3
Trespassers Will Be Shot
“I think we should have taken the Captain’s advice,” said Jane as they continued down the narrow lane. “He seemed adamant about avoiding the farm.”
“What makes you think we could trust him?” asked Bill. “For all we know, he could have been directing us to an alligator infested swamp.”
“There aren’t any alligators in England,” pointed out Edwin.
“Crocodiles then,” said Bill.
Edwin shook his head. “There aren’t any crocodiles either. Do you know what the largest native British reptile is?”
“You?” suggested Bryony.
“It’s the Grass Snake,” said Edwin.
“Snake in the grass.” Bryony nodded. “That’s still you.”
“Now children,” sighed Jane, giving Bryony one of her schoolteacher looks. “Please don’t argue. We still have a long walk ahead of us.”
“It would have been longer if we’d taken the Captain’s advice,” grumbled Bill. Then his face brightened as he pointed down the lane. “Hey look, we’ve reached the farm.”
A crooked gate spanned the lane ahead. The rusty metal frame was topped with barbed wire, and a sign scrawled with thick red letters that read:
BARRENBRAKE FARM
PRIVATE PROPERTY
KEEP OUT
TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT
“This can’t be the way.” Jane read the sign and shook her head. “Perhaps the public footpath went off in another direction, and somehow we missed the marker post.”
“But there’s the marker.” Bill pointed to a small arrow symbol etched into a wooden post by the side of the gate. “And your Captain Bathrobe said the path goes through the farm, so it must be this way.”
“It looks like a dead end to me,” said Edwin.
Bill shook his head. “We’re following a public footpath. It can’t be a dead end.”
“Unless we get shot,” said Bryony.
“There’s no need to worry.” Bill lifted the catch on the gate. “We’ll be perfectly safe as long as we keep to the designated footpath and respect the peace of the countryside.”
Bill pulled the gate open, causing a loud metallic scraping noise.
Jane winced. Edwin put his fingers in his ears. Bryony gritted her teeth, and then scowled at her father.
Bill grinned sheepishly, then beckoned to Bryony. “After you, sweetpea.”
Bryony walked through the gate, but froze when she saw a figure standing just a few yards in front of her: a lopsided figure wearing a floppy hat and a loud stripy waistcoat...
Bryony gasped. “The scarecrow!”
“Oh yes,” said Bill. “Isn’t that quaint.”
“It’s the same one,” hissed Bryony, trying not to look at the scarecrow’s ugly sack face. “The one in the Cursed Field.”
“Don’t be daft,” snorted Edwin, following Bryony through the gate. “It can’t be the same one. Unless it walked here. But scarecrows can’t walk.”
“It’s wearing the same clothes,” said Bryony. “The same hat, the same waistcoat…”
“Perhaps they’re all the fashion this summer?” Bill chuckled as he ushered Jane through the gate.
Bryony pointed out that her father knew little about fashion, but her voice was drowned by another peal of metallic scraping as Bill shut the gate. Then she heard another noise, growing louder as the scraping faded.
“They’ve got a dog,” gasped Edwin, who had also detected the gruff barking sound. He wasn’t keen on dogs. When he was seven, a stray dog had chased him all the way home from school. Mum said it was just being friendly, but Edwin had ended up with a dogtooth-shaped tear in the seat of his trousers that suggested otherwise.
“Most farms have dogs,” said Bill. “It’s nothing to worry about. Now I’ll lead the way. Stick close, and we’ll be fine.”
Bill set off down the lane. Jane took Edwin by the arm and followed, leaving Bryony alone in front of the scarecrow.
She knew Edwin was right. There was no way this scarecrow could be the same one from the Cursed Field. Chiding herself for being so foolish, she turned away and hurried after the others.
And didn’t see the ugly sack head turn to watch her go, or its slit of a mouth twist into a gruesome smile…