The Scarecrow

Believe you me, no matter how much I still continue to write for you;

I still worry about your safety.

All this time I've neglected the fact of how twisted you guys are.

Really, you're all twisted.

But I'll keep giving you more.
Because sick people like this need it.

Don't you think?

Well, here's your 'More'.

The Scarecrow drove on and on, throughout the streets and towns.
The Scarecrow was back in it's hometown.

Connecticut.

Filled with glee, the Scarecrow began to feel the thrill; Nothing has happened yet, but it will.
And soon.

The Scarecrow had found it's target soon after it had created it's five masterpieces.

The Scarecrow's target was a large house on the wealthy side of town.
Overflowing with material objects and the riches of suburban life.

The Scarecrow parked in front of the house, it's liscense plates taped off. No room for mistakes.
Not at a time when the Scarecrow was as euphoric as this.
The Scarecrow walked up the never ending driveway with it's backpack slung over it's shoulder.
Full of weapons and delicious things such as that.

The house was flowing with beautiful teenagers, high off of life and many other drugs it presumed.
The Scarecrow looked toward the white pillars and potted plants, the neat green lawn littered with plastic cups and whatnot.

The Scarecrow shook it's head and continued on to the back door.
Nothing was locked and nothing was secure in this party house.

The music hit the Scarecrow with an auto-tuned force.

The bass blew through the speakers, and the beat pulsed underneath the Scarecrow's feet, traveling up it's legs and awakening the nerves in the Scarecrow's body.

Fascinating.

Dance little liars, dance.

The Scarecrow danced though the crowd, being grabbed and held onto by the drunken partygoers.
This irritated the Scarecrow.
And for a moment the Scarecrow thought about killing everyone in this damned house.

But the Scarecrow realized how messy and uncalled for that would be.

So the Scarecrow continued on in it's journey towards the basement, where it's victims sit.

The Scarecrow had formulated this plan a few days ago, the beautiful children of a lawyer and a plastic housewife.

Four beautiful children, who were soon to be dead.

The Scarecrow stepped down the carpeted stairs leading toward the finished basement.

The smell of marijuana attacked the Scarecrow as it neared the targets.

The Scarecrow shook it's head and continued on it's way.
Noting the sound of slow laughter among more than five people.

Collateral damage.

The Scarecrow was now in sight of them.
The Scarecrow smiled, as if it were going to join the party.
For that was how they welcomed the Scarecrow.
The Scarecrow walked up behind one of the children, a 19 year old boy named Marcus Hilden.
The Scarecrow put it's index finger to it's lips, the Scarecrow took the knife out of it's backpack and smiled toward the others.
The knife was out of sight.
The rest of the children began to laugh hysterically, not knowing what was about to happen.

The Scarecrow brought the knife to Marcus' throat and swiftly slit it, with fluidity.

Then began the madness.

The panic.

The fun.

No one tried to stop the Scarecrow.
The Scarecrow went after the other three children, it caught up with them easily.

Picking them off one by one.

The Scarecrow had no problem.
It was a game to the Scarecrow.

A very enjoyable game.

The Scarecrow admired it's handiwork. Not a drop of blood graced the Scarecrow's clothing.
The Scarecrow lined the children up, and left.

The Scarecrow took the house phone and brought it along with it outside.

The Scarecrow got the symbolic scarecrow from it's trunk and planted it in the desecrated lawn.
The Scarecrow dialed the number with pleasure, leaving the phone next to the scarecrow;
The Scarecrow drove away.

That night.
That one night, A Friday night to be exact.