Shriekers | Episode 1 | The Scarecrow Man

by Jay, Jess

  Jess Jay

  Shriekers

  Episode One: The Scarecrow Man

  Copyright © 2020 by Jess Jay

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First edition

  Cover art by germancreative

  Editing by Niki Lewis

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  To my mother, who has always supported me.

  Contents

  Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Aunt Emily

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Uncle Jeremy

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thank You

  About the Author

  Acknowledgement

  First off, a huge thank you to my family, who were there for me as I worked on completing this journey. To my mom and dad, who supported me every step of the way. Thank you to my good friend Rebecca, who read every single draft and gave wonderful feedback, and to her fiancé, Niki, who did a fantastic job editing my mess of a novel. Any mistakes are all the fault of my own stubbornness and do not reflect her grammar superpowers, because she has them. Also, a huge thanks to L. Frank Baum whose literary classic lent some structure to this story when I was working on it as my master’s thesis. It has since changed quite a bit, but core elements remain and cannot be ignored or discounted.

  Chapter One

  Thea had never seen a car in motion. She had never been to school or on a date. She had never even been kissed, something every book she read assured her was a rite of passage for any girl of seventeen. Unfortunately, to be kissed, she needed another person, and Thea was pretty sure she was alone in the world. Literally. The last person she saw was an old, haggard woman shambling down the Highway, so focused on each step she didn’t notice Thea standing on the side of the road, giving a small wave. Thea could have said hello. She could have invited the woman to her shelter and given her food, but the withered patches on the woman’s arms told Thea that, even if she did, the woman didn’t have long. Thea had let her hand fall to her side and her mouth stayed shut, guilt pooling in her stomach and shame closing her throat.

  That was over a year ago.

  Thea wondered where the woman ended up, where her body took root. From time to time she was tempted to follow, to see how far the woman’s dreams had taken her. In the end, survival won out. She had to stay alive. She had promised. So instead, every evening she stood on the uneven stones that made up the Highway and wondered. Wondered what everything looked like Before. Wondered if the Pasture was at the end of the long road. Wondered how far she’d make it before she joined the withered army resting where they fell on their desperate trek toward hope.

  Uncle Jeremy used to tell her how a few tanks of gasoline and a week of driving could take you from one coast to the other. Over time, the fossil fuel became obsolete and cars switched to more sustainable forms of energy. Manual transmissions made way for automatic, and eventually cars progressed to where they could drive themselves. Passengers could sit back and relax on their long journeys, not needing to worry about collisions or running out of resources—or being horribly murdered by creatures created from their own hubris.

  Most days so much freedom was terrifying. On others, when the sun was bright and the sky was clear, Thea imagined what it would be like to go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. In her daydreams, she would let herself believe the Pasture existed. That it sat perfectly at the end of the Highway, shimmering in the sunlight. It had towers and balconies and a man with laughing eyes waiting for her. She would dance with him, and he would whisk her away to a beautiful garden full of vegetation that didn’t want to destroy everything in its path. Smiling, he’d pull her close…

  On most days, she knew the truth.

  Whenever Thea mentioned the Pasture to her aunt and uncle, they got quiet, sharing a look she wasn’t meant to understand. She knew they didn’t want to destroy her dreams, but they didn’t want to delude her either. If the Pasture existed, they would have gone there. Thea was sure of it. No one would struggle on their own when there was a community to struggle with.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. Whether or not it existed, the Pasture was an ideal—a beacon for lost souls, and on days the isolation was so thick it hurt to breathe, Thea’s soul called out to it. She wondered how much longer she would wait until the fire of desperation caused her to abandon everything she knew for a dream that didn’t exist.

  Fool.

  Thea remembered Uncle Jeremy uttering the word under his breath as he watched a man stumbling down the Highway, a faded pamphlet for the Pasture clutched in his hand. His body was frail, but his spirit burned, alive and desperate, following the siren song of a better future. Hope fueled his march and, though she knew Uncle Jeremy looked down on him, Thea saw bravery in his belief. She wanted to help him, to offer him food and encouragement, but she knew what her uncle’s answer would be.

  When Thea first entered their lives, Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Emily had been open and accepting. They greeted people on the road, offered them food, and helped where they could, but they weren’t careless or foolish. They invited no one back to their home and avoided people who let the scarcity of the world starve their souls. Still, whenever they could, they’d reach out and provide.

  “You help people,” Aunt Emily told Thea. “It’s what you do.” It was her mantra. Simple, straightforward, beautiful. Like Aunt Emily. She believed humanity needed a spirit of community if they were going to rebuild society.

  Uncle Jeremy had been more practical…had more ghosts than his wife. In the beginning he balanced her out, drawing her back from travelers who might be dangerous, protecting his family from people whose desperation outweighed their gratitude. It was after one particularly bad confrontation that the balance shifted.

