The corpse was hauled away taken for evidence. Days passed; normalcy returned. Back to quiet, country nights as the farmer slept. Tap. Tap. Tap. He roused from his dream. Tapping at the window again? No, this came from the foot of his bed. Someone was inside, a man’s voice whispered. The farmer felt the low tone in his bone marrow. “What a shame, I’ll have to make another scarecrow.”
Frosty Mirror Gabriel Rysavy 15
