Day 5: Scarecrow

Genre: Urban Rural Fantasy
Universe: QuickSilver
Rated: PG / TW: None

     The scarecrow’s sewed-on grin rested somewhere between sorta cute and absolutely terrifying. Unsure of his feelings about the straw-filled man, Chip poked it gently in its non-existent nose. “Hey, Goose,” he called across the room to his adopted sister, “I know you’re really into the whole DIY scene, but you really could have asked me to take you to the gardening store.”

     Goose didn’t look up from the pile of old clothes she was sifting through. “It wouldn’t have worked.”

     Chip gave the scarecrow another no-nose boop. “Sure it would have!”

     “No, it wouldn’t have! It has to be built and enchanted in a very specific way to keep the Crow away. Ah HA, this is perfect!” She lifted an old plaid shirt from the pile and marched over to Chip and her creation. “Help me dress her.”

     Chip had not suspected the scarecrow’s gender to be female, but he wasn’t one to judge. He pulled one cotton sleeve over its stick arm, then the other, as Goose quickly buttoned up the top. She then dropped a straw hat, trimmed neatly with a faded pink bow and a dried sunflower, on top of the scarecrow’s head. “There, done.”

     Chip gave the scarecrow a once over. “She looks very fashionable.”

     “She needs to be scary,” Goose took the scarecrow from her brother and headed towards the backyard. “At least to the Crow.”

     Chip followed close on her rapid heels. “Crows. Don’t you mean crows?”

     “Nope, just Crow.” Goose stopped in the center of the garden, where she planted the scarecrow’s long pole firmly into the soft ground. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled towards the forest. “HEY! Try eating my seeds NOW, ya jerk!”

     There was rustling in the tree branches just beyond the garden. Chip looked up, expecting to see a normal sized crow, or several, but his eyes widened as the true culprit came into view: All six foot black-feathered wingspan of it. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, feeling more surprised than he felt he really should after spending so much time at Goose’s strange little cottage. “Huh. Yeah, okay. I see now.”

     The Crow flapped its wings, lifting its sharp beak into the air to give out a call loud enough to rattle the house’s windows. Goose stood firm against the threat, hands on her hips, and waited for the windows to settle before calling back. “Yeah! That’s right! You stay over there!” 

     “I’m surprised this works,” Chip admitted.

     Goose looked proud of herself. “I looked it up in one of my old gardening books. It said one scarecrow, to these specifications, to every four feet of wingspan.”

     “Err,” Chip lifted a finger. “I’m pretty sure your friend is a six-footer, at least.”

     Goose’s expression dropped. “Are you sure? My calculations said...”

     As if to answer, the Crow jumped from its perch and dove directly towards the pair. It did not give off an air of wanting to make friends.

     “RUN!” Chip yelled, grabbing Goose by the arm and making for the backdoor of the house. They skid inside just as the bird reached them, clattering its claws against the wood of the door as they slammed it shut.

     “Got another plan?” Chip asked as soon as his breath returned.

     Goose, undaunted, grinned wide. “We’ll just need to build an army!”