Page 16 of Curses and Cornstalks
“You amuse me, girl,” I say, silently ordering the vines to loosen their hold. Her throat reappears, along with her shoulders, but her legs remain firmly restrained. “That’s the only reason you’re still alive.”
Her shoulders slump and she sighs.
Is she relieved? She really shouldn't be.
Not when she has just minutes left to live.
“Well, if I entertain you so much, you can call me Cassie, not girl.” She sounds much more confident than she appears. Or maybe she just always looks a little disappointed. “Do you prefer Mr. Scarecrow or the Watcher?”
I glare.
Mr. Scarecrow?
Do I look like a children's storybook character?
I open my mouth, tempted to ask what makes her so brave in the face of death, but her question gives me pause. In all the years that I've been stuck here, frying beneath the blistering sun or freezing to the point of numbness in the winter, I've solely been known as the Watcher.
No one ever lives long enough to ask many questions, and no one has asked my name.
Cassie cocks an eyebrow at me, waiting, and for the first time in over a hundred years, I falter.
Do I remember who I was before I was tied to this post?
My mind wanders, slipping back in time. Slowly, like a stone sinking through molasses, I fight my way through the seeminglyendless stretch of faces and attacks I’ve endured. The pain, the boredom, the hatred that’s burned for a century.
I reach farther into the past, to before the cornfield…
Before the curse…
My heart—or what’s left of it—slams hard in my chest when a long-lost memory sparks to life.
It’s hazy, but it’s there.
A beautiful white farmhouse on the outskirts of Cold Springs with a sleek Model T parked out front. A happy dog bounding through the yard. My parents sitting together on the porch swing, while my siblings and I played in the yard. And then?—
Atticus.
The name comes out of everywhere and nowhere all at once. I don’t remember who called to me in the memory, but the name snaps into place with a sense of rightness I can’t deny. Recognition lights me up.
“My name is… Atticus,” I say.
“Atticus,” she repeats, and unfamiliar warmth spreads through me. It’s a feeling I no longer recognize, something that died along with my former life when I was cursed to this existence.
I immediately shove it down, intent to ignore it. There is no place for warmth or happy feelings in this cornfield. I’m doomed to eternal agony, and getting my hopes up for even a second that I could have somethingmoreis pointless.
My jaw hardens at the thought.
This is what I am.
It’s all I can be.
The hardened, heartless, hollow Watcher.
“What did they do to you?” Cassie’s voice somehow makes it through my bitter thoughts.
“You’re too nosy for your own good,” I warn her, but the sharpness has faded from my voice. “But, as I’ve said, you amuse me. So I will tell you the truth. I was cursed.”
She blinks at me, a furrow forming between her auburn brows. A mix of skepticism and awe washes over her features, and the spark of anger I felt earlier returns.
