’ve told you before, Cap’n. You can stroll pleasantly anywhere you want, but not on my land.”
The Captain nodded. “And, as I have pointed out on our previous encounters, I am merely following the public right of way which exists over this property.” Captain Rathbone’s tone was polite, but there was a challenging look in his amber eyes. “So would you be so kind as to let me pass, Jed?”
Edwin and Bryony hunkered behind a convenient pile of crates to watch the confrontation unfold.
“I ain’t gonna let you pass,” said Jed. “You’ve a habit of wandering, and poking that long snout of yours into things that don’t concern you.”
Captain Rathbone’s voice hardened. “I hope, for all our sakes, there is nothing here that should concern me.”
The dog started barking again. Jed’s hand slipped down to the beast’s sturdy neck, his grimy fingers toying with the collar. “Forgive old Blossom. He’s in a right mood today. Not been fed, and likely to snap at anything in his way. And being tethered up ain’t making his mood no brighter. Thinking of letting him off the lead, so I am. That’d make him happy.”
“I’m sure it would,” agreed the Captain. “It’s commendable that you take the welfare of your animals so seriously.”
“I love animals,” said Jed, his lips curling into a smile that matched Blossom’s snarling look. “It’s humans I ain’t got time for. Especially them that go sniffing around where it don’t concern ‘em.”
“Speaking of which,” said the Captain, “I was wondering if you might have seen four such humans earlier this evening. Two adults and two children. They were following the footpath to the farm, and I fear if they might have got lost.”
“That’s us,” Edwin whispered to Bryony. “We should let the Captain know we’re here.”
Bryony shook her head. “We don’t know whether we can trust him.”
“But he warned us against coming here,” said Edwin. “Why would he have done that if he was one of the bad guys?”
“True,” agreed Stubby. “But I think caution is the best approach for now. Let’s see what happens before we reveal our presence.”
“I ain’t seen no one,” said Jed, after considering the Captain’s question for a while. “But I’ll keep my eyes peeled. So will Blossom, have no worries about that.”
Blossom slavered angrily, and strained at the leash with renewed vigour.
“I’m sure he will,” said the Captain, a pleasant tone returning to his voice. “I don’t wish to distract you further from your business, so shall bid you good evening.”
Captain Rathbone made a saluting gesture with his right hand, then turned and marched briskly out of the farmyard. Blossom barked more furiously than ever, as though angry to have been denied the chance to taste the visitor’s blood.
“Hush now,” said Jed, yanking hard on the dog’s collar. “You’ll get your chance with him. And soon, I swear it.”
Edwin turned to Bryony. “Let’s get after the Captain and tell him what happened. I’m sure he’ll help us.”
“But we don’t know who he is,” protested Bryony. “Or what he was doing here.”
“I could ask the same of you,” said a voice from behind.
Edwin and Bryony turned round, and saw the rusty prongs of a pitchfork hovering at eye level.
The pitchfork was brandished by a boy. It was difficult to tell how old he might be, because he was so small and scrawny. He had a gaunt face with pale blue eyes, and a mop of light brown hair that resembled a mini haystack. He wore a tatty brown sweater, jogging bottoms riddled with holes, and a pair of wellies that looked several sizes too big for him.
“Hands up,” said the boy, jabbing the pitchfork threateningly. “Up where I can see ‘em.”
Bryony and Edwin did as instructed.
“Who are you?” asked the boy, emphasising the question with more thrusts of the pitchfork. “And what are you doing here? We don’t take kindly to trespassers on Barrenbrake Farm.”
“My name is Bryony,” said Bryony, leaning back to avoid the jabbing pitchfork. “And this is Edwin, my stepbrother.”
“And we’re not trespassing,” added Edwin. “We’re looking for our parents. We think they’ve been kidnapped by scarecrows.”
“Scarecrows?” The boy’s expression softened, and he lowered the pitchfork. “Then I’m sorry. But there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”
Bryony and Edwin looked at each other. Then Blossom started barking again.
“Run,” said the boy, with a less threatening wave of the pitchfork.
Bryony and Edwin stared blankly at the boy, surprised by his sudden change of heart.
“Run,” repeated the boy. “Scram whilst you have a chance.”
But the chance had already gone. Jed came lumbering towards them, grasping Blossom’s collar whilst the dog snapped and barked hysterically.
“What have we ‘ere?” Jed silenced his dog with another yank of the collar, and then stopped to examine Edwin and Bryony with those small ferret eyes.
