Mother used to go out and speak to the scarecrow in our field every single day. She'd tell it all the village gossip just like the other ladies all told theirs to their bees. "You have to keep them informed otherwise they'll all vanish and your home will fall to ruin." they all said, but that's not why mother told her scarecrow.
She had to keep it occupied, keep its mind busy so its body wouldn't start to wander. I only know this because she got sick last week and tried to make me go tell it in her place and I did try to go. I just couldn't find the time in between running the rest of the farm and when I had the time it was so close to night that I was too scared to get up close.
I settled for whisper-yelling from a few feet away, trying to keep my little candle from blowing out in the wind. As soon as I started talking to it, or rather when it realised I was talking to it, something in the air felt different and I knew that I was talking to something that understood me very well.
I finished what little gossip I'd gathered over the day and ended by asking what it thought, just like mother told me to. A smile stretched across its face and didn't stop stretching until every inhuman tooth it had was fully exposed to the fading light.
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