It had taken them all afternoon to build the dummy. Her arms were tired and scratchy from stuffing pine straw inside the old jeans and button up shirt.
But it was worth it.
The dummy sat upright in a rocking chair on the front porch. The feetless jeans were shoved into a pair of cowboy boots, the handless arms tucked into a pair of workman’s gloves. And an old cowboy hat, hung from a piece of fishing line, hovered just over where a head would be.
Running back inside to drop off her tools (a rake and a pair of scissors), she grabbed the big bowl of candy and headed for the porch to join her straw man companion.
On the porch, the once occupied rocking chair sat empty, slowly creaking back and forth as though someone had just pushed out of it.
What happens next?
She noticed the trail of straw that started not at the chair, where she thought it would, but instead several feet out off of the porch.
Almost as if someone had tried cleaning up after themselves but heard her coming and run before they could finish.
“All right, you kids!” she hollered, holding the bowl of candy out as if in a peace offering, “Bring back my scarecrow and I’ll cough up the sweets!”
“No!” a tiny voice screeched, “He’s ours and we’re keeping him!”
And my brain wondered off and forgot about this until the last moment. This tiny post was brought to you by the 1st Wednesday prompt from Chaotically Yours.