“I bagged a brace of trespassers,” announced the boy, raising his pitchfork again. “Townie-gowks by the looks of ‘em. They reckon they’re lost.”
“That’s right.” Edwin thought it best to play along with the boy’s story, and not mention anything about scarecrows. “We’re just lost. Went out for a stroll and found ourselves here.”
“You’re on private land,” said Jed. “My private land.”
“We were following the public footpath,” said Bryony. “It’s not o
ur fault the signs disappeared. As owner of the land you have a legal obligation to make sure the footpath markers are visible at all times.” She didn’t know if that was true, but thought it should be all the same.
Jed seemed unmoved. “I don’t be knowing about no legal bobligations. But what I do know is that you’re trespassing on my land. Still, seems to be the day for it. I’m wondering what we done to deserve so many visitors. Maybe we should start charging admission. As long as folks realise it’d only be a one way ticket.”
“You can’t keep us here against our will,” said a horrified Bryony. “It’s against the law.”
“She’s right,” said the boy. “Let ‘em go, Uncle. They ain’t done no harm.”
“How dare you be telling me what to do!” Jed cuffed the boy round the ear. “You’re just the runt of the litter, not fit for nothing but shovelling dung.”
The boy rubbed his ear, and Bryony saw his eyes were glistening with tears.
“You didn’t have to hit him,” she scolded. “There’s laws against that, too.”
Jed’s lips peeled back into that snarling smile, and Bryony noticed his teeth were as yellow and pointed as Blossom’s. “You seem to be well versed on the laws of the land, little lady. But we got our own laws ‘ere, and they don’t look too kindly on folks sticking their noses in to our private business.”
“I wouldn’t put my nose anywhere near your private business.” Bryony recoiled as she caught an unsavoury whiff from Jed’s direction. “You stink.”
Jed’s smile fell. Then he snatched the pitchfork from the boy and levelled the prongs at Bryony’s throat.
There was a crazed look in Jed’s ferret eyes, and for a moment Bryony feared the worst. Then another voice came rasping through the farmyard, a raucous cry that sent the chickens scattering in panic, and made the colour drain from Jed’s ruddy face.
“Jedekiah!”
Jed lowered the pitchfork, and his ferret eyes flickered to a figure that approached from the farmhouse. It was a woman, although that was only apparent because it was wearing a dress. She was almost as wide as she was tall, her chubby round face topped by a tangled crow’s nest of curly grey hair. She had a stubby, upturned nose, but the same ferret eyes as Jed.
“Jedekiah,” shrieked the woman, with a voice that had the soothing quality of a nail scraped on a blackboard. “What you playing at, you chuckle-headed twit?”
“I caught some trespassers.” Jed seemed to shrink in stature as the woman came lumbering towards him. “Was gonna deal with ‘em myself. Thought you’d want me to do that, Ma.”
“Now that’d be a waste,” tutted Ma. “And you know we don’t waste nothing on Barrenbrake Farm.”
Ma directed her ferrety gaze to Bryony and Edwin. She examined them in silence, wiping her podgy hands on her apron that was smeared with a variety of horrible looking stains.
“So what are we going to do with them?” asked Jed.
“That all depends,” said Ma. “On who they are and what they’re doing ‘ere.”
“They reckon they’re lost,” explained Jed. “But I don’t believe it.”
From the look on her chubby round face, Ma didn’t believe it either. “What are you are doing on my farm?” she demanded, stabbing a podgy finger at Edwin and Bryony.
Bryony noticed how both Ma and Jed thought they owned the farm, but she guessed from the way Jed kept silent that he wasn’t going to argue about it.
“I’m waiting.” Ma folded her flabby arms across her substantial chest. “And I ain’t renowned for my patience.”
“We’re lost,” said Edwin. “We were following the footpath and…”
“I want the truth.” Ma snatched the pitchfork from Jed and jabbed it perilously close to Edwin’s face. “And I’ll have it out of you, one way or another.”
“You’d best do as Ma says,” suggested the boy. “It’ll be easier in the long run.”
Bryony sensed the boy was speaking from experience. She looked at Edwin, who nodded.
“We’re looking for our parents,” said Bryony. “We think they’ve been kidnapped by scarecrows.”
“Scarecrows?” Jed chuckled. “I think the girl’s had a drop too much apple juice.”
“It’s the truth,” confirmed Edwin. “They were living scarecrows that walked and talked.”
