Justin Carlos Alcala (he/him) is an award-winning American novelist & short story writer. His works are most notable for their appearance in Publisher’s Weekly, the SLF Foundation Awards, and the University of British Columbia project archives. Justin is a folklore fanatic, history nerd, tabletop gamer, and time traveler. Alcala’s thirty plus short stories, novellas, and novels can be found in anthologies, magazines, journals, and commercial publications. He currently resides with his dark queen, Mallory, their hex-witch daughter, Lily, changeling son, Ronan, goblin-baby, Asher, and hound of Ragnarök, Fenrir in Bigfoot’s domain. Where his mind might be is anyone’s guess.
Speak Ill of the Dead
by Justin Alcala
Everyone in Rutherford County knew that scarecrow came alive, but nobody was fixin’ to challenge Great-grandma Ava on account of her station. So, every year when my parents dragged me to the family farm for Great-grandma’s birthday, I tried to catch proof. Only this year, I was bringing reinforcement. Huff wasn’t just my best friend, but the bravest twelve-year-old in North Carolina. Together, we’d show everyone that scarecrow walked the earth… or die trying.
It was the holiday weekend and I’d convinced my parents to let Huff accompany us to the farm. There wasn’t much to do besides piddle around the general store, goat pens, or pumpkin patch, so negotiations were brief. I’d told Huff stories of great-grandmother’s farm-picking business, and the scarecrow’s legend, so he practically hopped out of the moving car once we arrived. His ensuing enthusiasm charmed aunts, uncles, and cousins, and by the first night, Huff was part of the furniture. Still, he wasn’t here for friends. I needed Huff to wake the scarecrow.
“Any of your great-granny’s employees actually see it walk?” asked Huff, sitting up in his sleeping bag. Great-grandma Ava let us have mom’s old room complete with tired blue walls, beady-eyed dolls, and a bed no bigger than a garden tray.
“Old Man Catfish saw it chase away a murder of crows,” I said from under my itchy quilt. “Haven’t you noticed there aren’t birds on the land?”
“I figured it was from the hustle-and-bustle.”
“Apple plucking and hayrides don’t frighten crows away. Magic does.”
“So, you want me to poke this scarecrow with a stick or something?”
“Poke it, mock it, or take it to dinner. Do whatever so I can take a video of it moving.”
“I ain’t scared. Come Monday, we’ll be all over the internet.”
“We’ll go during great-grandma’s party tomorrow when everyone is busy.”
“Man, we’re going to be famous.”
*
Great-grandma’s one-hundred-and-twelfth birthday went like all the others. All six of her children, their kids, and we great-grandkids pitched in with Saturday business while great-grandma rested. Huff and I helped Uncle Eustace guide cars into the lot. After the farm closed, we gathered around the estate for supper and cake. Great-grandma looked how I remembered the last eight times we sang happy birthday. She sat in black at the head of the grand table, expression as serious as a dead man. After blowing the candles away for another year, she raised her glass.
“To my beloved Boone,” said Great-grandma Ava. “Let his soul watch over us.”
The family offered glasses before wetting their lips. I used the distraction to slip into the front room with Huff.
“Your great-granny stared into my soul,” said Huff, swallowing carrot cake.
“She’s like that,” I said. “Looks like they’re opening bourbon. We should go get ready.”
“Get ready?”
“I told you the scarecrow lives in the old land. It’s across the property.”
“Shoot. Guess I’ll pack water.”
Great-grandma Ava appeared from the walls. “Water for what?”
“Oh, nothing, Great-grandma,” I said.
“You don’t fetch water for nothing,” said Great-grandma Ava. “Not planning any mischief, are you?”
“With all due respect, Mam,” said Huff. “I believe as twelve-year boys, we’re obligated to stir some type of mischief.”
Great-grandma Ava grinned. It was the only time I’d seen her smile besides when talking about Great-grandpa Boone. “I’m sure you’re right. Just make sure it’s nothing too ill-behaved. This is Death’s season, and he don’t take kindly to swindlers.”
I didn’t understand what Great-grandma Ava meant, nor was I willing to ask. So, I defaulted to “Yes, Mam.”
Great-grandma Ava melted back into the birthday crowd as quickly as she came, leaving Huff and me alone again.
“Your great-granny is wild,” said Huff.
“Forget about that. Let’s get upstairs and prepare for our excursion.”
“Whatever you say.”
*
I came out from mom’s childhood bathroom in my warmest fishing camo, ready for the bite of a Carolina autumn night. I assumed Huff would do the same, but found him in his same t-shirt, gym shorts, and sneakers I’d left him in. His only change was a plain black baseball cap he wore backwards.
