On a starlit Halloween night, in the eerie town of Boo-ville, a mute scarecrow named Scratch stood solemnly, silently guarding the eternally barren pumpkin patch.
Yet, this time, the whisper of the wind wasn’t alone, it mixed with quiet footsteps crunching on the dried autumn leaves, approaching the pumpkin patch. The silhouette of a stranger appeared, his face hidden under a ghoulish red cloak.
The stranger, in a voice murky as a foggy swamp, demanded, “Scarecrow, deliver me your voice!” Astonished, Scratch remained silent, yet tremors filled his straw body.
Enraged, the stranger chose to force his will and lunged forward. Suddenly, the ground opened up, swallowing the stranger into oblivion, all thanks to an old spooky spell Scratch sparkled over the field in secret. Silence returned; a wind of victory sighed through Scratch.
The sun peeked through the night’s curtain, and for the first time, a lush pumpkin glistened in the patch. With an unseen smile, Scratch did what he never could do before; he laughed aloud. After all, who says ‘scarecrows’ can’t have the last laugh anyway?