  Thea remembered the three travelers: how fragile and tattered they were, how grateful for her uncle’s help, how docile they seemed. Then they looked past Uncle Jeremy, saw his home for what it was—and they changed. Thea hadn’t seen what happened next. Aunt Emily had picked her up and retreated with her into the field, tall grass filling her vision. Three gunshots followed and it was over.

  That night, for the first time, Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Emily argued loud enough to spill into Thea’s tiny room. She knew they argued more than that, but they were careful to never fight where Thea could see or hear them. In normal circumstances, they had enough respect for each other, enough patience and love, to discuss things calmly. That night, both felt they were right with so much passion they forgot they loved each other.

  The next morning, Uncle Jeremy took Thea deep into the fields to teach her how to shoot. She could still feel the heat of the sun on her skin, the softness of the tall grass parting for them as they walked. His hand was warm as it held hers; the gun was cold as it pressed into her palm. As she aimed at an old can, he helped her raise the gun s
teady, his voice gentle but his eyes closed off and determined.

  When she fired the gun for the first time, she didn’t think of the monsters that haunted the dark; she didn’t think of the desperate faces that attacked Uncle Jeremy the day before—she thought of Aunt Emily crying as she watched them leave that morning, her face strong, but her hands trembling.

  Thea reached for the gun tucked into the back of her pants, wrapping her hand around the grip. As she slid it free, the barrel glided across the metal plate grafted into her spine. The gun was older, more banged up than when she first fired it—but then again, so was she.

  As the setting sun reflected colors across its surface, she could almost forget what she had done with it. In the distance a shriek echoed into the night: a memory or a nightmare.

  * * *

  You’re going to regret it. I’m going to make you regret it.

  The woman’s voice coursed through Thea’s body, throbbing through her veins, suffocating her. It was in her head. She knew it was in her head. A phantom, a memory, a nightmare…but in the darkness these facts didn’t matter. Her hands clutched the sheets on her lap as she stared out into the blackness of her room. She had to get away. She had to get away. She had to get away… But from what? From whom? She couldn’t remember, wouldn’t remember.

  She clamped her eyes shut as if that could help, trying to take control of her mind and her body. She tried to work air into her lungs, logic into her thoughts, but the darkness was thick and full of menace, relentless in its pursuit. She couldn’t wait for the generator; she needed light.

  Unfocused, she reached for the solar lamp on her nightstand, knocking it to the floor, plastic colliding with plastic. Her lungs froze and her mind followed.

  Breathe. You’re going to regret it. Breathe. It’s mine.

  Keep going. It was a different voice. Don’t look back and don’t stop. Warmth flowed through Thea and she clung to it, focusing on those words, on her breath.

  You’re going to regret it.

  Keep going.

  Breathe.

  The generator clunked and whirled, flickering on the lights, causing Thea’s pupils to dilate, her eyes to shut in reflex. It was over. Fear fled her system, leaving only weak legs and trembling hands.

  It was morning.

  She drew in a deep breath then let it out, looking around her small room, trying to get her bearings. It had been a laundry room, but a month before Thea arrived, the washing machine and dryer quit working. After twenty years of use she couldn’t blame them for wanting to retire. Aunt Emily had joked it was providence. Her washer broke right before a new one showed up, but it was years before Thea had to wash anything. Aunt Emily had wanted her to have a childhood, but it couldn’t be avoided forever. In time, her aunt had to sit her down and show her how to survive on her own.

  Thea’s eyes unfocused as she remembered that day. Her stool had been too small, and her heart had been too heavy, as she sat next to her aunt in the bathroom. The older woman stooped over a tub of soapy water, rubber gloves covering patches of withered skin. Her movements were steady, but her voice was not as she instructed Thea on the time-tested art of dirt removal. Thea sat as close as she could, trying to forget what the lesson meant.

  That was three years ago. She had been alone for three years.

  A loud clunk vibrated through the walls as another function of her subterranean home came to life. When Thea first arrived at the shelter, hidden underneath a worn-down farmhouse, the generator had been quiet and efficient. But that was back when someone had been taking care of it. She knew she should try to maintain it herself but feared making any problems it had worse. If she broke the heart of her home attempting to fix it, everything would fall apart, but if she did nothing, the generator would eventually fail.

  She took another deep breath, focusing on the air entering and leaving her lungs, forcing thoughts of the generator out of her mind. She needed to concentrate on that day. The generator was a problem for her future self.

  Thea climbed off the pair of mattresses she called her bed and focused on minor tasks. She cleaned and dressed herself. She ate a small breakfast of fruits and vegetables. She stared at the exit for longer than she should have before deciding to change the sheets on her bed, telling herself it was because of the nightmare. The truth was, she didn’t want to face the stress-inducing list of things she’d have to deal with outside. At least not yet.

