Free The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight by R. L. Stine Page A

and Grandma Miriam must have heard our shouts back in the cornfields. They were waiting for us in the backyard.
    They looked frail and frightened. Grandma Miriam had pulled a flannel bathrobe over her nightdress. She had a scarf tied over her curly red hair.
    Grandpa Kurt had pulled his overalls on over his pajamas. He leaned heavily on his cane, shaking his head as Mark and I came running up.
    “The scarecrows!” I exclaimed breathlessly.
    “They’re walking!” Mark cried. “Stanley — he —”
    “Did you get Stanley upset?” Grandpa Kurtasked, his eyes wide with fear. “Who got Stanley upset? He promised us he wouldn’t do it again! He promised — if we didn’t upset him.”
    “It was an accident!” I told him. “We didn’t mean to. Really!”
    “We’ve worked so hard to keep Stanley happy,” Grandma Miriam said sadly. She chewed her lower lip. “So hard …”
    “I didn’t think he’d do it,” Grandpa Kurt said, his eyes on the cornfields. “I thought we convinced him it was too dangerous.”
    “Why are you dressed like that?” Grandma Miriam asked Mark.
    I was so frightened and upset, I had completely forgotten that Mark was still dressed scarecrow.
    “Mark, did you dress like that to scare Stanley?” Grandma Miriam demanded.
    “No!” Mark cried. “It was supposed to be a joke! Just a joke!”
    “We were trying to scare Sticks,” I told them. “But when Stanley saw Mark, he …”
    My voice trailed off as I saw the dark figures step out of the cornfields.
    In the silvery moonlight, I saw Stanley and Sticks. They were running hard, leaning forward as they ran. Stanley held the book in front of him. His shoes slipped and slid over the wet grass.
    Behind them came the scarecrows. They weremoving awkwardly, staggering, lurching silently forward.
    Their straw arms stretched straight forward, as if reaching to grab Stanley and Sticks. Their round black eyes glowed blankly in the moonlight.
    Staggering, tumbling, falling, they came after Stanley and Sticks. A dozen twisted figures in black coats and hats. Leaving clumps of straw as they pulled themselves forward.
    Grandma Miriam grabbed my arm and squeezed it in terror. Her hand was as cold as ice.
    We watched Stanley fall, then scramble to his feet. Sticks helped pull him up, and the two of them continued to run toward us in terror.
    The silent scarecrows lurched and staggered closer. Closer.
    “Help us —
please!”
Stanley called to us.
    “What can we do?” I heard Grandpa Kurt mutter sadly.

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    The four of us huddled close together, staring in helpless horror as the scarecrows made their way, chasing Stanley and Sticks across the moonlit lawn.
    Grandma Miriam held on to my arm. Grandpa Kurt leaned heavily, squeezing the handle of his cane.
    “They won’t obey me!” Stanley screamed breathlessly. He stopped in front of us, holding the book in one hand.
    His chest was heaving up and down as he struggled to catch his breath. Despite the coolness of the night, sweat poured down his forehead.
    “They won’t obey me! They
must
obey me! The book says so!” Stanley cried, frantically waving the book in the air.
    Sticks stopped beside his father. He turned to watch the scarecrows approach. “What are you going to do?” he asked his father. “You
have
to do something!”
    “They’re alive!” Stanley shrieked. “Alive!” “What does the book say?” Grandpa Kurt demanded.
    “They’re alive! They’re all alive!” Stanley repeated, his eyes wild with fright.
    “Stanley — listen to me!” Grandpa Kurt yelled. He grabbed Stanley by the shoulders and spun him around to face him. “Stanley — what does the book say to do? How do you get them in control?”
    “Alive,” Stanley murmured, his eyes rolling in his head. “They’re all alive.”
    “Stanley — what does the book say to do?” Grandpa Kurt demanded once again.
    “I — I don’t know,” Stanley replied.
    We turned back to the scarecrows. They were moving