“Huff, you’re going to freeze,” I said.
“Nah, we Huffmans are a stout breed—natural insulation.”
“Suit yourself,” I said, putting on my backpack. “When we go downstairs, sneak into the back hall. We’ll return before anyone notices.”
“You lead, and I shall follow.”
We did our best to keep the creaking of century old steps to a minimum, slithering to the back hall. The party reached its crescendo as Aunt Erma broke out the dulcimer, letting us slip outside the side door without notice. I peered back at the manor. To my chagrin, Great-grandma Ava’s silhouette stood in the dining-room window, watching. In her hand, she held a strange arrangement of twigs shaped like a tiny person. Fearful Great-grandma spotted us, Huff and I froze like deer. But Great-grandma moved away before we abandoned our expedition.
“That was close,” I said as we descended the hill.
“Hey, what do you think your great-granny meant when she said Death doesn’t take kindly to swindlers?”
“Huff, she’s old. Don’t get stuck on it. Now, you ready?”
“I reckon that it’s time to poke a scarecrow.”
We blustered along the cabbage patches, cutting through apple orchards, until finding the shores of the cornfields. A blistering morning transformed into a cruel night, hanging our breath in the air. We trudged along the tractor trail to great-grandma’s first house in silence, Huff somehow sweating in the crisp breeze. The one-room house sat derelict, broken windows for eyes and a porch bearded in moss. Standing at attention in its yard, the scarecrow awaited.
It was as dingy as it was daunting, crucified on an X wrought post. Its burlap head bore a preacher’s hat adorned with fresh hemlock, and its hallowed eyes wore mold like eyeliner. It had no mouth but a noose around its neck to keep it perched upright. A patchy, long coat covered up most everything besides its crooked legs and equestrian boots. Hay pierced through the work-gloved fingers, making yellowed claws.
“That’s it?” asked Huff. “I expected it to be ten feet tall.”
“If you’re so brave, go provoke it. I got the camera ready.”
“Watch this, then.”
Huff walked from the corn to the yard like a boxer getting in the ring. When he made within arm’s distance, he pushed his head into the scarecrow’s face, then baulked frontward.
“Boo!” said Huff, but the scarecrow didn’t budge. Huff tickled its belly, but still nothing. After a jab to its chest, Huff patted the scarecrow down. He plucked out a little twig figure from the scarecrow’s breast pocket, then raised it in the air.
“What are you doing?” I asked, steadying my recording phone.
“Ain’t this like the one your Great-grandma Ava had?”
Suddenly, the scarecrow grabbed at Huff’s wrist, pulling him closer.
“Dang, it is alive!” Huff said in a type of surprise void of fear.
“Huff run,” I said.
Huff, brawnier than oxen, tugged back at the scarecrow, dragging it along the lawn as he returned to me. He tossed the hay dummy to the ground but tripped on its flailing arm. Huff rammed into my side, crashing my phone to the dirt. But before I could retrieve it, the scarecrow stood up and dug into its jacket, removing a short, curved sickle.
“Dang, it’s armed,” said Huff, pushing me back into the cornfield. Huff tugged me until I gained my balance, then we charged through the crops. We stayed quiet, crushing through cornstalks for what felt like forever. Finally, we emerged from the golden shores only to discover we’d traveled in the wrong direction. An intersection of one lane roads cut between great-grandma’s corn and opposing timberland.
“I think we lost it,” gasped Huff, lifting the twig figure. “And look what I got?”
“We need my phone.”
“You worried it’s going to use your data?”
“What if it destroys our video?”
“Better than us. Now, what’s the plan? We don’t know how close it is.”
“I don’t think it’s close at all,” I said, staring across the street. Huff followed my gaze.
Across the junction, a murder of crows stared back at us from the curb. Upon us paying them mind, the birds spoke. First, a fat crow gave a grating coo, then its siblings clicked and fussed until there was a subsong of vulgar caws.
“What the heck is going on?” said Huff, index finger plugged in his ear.
“I got no idea.”
“Don’t mind them,” said a voice dipped in silk and slathered in baritone. “They’re harmless.”
A pale, sable-haired man with a receding hairline emerged from the woods with hands in the pockets of his three-piece suit of funeral black. The fat crow leapt atop the stranger’s shoulders, while its brothers and sisters hushed.
“Hey Mister,” said Huff. “We need to get out of here. Something fierce is chasing us.”
“You’re Ms. Ava’s kin, aren’t you?” the stranger said. His stare looked me up-and-down.
