Leave only footprints and memories, don't breathe deep enough to disturb the dust, count the scarecrows twice.
These rules were ingrained in her head before she'd even been on her first outing. The rules that kept them all safe enough to head to the farmlands were set by people who died so long ago that not even a gravestone is left. People whose names have long since been woven into fairytales so whimsical and watered down that only hindered the warnings they were originally meant to deliver.
She tried not to remember her first outing to the farmlands though every time she passed the ninth scarecrow she couldn't help but think back to the way its face split open, serrated teeth carving up his neck like they used to carve up lanterns on Hallows Eve. Its shirt was still stained by his blood and its crooked smile seemed to gloat at her.
These were minor details to the rest of the group, the older and more experienced were already weary of the bloodstained haints and all the lives lost along the years. She hoped she'd never become as hollow as them as they all stared out the windows,lips moving soundlessly as they counted the scarecrows and counted them again.
There seemed to be more than ever nowadays and each new face reminded her of someone the lost. Probably deliberate on the scarecrow's part - something to set them on edge before they'd even left the trucks. Something to distract them from the crawling ones and their diamond-sharp claws.
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