Stalk

The mad beast whimpered in despair as it forced its way deeper into the cornfield. The tall, stiff stalks pulled at its coarse fur, the dry, rough leaves scratching around its eyes. Tears streamed down its face, matting the fur on its cheeks. The beast choked on the howl that fought to pour from its throat. With its heightened senses it could easily hear the rustling of corn behind it, even easier smell the sweat, leather, and metal scent of the hunter pursuing it.

It used to be good at running and hiding, but this curse made it impossible to think. The crescent moon flickered in and out of view through the ears of corn overhead. Panting, crawling and clawing forward through the stalks on its belly, the beast looked up at the moon imploringly, silently begging for her to release it, to free it, to give it the secret it needed.

“You can’t escape, monster!” The hunter’s arrogant voice carried across the field, and the beast scrabbled further away, desperation rising. The hunter’s sword cut the air itself as cleanly as the stalks, sending the corn flying and falling into the dirt. “You’ll feel the bite of my blade by the time the sun comes up!”

The mad beast’s paws pounded against the earth as it fled, winding all around the feild. It just needed to find its way out to the other side. It could make a run for it then, its pursuer would have to backtrack to get back to his horse, and by then, the beast could find somewhere to hide until it regained control over itself and its form. Then, even if it was found, surely-- surely, the hunter wouldn’t make good on killing the mad beast if he knew that underneath this furred, clawed-and-fanged exterior, it was really human.

Surely…

That might have made the beast feel more confident if it actually believed it really was still human. This curse made it feel so insane it feared this was now its true form, and in the sunlight it was a monster forced to look like a human instead.

Tail thrashing in terror, the beast sobbed, feeling humiliated and petrified, reduced to mere game. It crawled like a bug, dirtying the fur of its belly in the soil. To be transformed into a terrifying monster was to become prey, not predator. It stood staller than a horse and had the likeness of a wolf, but in this moment, it felt more like the rabbit. It closed its eyes, the hunter continuing to shout somewhere behind it. Within the beast, a small desire was slowly but steadily growing bigger: to stop, to just curl up into a ball and cry. To let itself be found. It didn’t want to be this. It may have known what it needed to do to break the curse, but death upon the hunter’s gleaming blade was so much more sure. The beast didn’t stop, though, because more than it wanted this to be over, it wanted to live. By the gods, how it wanted to live.

It didn’t realize there would be anything in its path other than corn and more corn. It almost hit its head on a wooden pole protruding up from the dirt, and the beast yipped. It craned its neck to look up at the thing blocking its way, and froze.

A scarecrow wasn't something it had never seen before. But, for some reason, looking at this one from so steeply below, its stitched face framed by the crescent moon, staring lifelessly and guilelessly off at nothing in the distance, struck the beast with a terror even greater than their impending demise at the hands of the sadistic hunter. The beast quailed and quaked, arrested by chills like it had fallen into a frozen lake. A dark pit of dread opened up inside it and its stomach and heart fell into it. Like itself, like the hunter… this scarecrow was not meant to be here. So unassuming in appearance, the scarecrow’s presence felt so vile it made the air around it taste sinister.

A sharp rustling came from behind the beast, far too close. The beast gasped, and took off tearing once more into the night. It didn’t dare look back, forgetting the scarecrow, only thinking of its own desparate flight.

Which is why the beast did not see the scarecrow’s head turning, its eyes keen and watching.