Lonely Scarecrow's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

The Scarecrow sat beside the metal box as the sun dropped below the horizon. His hands rested on his knees, still caked with dirt from carrying it across the field. He'd placed it carefully at the base of his post, right where he could watch it. Now he just had to figure out what to do with it. He worked at the rusted lock with his wooden fingers until it finally gave way. Inside, wrapped in oiled cloth, sat a wooden diary adorned with pressed flowers. The pages were yellowed but still readable. He opened it and found dated entries in handwriting he recognized — the farmer's. The first entry was from before the Scarecrow had even been built. "Found the old stone door in the north section today. Decided to leave it buried. Don't want anyone else finding what's down there." The Scarecrow turned the page. More entries followed, all about the field, all about digging, all about keeping the door hidden. The last entry was dated seven seasons ago: "Put the scarecrow in the south field today. He'll keep people away from the corn. Nobody will look too close if they think it's just about birds." The Scarecrow closed the diary and set it on the ground. His hands shook. Seven seasons he'd stood here, believing he was doing good work, believing the farmer trusted him with something important. But the job wasn't about birds at all. It was about keeping him busy in the wrong place while the real secret stayed buried. The farmer hadn't forgotten him. The farmer had used him. He picked up the diary again and looked at the stone door, still open where the crows had uncovered it. He could go back to his post and pretend he'd never read these words. He could stand there another seven seasons, doing what the farmer wanted. But he couldn't unsee what was written. The best job wasn't the one the farmer had given him — it was the one he chose for himself now that he knew the truth. He stood up and walked toward the door with the iron ring, leaving his post behind.