Page 20 of Curses and Cornstalks
I move to the rope around the middle of his arm.
“Maybe I just want to do it with my hands this time,” he threatens, his voice low.
A shiver dances down my back, and I shift my eyes to meet his. “Not funny.”
He chuckles anyway.
Either the crazy fuck has a dark sense of humor, or he’s serious.
“If you do kill me, make it quick,” I mutter under my breath as the second rope falls free. His arm drops limply to his side, and I can almost swear I hear him sigh with relief.
Then, I move to the other arm. I continue cutting through his bonds, occasionally stealing glances at his face. With every severed rope, relief wells in his eyes, softening his gaze. It’s all the motivation I need to keep going, tearing through his restraints one by one.
He might be a scarecrow monster, but he’s not evil.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I drop to my knees and work at the rope around his ankles.
My fingers tremble as my anxiety mounts, the implications of what I’m doing setting in. Doubt, guilt, and fear churn in me like a whirlpool, threatening to pull me under.
The blade slips, brushing the denim of his jeans, and I panic.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, nearly dropping the pocket knife.
I clench my jaw, refocusing, and hack at the ropes with renewed determination. After what feels like forever, the last rope falls to the ground and my stomach knots.
Slowly, my gaze crawls up the scarecrow’s form, and I freeze when he takes a half-step away from the stake.
Reality sinks in.
The world around me grinds to a stop.
A singular phrase rings through my skull like a warning.
The Watcher is free.
Chapter Nine
Atticus
Pain throbsthrough me with every stiff movement, but it's an ache I’ll happily endure forever for what it signifies:freedom.
I'm still trapped in this half-human, half-scarecrow form.
Still cursed.
But at least I'm not bound to that God-forsaken post.
I reach my arms over my head, stretching my hands toward the sky, and my spine cracks violently. After being stationary for so long, I'm not sure what I'm capable of, so I take it slow. No sense in ruining my newfound freedom by breaking anything.
What a disappointment that would be.
Even though All Hallows’ Eve is quickly approaching, and I’ll be rejuvenated then, I'm ready to leave this hellish clearingnow. Not in a couple of weeks.
Cautiously, I flex my fingers and wiggle my toes, shaking my limbs despite the soreness. Moving is awkward and feels unnatural after being still for so long, but I know I’ll get used to it.
Now that I’m free, I plan to move around as much as possible.
I look down at the woman at my feet, her eyes wide with something akin to curiosity. The knife is still clutched tightly in her hand, but I think it's more from shock than a pathetic attempt at self-defense.