  * * *

  On the top shelf of the closet in the hall, almost as an afterthought, sat a new set of sheets. Most that fit Thea’s bed were childish or plain, but that set was light blue with a floral print. Her aunt had tucked them away for when Thea was older, but Thea had forgotten about them, having more important things to worry about. Like not dying.

  On impulse she reached for the set but hesitated, her tan hand hovering over the plastic casing as if waiting for permission. Her aunt had been so pleased when she found them, had picked them out for Thea, for her future. But her aunt wasn’t there anymore. She couldn’t object if Thea decided she was old enough.

  Thea grabbed the set, making her bed with the new sheets. As she tucked the corners in, her movements clipped and defiant, she remembered the day her aunt found them: the day they raided the abandoned Department Store.

  They had been running low on supplies Uncle Jeremy couldn’t find on his runs to the not-so-local warehouses—things they couldn’t find around Town. More than that, Thea was growing out of the clothes he scavenged from old-fashioned houses in the area. They knew the modern homes had a wealth of things they could use, but hard plastic was more difficult to break into than glass and wood. Desperation forced her uncle to search places he branded too dangerous before.

  He had rushed home with an enormous smile on his face, excitement in every movement as he told them about the Department Store. It was full of things they needed, and even more important, appeared to be safe. They could all go together.

  The next day, wagons hitched to their bikes, they made the long and bumpy ride for what Aunt Emily called a “shopping spree”. Thea hadn’t understood the excitement over their destination but couldn’t keep from smiling as she followed behind her family. It was a rare treat for her aunt to come along because of her allergies. Whenever she left the house, she would wear a mask to prevent migraines, which made biking difficult. The Department Store was apparently worth the trip. When they arrived, Thea couldn’t understand why.

  It was a massive building that sat at the end of a broken sea of tar, vines creeping up its sides. Cars were rooted in place, branches breaking through their floors, leaves reaching out their windows. Uncle Jeremy had gestured for them to wait, parking his bike and heading toward the building to make sure it was safe. As he walked he brushed past one of the car-trees, disturbing a fine gold dust resting on its leaves.

  Thea’s tiny heart had stopped as she watched the particles glint in the sunlight, but when she went to tell her aunt about them, they disappeared. At the time, she wondered if she imagined them, but over the years the pollen became more and more prevalent. Benign and beautiful.

  When her uncle gave the all clear, Thea followed through the shattered glass doors, thrilling with wonder and fear as she entered the vast expanse beyond. The room was so large her flashlight couldn’t reach the back or even the ceiling. Racks lay where they had fallen, clothes scattered across the floor. Mayhem spread to every corner, but to her and her family it was a magnificent bounty.

  The people who stormed the store during the Chaos twenty-five years before weren’t looking to stay—they were looking to leave. As years passed, the store fell from memory; or perhaps something had lived there, moving on when food stopped walking in the front door.

  There were a few bodies—wrapped in vines that broke through their tight, withered skin. Like other husks that had the misfortune of falling indoors, everything of worth had been sucked out of them. Aunt Emily tried to stop Thea from seeing the worst of it, but Thea didn’t mind. They w
eren’t scary or sad—they weren’t anything but dead. It was a few days later that she learned it was different when the body was someone you knew. Someone you loved.

  Thea stopped her task, angry with herself for where her thoughts were taking her. She had to focus on this day: not the past, not the future. Unfortunately, memories of her family filled every corner of their home: the kitchen echoed with the sounds of her aunt preparing food; the living area smelled of her uncle, his books piled so heavy the shelves bowed under their weight… She wanted to leave, to cast aside her childhood, to cast aside everything and find something else—something new. It didn’t have to be better, it just had to be different.

  Fingers unfocused, Thea punched the code into a keypad next to the exit, opening the door. Desperate, she rushed through, kicking up salt, almost running into the outer entryway. With a frustrated grunt, she hit the steel obstruction then jerked the three bar locks open. The door was heavy, but her feet were heavier as she ran up the steps into the grass.

  Her breath came in gasps, her heart strained against the vice clamped around it. How was it that the shelter, the place that had been home from the moment she stepped into it, bloody and fragmented, could feel so oppressive?

  The days were blending together, an endless parade of work and isolation. Each day she needed to tend the greenhouse to check for any trace of the green. She had to prepare her meals, had to clean, had to be an adult. The coming cold season would only bring more work. She would have to figure out how to seed the annual vegetables so she wouldn’t lose any more to her inexperience. She would have to dry, can, and preserve food. Though the greenhouse had a heated section for year-round growing, her amateur tending didn’t produce enough to feed her all winter. Each day got harder. Each day she stood on the Highway for longer periods of time, watching for any movement—for anyone, anything.

  Sometimes, when everything became too much, she wanted to let go, to lie down forever, but she had promised to live. She never said the words, but in her heart she had promised. It was the least she could do.