The Scarecrow's Sin

They had my sister read the stars and race her finger down the edge of an old family letter opener to introduce her willing drops of blood into a small glass vile. It was filled to the brim; no drop was to be wasted. After taking the vile of blood, my family would walk beneath the uneasy breath of the night to find themselves on a dirt road path through our neighbors wheat fields; only about a few miles down from our farm. 

We would then stop at a certain point of the field where we would have my little brother Ben stick a candle into the dry ground and have it burn until the flame blew out. We would then follow the whispers of the wind that would find the candles flame and continue to walk west of the fields. All five of us would find my older sister Jessica tied to a six foot stake, with tree roots binding her feet and hands. She had been there for eight years and she still looked like how she was before, before she was condemned to hang there. 

She was twenty-five then, but eight years back she had been sleeping with our neighbors son Lucian. He was the eldest son of the Hatters and was a dedicated christian just like the rest of his kin...or so he would have them believe.

In short, they had caught my sister in bed with their son and without a word they had dragged her into their field and made a sickening example of her. They had her eyes removed and replaced with spider eggs, they stuffed hay into her stomach, they kept her modesty and left her clothes on, but killed her slowly none the less. She was of that night a cruel joke, a scarecrow.

I remember my mother crying for the police, my father screaming for god, and as for me, I had payed my neighbors a visit in the middle of the night. It was a day my family will never forget. 

My mother was so distraught; being part of the Wicca, she had gathered whatever was left of her mind and used some form of dark magic to bring her daughter to life on every November 21st, her birthday. Disturbing to many no doubt, but this was our life and with this the black magic gave us some type of sick but effective closure. 

I looked her up and down and brushed her straw like hair back from her still decaying face. Though we had done this time and time again, I still could not get used to seeing her the way she was. 

We would fix her up as much as we could until my mother would begin the ritual once more. My mother would slip the vile of blood into Jessica's mouth and would light another candle, but this time it was placed into a soft homemade cupcake. She would give it to me to place at the base of the stake and walk away to watch the magic do its work. I still don't know how it worked, but it did. My scarecrow of a sister would slowly start to breath and her chest would move up and down; taking in the new air she had been deprived of. She couldn't talk as much, but it was better than nothing I suppose. We'd sing happy birthday to her, we'd feed her the cupcake piece by piece, we would place new clothes on her, and then we would sleep out in the cold with her for that one night. 

For some reason something was wrong that day, Jessica had begun coughing up blood and screaming frantically. My mother didn't know what to do, my father was frantic as well, and my brother and sister were petrified.

 I tried to comfort them and tried to ease Jessica's pain, but I didn't know what was wrong; she couldn't speak. I couldn't take it anymore, I pulled out my fathers magnum from his satchel and shot her in the head. No one said a word, no one moved a muscle. All we did was walk back to the farm and fell asleep together in a stack of discarded hay. That night I claimed myself the murderer of my sister. 

The magic didn't work again, I suppose that's what I wanted, I suppose I never wanted to see her live that way, I would never know.  All I have to say is that she was my sister, I loved her, and I hope that God holds her like my mother did. She'd love that.