“They didn’t talk,” Bryony corrected Edwin. “They just sort of groaned.”
“Living scarecrows, eh?” Ma frowned and tapped her numerous chins. Then she nodded, pointing the pitchfork over Bryony’s shoulder. “Oh, you mean scarecrows like that?”
Bryony turned to see a lopsided figure hobbling towards her. It was wearing a floppy hat and a loud stripy waistcoat, and had a sack face with holes for eyes and a twisted slit of a mouth.
“That’s it!” she screamed. “The scarecrow from the Cursed Field!”
“There were more,” said Edwin. “Loads of them.”
“Really?” Ma tapped her chins again. “Oh, that’ll be them.” She pointed the pitchfork again, and Bryony and Edwin saw more scarecrows hobbling towards them.
“That’s them all right,” wailed Bryony. “Only there are more now.”
“Two more,” said Edwin, his mouth twisting in horror. “And look at the two more!”
Bryony looked, blinked, and then looked again. There was something familiar about the two new scarecrows…
One of them was slender in build, wearing a flowery skirt and cardigan, with curly hair made of orange wool.
“That one looks like Mum,” gasped Edwin.
Bryony didn’t respond. She was staring aghast at the other new scarecrow, which wore a lumberjack shirt and grotesque baggy shorts that revealed a pair of spindly stick legs.
“That’s my dad,” she cried. “I’d recognise those legs anywhere!”
Ma chuckled. “Two new farm hands to help with the harvest.”
“What have you done with them?” Bryony swung round to point accusingly at Ma. “Where are our parents?”
“You’re looking at ‘em,” said Ma. “Only they ain’t yer parents no more. They’re nothing but straw and sack cloth.”
“You turned them into scarecrows!” A shocked Bryony gawped at Ma. “How did you do that?”
“We leave such matters to Mr Boglehob ‘ere.” Ma gestured at the lopsided scarecrow. “He’s our Head of Recruitment, kindly provided by the Ministry of Agriculture.” There was a glint in Ma’s ferret eyes as she spoke. “The Ministry want to help us, see. They’re going to turn this place around, make us the richest farm in the county. That’s why we’ve employed so many new workers recently.” She gestured at the scarecrows with the pitchfork. “We’ll be needing all the farm hands we can get for the harvest. There’ll be a lot of work doing in the Cursed Field tonight.”
“Harvest?” Edwin’s horror was replaced by curiosity. “But there aren’t any crops growing in the Cursed Field.”
“Ain’t crops we’re harvesting,” said Jed, lips curling again into that snarl of a grin.
Edwin frowned. “Then what…”
“Seize them!” The pitchfork twitched again as Ma screeched her command.
“Hey!” Bryony yelped as the scarecrow Bill grabbed her arm. “It’s me,” she squealed, staring into the crudely drawn sack face. “I’m Bryony, your daughter. Don’t you recognise me, Dad?”
There was no response from the scarecrow Bill, and Bryony winced as his twisted straw fingers tightened round her arm.
Edwin was in the grip of the scarecrow Jane. “Mum,” he pleaded, “don’t do this. Listen to me…”
“They don’t listen to anyone now,” said Jed. “Except their masters. And they only do what we tell ‘em, like all good farm hands should.”
“What are you going to do with us?” wailed Bryony.
“That’s obvious,” grimaced Edwin. “They’re going to turn us into scarecrows too.”
“No point in that,” said Ma. “Children ain’t much use for manual labour. You only go
t to look at weedy little Zach over there to see that.” Ma flicked the pitchfork in the direction of the scrawny boy. “Oh no, I’ve a far more fitting fate in mind for the pair of you.” She raised the pitchfork and pointed. “Take ‘em to the Plunge Pool.”
“The Plunge Pool?” That didn’t sound too bad to Bryony. She’d always wanted a plunge pool, like rich people had in America, with heated water jets to provide a gentle but invigorating underwater body massage.
The scarecrows dragged Edwin and Bryony across the farmyard. Jed and Ma followed, with Zach in pursuit.
“Don’t do this,” pleaded the boy. “They ain’t done no wrong. Let ‘em go!”
“Enough of your whining,” snapped Ma, almost gouging Zach’s face with the pitchfork. “It ain’t your place to tell me what to do. You’re lucky I ain’t had you thrown in the Plunge Pool yourself afore now.”
Zach shrank back, his eyes wide with fear. Bryony wondered why he might be so scared of taking a dip in a Plunge Pool, but she was soon to find out why.
