The Farm

And Mose was human, after all.

Except what kind of protection could a church offer? Harmon could walk through walls. The entire earth was God's church, and Mose was in as good a shape out here in the fog as he was in the biggest church ever built. Faith wasn't a place fixed in the real world, it was a golden patch in the heart of a good man.

The dark figure moved forward, steady, graceful. It was just be hind the row of goats now.

Mose summoned his courage to speak again. 'I say, Harmon, wonderful night we're having. Fog's a little chilly, but the sky's as clear as creek water.'

The figure didn't answer. It moved between two goats and en tered the cemetery.

Something was different about the shape of the hat, Harmon's was rounded on top, the brim wide and stiff. This one was flattened and frayed around the edges. The clothes weren't solid black, ei ther. Harmon had worn a coarse, white linen shirt, but this creature sported a darker fabric. Did restless spirits have any need to change clothes?

Something curved from the thing's right hand, pale and wicked as a goat's horn.

Mose eased back a couple of steps, bumping against a grave marker. It tumbled over, crushing a bouquet of plastic flowers.

'All right, Harmon, you made your point,' Mose said. 'I'm not as brave as I'd like to be.'

The figure moved past the goats, and the fog seemed to swirl around it, as if caressing its skin. Mose could make out more fea tures now: Harmon's face was covered with a cloth of some kind, and had bone-colored buttons over his eyes. Straw protruded from the sleeves and collar of the shirt, and the hat was a beat-up planter's style, woven with reeds.

And in the thing's gloved hand was a reaping sickle.

The cloth mask moved in the area where the lips would be, though a dark stitch was the only mouth. 'No one can serve two masters,' the thing said, in a voice as dry and old as dust.

Mose forgot all his brave talk and tests of faith. He spun, look ing for a path through the gravestones, but the fog had grown thicker and obscured the trees. The goats no longer circumscribed the cemetery. He turned back to face the thing, and the hat and clothes finally triggered an image in his mind.

Scarecrow.

A scarecrow in a cemetery.

One that talked and carried a sharp thing.

A curl of bone poked up from the fog to Mose's left, then an other flashed to his right. The goats were coming beneath the fog, as silent as sharks closing in on their prey.

The scarecrow was close enough that Mose could count the holes in its ivory button eyes. The choking aroma of chaff crowded the sulfurous stench of the mist.

'Why?' Mose asked, and the question was as much for God as for the scarecrow.

Neither answered, and the sickle rose and fell.

Jett had the blankets pulled up to her chin, but still she shivered. Katy put a hand to her forehead, a typical Mom thing, but Jett didn't have a fever. Unless you counted bogeyman fever. She had that big time.

The man in the black hat was bad enough by himself. Now he had the scarecrow creature on his side. She closed her eyes and saw the cheesecloth face, the stitched grin, the button eyes, the wicked curve of the sickle. Worse was awakening among the goats, who had milled about her sprawled body, nudged her with their horns, and pressed wet noses against her flesh.

'Sure we shouldn't take her to the emergency room?' Mom asked Gordon, who stood in the doorway as if he were late for an appointment.

'No bones broken,' Gordon said, speaking with the authority of a former Boy Scout. 'And both her pupils are the same size, so she's not concussed.'

'I feel okay,' Jett said, though she was tempted to feign some sort of internal injury so she could get out of the Smith house and into the relative sanity of a hospital. But that would mean Katy would eventually wind up here alone with Gordon. And with the man in the black hat, the goats, and the scarecrow creature. And with whatever else had been bothering Katy lately. Jett needed to stay and watch over her.

'Well, we'd better keep you out of school tomorrow, just in case,' Katy said.

'You should have been more careful,' Gordon said.

'The barn was dark,' Jett said.

'I was hoping you'd be able to pull your weight around here. You're a Smith now.'

'Gordon, she's just had a bad fall,' Katy said, defending her daughter for the first time in weeks. 'No need to be mean.'

'I wouldn't be surprised if she was out there doing drugs. Maybe that's why she lost her balance.'

Katy's voice rose in pitch. 'That's your answer for everything, huh?'

'Well, you knew how I was when you married me.'

'No, I didn't. Not at all.'

Gordon glowered, shook his head, and faded back into the hall. Katy stroked Jett's cheek. 'I'm sorry, baby. Things aren't going too well right now.'

'Something's happening, Mom.'

'I'll have a talk with Gordon—'

'No, I mean something weird is happening here in Solom. With you. With us'

Jett sat up, letting the covers slide from her shoulders. She was dressed in a nightgown and a black tube top. She didn't really need a bra yet, but liked the black accessory, especially at school. But now, with the world gone doomsday freaky, the whole Goth thing seemed a bit silly. Jett fought a hand out from under the blankets and gripped Mom's wrist.

Mom scooted to the edge of the bed and faced the window. The world outside was silvered by the moon, the light rimming the dark and silent walls of mountains. 'I'm being haunted,' Mom said.

'Like, by a ghost?'

Mom nodded. 'I think so. Sometimes I think the ghost is me.'

'Don't tell me you're going nuts, too? No wonder Gordon's pissed off at you.'

'And I saw a man at the top of the ridge yesterday, standing by the fence near the Eakins property. He was just standing there, looking over the valley. The goats had gathered around him.'

'Was he wearing a black suit? And a hat that was kind of rounded, with a wide brim?'

'Have you seen him?'

'Twice, at school. And today I saw him outside the house, just before you got home. I was so scared, I hid in the attic, only some thing was up there. Some kind of creepy scarecrow. And he was in the barn, too. He had a sickle, and he chased me, and that's why I fell—'

'You sure it wasn't Odus? Maybe he hired somebody new.'

'But this guy isn't new at all. He's like two hundred years old. His face looks like somebody melted candle wax over a skull.'

'Hmm. Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought.'

'I swear, Mom. I wasn't doing drugs.' At least, not much.

'I believe you, honey. But none of this makes sense.'

'Like, you think ghosts are real but my weird trips are all in my head?'

'I can't think here. I should go to the kitchen.'

'Fuck the kitchen, Mom. What's happening to you?'

The expletive caused Katy to blink. 'Don't cuss, Jett. It's not la dylike. You're a Smith now, and we need to behave like Smiths.'

'But I'm not a Smith. Neither are you.'

'That's not what she says.'

'She who?'

'The woman in the pantry.'

'Jesus, Mom, are you on pills or something?'

'She's nice. She wants me to be happy and take care of Gordon, just like she did.'

'Hell-o. You're scaring me as much as the scarecrow did.'

'The scarecrow is a Smith. He's been in the family for genera tions.'