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
“Mister, I’m serious,” said Huff. “Something is coming for us.”
“Like a scarecrow?” asked the stranger.
“How’d you guess?” Huff asked.
“Huff,” I said. “Save your breath.”
“Bless your heart,” the man said, stopping at the road’s center. “What say I help you?”
“How?” I asked.
“I’m familiar with the warder,” said the stranger. “It’s old magic.”
“You a wizard?” asked Huff.
The stranger ignored Huff.
“And I reckon you need something in return?” I asked.
“Smart boy,” said the man. He stared at the figure in Huff’s hand. “Just some branches and yarn.”
“Sounds like a deal to me,” Huff offered the stickman, but I slapped his hand down.
“Huff, you don’t reckon a man in black, along with his army of birds, ran into us in the indecency of night by coincidence?” I asked.
Huff’s eyes bulged as if it dawned on him. “Say, mister, how’d you figure we’d be here?”
“A hunch, I suppose.” The stranger looked over our shoulder.
Distant thrashing battered from the sea of corn behind us, followed by boots, crushing stalks. The crows cawed.
“Looks like you’re running out of time,” said the stranger. “Hand me that effigy, and I’ll fix your scarecrow problem.”
“Let me ask you a question first, Sir,” I said, trying to draw logic from bedlam. “What’ll happen when we give you this?”
“Oh, nothing much,” the stranger shrugged. “The warder will go back to being hay and the scales will return even, I suppose.”
The ruckus behind us drew brasher, coursing in our direction.
“It hears us,” said Huff. “We gotta do something.”
“No offense, Sir,” I said, “but I thought you only dealt in absolutes.”
“It’s inevitable I walk that land again, boy,” said the stranger. “Let’s put it to rest.”
The fields divided, and the scarecrow surfaced, sickle in hand. Its dead eyes took us. Huff and I scampered closer to the man, stopping just before the road’s midpoint.
“Give me the effigy,” said the stranger to Huff. “I’ll save you.”
Huff stared at the stick person in his hands. The scarecrow stomped across the road verge, pausing at the street’s lip.
“Don’t Huff,” I said. The stranger shot me a leer.
“You know what?” said Huff, offering up the stick person. The stranger reached to seize it, but before he could, Huff drew the effigy back. “I think I figured out who you are.”
“Oh?” asked the stranger.
“Yeah,” said Huff. “And you might get the last laugh, mister, but I’m getting in a few chuckles in first.”
Huff whirled around, hurried to the scarecrow, and bequeathed it the prize. Instead of cutting my best friend down, the scarecrow retrieved the stick figure and placed it in its coat pocket. It shook its head at the stranger before returning to the corn. There was a sigh from across the street as the crows lifted into the night’s sky, taking the stranger with them in strips of black ribbon. I watched in wonder as the aberrant sight transformed back into normalcy. Huff smiled at me like a school kid on a playground.
“Think we’ll still be famous?” asked Huff.
“There’s one person who might say so.”
*
We returned to Great-grandma Ava’s birthday party with the shock of Earthen secrets—our entrance fallen unnoticed by family. Huff and I sat on the sofa, dumbfounded, as the household sang melodies heedless of our undertaking. But as we sat drunk in disbelief, Great-grandma Ava slid from the shadow like a spider.
“You forgot something.” Great-grandma Ava offered me my phone.
“You know?” I asked.
“The principal concern is, you know,” said Great-grandma.
I thumbed my phone, moving to the recordings. Sure enough, a video of Huff fighting a walking-stalking scarecrow played out as I remembered through the lowlight filter of my lens. I flashed a look at Huff, who nodded in return. With a flick of a finger, I deleted the video.
“Who needs fame anyhow,” said Huff.
“Good boy,” said Great-grandma Ava. “Your Great-grandpa would thank you if he could. As for you, Mr. Huffman, I hope we’ll be seeing more of your face in the coming years. Looks like I’ll have many more birthdays to come.”
“Who am I to argue, Mam?” said Huff.
*
Everyone in Rutherford County knew that scarecrow came alive, but it wasn’t Great-grandma Ava’s wealth that stifled accusations. A woman who bewitches the soils, cares for scarecrows, and wards off Death is a fearsome adversary indeed. As for Huff and me, we weren’t worried about the stranger’s reprisal. The pale wanderer feared Great-grandma Ava just as much as we did. Well, at least that’s how I reckon it. As for Huff, I am convinced that fear is a foreign concept to him, and I am eager to keep a friend like that for as long as he’ll let me.
Copyright 2024 by Justin Alcala