The scarecrows took Edwin and Bryony to the far side of the yard, and halted before a narrow trench in the ground. The trench was filled with liquid: a murky liquid with an ominous greeny tinge to it.
“The Plunge Pool,” explained Ma.
“That’s not a Plunge Pool,” said Bryony, shaking her head.
“Looks more like a cattle dip,” mused Edwin. “Where farmers treat their livestock for diseases.”
Bryony looked around. “But they don’t have any cattle.”
“So we don’t.” Ma frowned in an exaggerated manner. “There’s queer, ain’t it?” Then she chuckled. “Now in you get, madam.”
“I’m not going in there,” said Bryony, wrinkling her nose. “It looks disgusting.”
“Oh what airs and graces you lardy-dah townie folks have,” tutted Ma. “Would you prefer if we put some nice smelly bath salts in?”
Bryony shook her head. “You’re more in need of a bath than me. You stink like a pig.”
“Do I now?” Ma laughed, and her chins wobbled like mounds of pink jelly. “Takes one to know one, I say.” Then she raised the pitchfork. “In with her!”
“No!” Zach rushed forwards as the scarecrow Bill pushed Bryony towards the trench. “Please, Ma. Don’t do it!”
Another scarecrow grabbed Zach by the shoulder and yanked him aside. Bryony struggled, but a brutal shove from the scarecrow Bill sent her sprawling into the Plunge Pool.
Bryony cried out as she hit the water, but the cry turned into a gurgle as she sank below the surface.
Edwin watched, mute with horror, as his stepsister disappeared into the murky green liquid. Seconds passed, and then Bryony’s bobbed into view. She coughed and spluttered as the water around her started to bubble.
“What are you doing to her?” Edwin writhed in his scarecrow mother’s grip. “Get her out of there!”
“All in good time,” said Ma. “She ain’t quite done yet.”
The liquid broiled angrily. A thick green froth formed on the surface, smothering Bryony’s head.
“Should be ready now.” Jed picked up a long wooden stick, which he thrust into the foamy green liquid. Edwin heard a gurgled squeal, and moments later Bryony emerged from the end of the trench. She was covered in green foam, so Edwin couldn’t see her face. But she didn’t seem well, and was crawling on her hands and knees, making weird grunting noises.
But then Edwin realised that it couldn’t be Bryony, this form that had crawled from the trench. It was too bulky, and had too many legs. It didn’t even look human…
“What have you done to her?” he wailed. “Where’s Bryony?”
“You’re looking at her,” laughed Jed, pointing with the stick. “Worked a treat, eh Ma?”
“The perfect transformation,” agreed Ma. “And now it’s your turn, boy.”
The scarecrow Jane pushed Edwin forwards, but he dug his heels into the ground and managed to remain upright.
“We’ve a stubborn one ‘ere,” observed Ma. “Mr Boglehob, looks like we’ll be needing your assistance.”
The lopsided scarecrow came shuffling towards Edwin, its ugly sack face set in that twisted grin.
“Ahem,” said a shrill voice. “May I be excused now?”
“Huh?” Edwin looked down and saw Stubby staring up at him. “What did you say?”
“I asked whether I could be excused,” said Stubby. “As you probably won’t be needing me from now on.”
Edwin was shocked. “You’re leaving me?”
“As a loyal comrade I’m prepared to share any peril that might befall us,” said Stubby. “But I draw the line at sharing your bathwater.”
“I see.” Edwin scowled at Stubby. “Only thinking of saving yourself, like a rat deserting a sinking ship!”
“I am a mouse,” said Stubby, scrambling out of Edwin’s shirt pocket. “And I prefer to see it as a tactical withdrawal.”
Edwin realised there was no point Stubby sharing his own grisly fate. “Get help,” he urged, as Stubby leaped to safety. “Find someone, anyone, and tell them what’s happened. There’s something bad going on here, and people need to knooooowwww…”
Edwin’s words became a strangled wail as Boglehob’s twisted straw fingers dug deep into his shoulders.
“No use struggling.” Ma chuckled as she watched Edwin teetering on the edge of the trench. “Time to face your fate like a man. This ain’t time to turn chicken. Or maybe it is!”
Ma threw her head back and laughed. Edwin was lifted off the ground, and before he could utter another cry of protest, he was flung head first into the Plunge Pool.
Chapter 7- No Time to Turn Chicken