Page 31 of Curses and Cornstalks
Surely, the magic hasn't changed him that much?
Even if it has, I’m curious.
What does a cursed scarecrow look like after one hundred years in a cornfield?
I nod my reply.
“I’m a monster, Cassie,” he says, low and slow. “The woman who cursed me… she made sure that no one would ever want to look at my face. Whatever is under this,” he grabs the edge of the burlap sack and tugs it for emphasis, “whatever I’ve become,isn’t human. I dare say I’m probably the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.”
My heart breaks for him, his words tugging at my heartstrings. Not only has he suffered greatly over the last century, but he’s still suffering.
I might have cut him down from the stake, but I didn’t break his curse.
He might have a little more freedom now, but everything else remains the same.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” I put on my most sympathetic smile. “But if you don’t want to show me, it’s okay.”
A long moment of silence stretches between us, and his eyes bore into mine. I know he’s thinking, contemplating, and I’m almost certain he’s going to say no when he sighs.
“Alright,” he says finally. “But if you run screaming into the cornfield, I’m not coming to find you.”
Was that…a joke?
I choke on a laugh. “Deal.”
Atticus reaches for the rope around his neck, and my heart lurches into my throat. Luckily, it isn’t knotted, and it falls away easily. He doesn’t bother to sit up as he reaches for the burlap with one hand, hesitating as his gloved fingers grasp the material.
Then he pulls the sack off in a swift motion.
My breath catches as I drink in his features, trying to register what I’m looking at. He looks normal, at first, in the dim light making its way through the clouds overhead. But the longer I stare, the more his features seem to shift and change into something different.
Blond, strawlike hair covers his head, sticking out at odd angles, and his flesh is the same mottled gray I glanced above his collar. His skin is rough and leathery in places, probably from the burlap and the elements.
Where his eyebrows should be, bushy little vines curve over his intense eyes, and he runs his tongue over teeth that look suspiciously like corn kernels. There are also hints of what he might have looked like before the curse, like his sharp jawline and angular nose.
His lips press into a firm line, his jaw muscles flexing, and I can almost perfectly envision what he looked like a century ago.
“Oh, wow,” I whisper involuntarily as my eyes bounce around his features.
He looks strange, not exactly like I imagined, but he’s quite handsome despite the weirdness.
I can’t look away.
“I told you.” He scoffs and reaches for the burlap sack.
I grab his arm to stop him. “No, wait. Leave it off. Just for a bit.”
His viney eyebrows knit together, but he doesn’t move, the burlap still clutched in his hand.
“Please,” I beg softly.
“Youwantto look at me this way?” he asks, like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard.
I lift my shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m a monster. I’m?—”
“You’re not ugly,” I cut him off sternly. “And you shouldn’t be ashamed of your face; I like it.”
