the barn.
“Wait right here,” I said. Then I hurried into the barn to get what we needed.
It was a little creepy in the dark barn at night. I heard a soft fluttering sound high in the rafters.
Probably a bat.
My sneakers were wet from the grass. I slid over the straw on the barn floor.
The bat swooped low over my head. I heard a high-pitched chittering up in the rafters. More bats.
I grabbed one of the big old coats from the pile. Then I pulled up one of the burlap bag faces and slung it on top of the coat.
Ignoring the fluttering wings swooping back and forth, back and forth, across the barn, I hurried outside to Mark.
And explained my plan, my plan to get our revenge on Sticks.
It was actually a very simple plan. We’d dress Mark up as a scarecrow. He’d stand with the other scarecrows in the cornfield.
I’d go to the guesthouse and get Sticks. I’d tell Sticks I saw something weird in the field. I’d pull Sticks out to the field. Mark would start to stagger toward him — and Sticks would be so freaked, he’d have a cow!
A simple plan. And a good one. Sticks deserved it, too.
I pulled the burlap bag over Mark’s head. The black painted eyes stared back at me. I reached down, picked up a handful of straw, and began stuffing it under the bag.
“Stop squirming!” I told Mark.
“But the straw itches!” he cried.
“You’ll get used to it,” I told him. I grabbed his shoulders. “Stand still. Don’t move.”
“Why do I need straw?” he whined.
“Mark, you have to look like all the other scarecrows,” I told him. “Otherwise, Sticks won’t be fooled.”
I stuffed the burlap face with straw. Then I held up the old overcoat for Mark to put on.
“I can’t do this!” he wailed. “I’m going to itch to death! I can’t breathe!”
“You can breathe perfectly fine,” I told him. I stuffed straw into the sleeves. I was careful to let clumps of straw hang from the cuffs, covering Mark’s hands. Then I stuffed more straw into the jacket.
“Will you stand still?” I whispered angrily. “This is a lot of hard work — you know?”
He grumbled in a low voice to himself as I continued to work.
“Just keep thinking how great it’ll be when Sticks sees you and thinks you’re a scarecrow that’s really coming to life,” I said.
I had straw stuck to my hands, straw all down the front of my sweatshirt and jeans. I sneezed. Once. Twice. I’m definitely allergic to the stuff.
But I didn’t care. I was so excited. I couldn’t
wait
to see Sticks’s terrified face. I couldn’t
wait
to pay him back for trying to frighten us all week.
“I need a hat,” Mark said. He was standing stiffly, afraid to move under all the straw.
“Hmmmm.” I thought hard. There weren’t any hats in the barn with the other scarecrow supplies. “We’ll just take one off a real scarecrow,” I told Mark.
I stepped back to see my handiwork. Mark looked pretty good. But he still needed more straw. I set to work stuffing him, making the old coat bulge.
“Now don’t forget to stand straight and stiff with your arms straight out,” I instructed.
“Do I have a choice?” Mark complained. “I — I can’t move at all!”
“Good,” I said. I arranged the straw that stuck out of his sleeves, then stepped back. “Okay. You’re ready,” I told him.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Like a short scarecrow,” I told him.
“I’m too short?” he replied.
“Don’t worry, Mark,” I said, grabbing his arm. “I’m going to stick you up on a pole!”
“Huh?”
I laughed. “Gotcha,” I muttered. “I’m kidding.” I started to lead him to the cornfields.
“Think this is going to work?” Mark asked, walking stiffly. “Think we’re really going to scare Sticks?”
I nodded. An evil grin spread over my face. “I think so,” I told my brother. “I think Sticks is in for a terrifying surprise.”
Little did I know that we
all
were!
21
I gripped Mark’s arm with both hands and led
“Wait right here,” I said. Then I hurried into the barn to get what we needed.
It was a little creepy in the dark barn at night. I heard a soft fluttering sound high in the rafters.
Probably a bat.
My sneakers were wet from the grass. I slid over the straw on the barn floor.
The bat swooped low over my head. I heard a high-pitched chittering up in the rafters. More bats.
I grabbed one of the big old coats from the pile. Then I pulled up one of the burlap bag faces and slung it on top of the coat.
Ignoring the fluttering wings swooping back and forth, back and forth, across the barn, I hurried outside to Mark.
And explained my plan, my plan to get our revenge on Sticks.
It was actually a very simple plan. We’d dress Mark up as a scarecrow. He’d stand with the other scarecrows in the cornfield.
I’d go to the guesthouse and get Sticks. I’d tell Sticks I saw something weird in the field. I’d pull Sticks out to the field. Mark would start to stagger toward him — and Sticks would be so freaked, he’d have a cow!
A simple plan. And a good one. Sticks deserved it, too.
I pulled the burlap bag over Mark’s head. The black painted eyes stared back at me. I reached down, picked up a handful of straw, and began stuffing it under the bag.
“Stop squirming!” I told Mark.
“But the straw itches!” he cried.
“You’ll get used to it,” I told him. I grabbed his shoulders. “Stand still. Don’t move.”
“Why do I need straw?” he whined.
“Mark, you have to look like all the other scarecrows,” I told him. “Otherwise, Sticks won’t be fooled.”
I stuffed the burlap face with straw. Then I held up the old overcoat for Mark to put on.
“I can’t do this!” he wailed. “I’m going to itch to death! I can’t breathe!”
“You can breathe perfectly fine,” I told him. I stuffed straw into the sleeves. I was careful to let clumps of straw hang from the cuffs, covering Mark’s hands. Then I stuffed more straw into the jacket.
“Will you stand still?” I whispered angrily. “This is a lot of hard work — you know?”
He grumbled in a low voice to himself as I continued to work.
“Just keep thinking how great it’ll be when Sticks sees you and thinks you’re a scarecrow that’s really coming to life,” I said.
I had straw stuck to my hands, straw all down the front of my sweatshirt and jeans. I sneezed. Once. Twice. I’m definitely allergic to the stuff.
But I didn’t care. I was so excited. I couldn’t
wait
to see Sticks’s terrified face. I couldn’t
wait
to pay him back for trying to frighten us all week.
“I need a hat,” Mark said. He was standing stiffly, afraid to move under all the straw.
“Hmmmm.” I thought hard. There weren’t any hats in the barn with the other scarecrow supplies. “We’ll just take one off a real scarecrow,” I told Mark.
I stepped back to see my handiwork. Mark looked pretty good. But he still needed more straw. I set to work stuffing him, making the old coat bulge.
“Now don’t forget to stand straight and stiff with your arms straight out,” I instructed.
“Do I have a choice?” Mark complained. “I — I can’t move at all!”
“Good,” I said. I arranged the straw that stuck out of his sleeves, then stepped back. “Okay. You’re ready,” I told him.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Like a short scarecrow,” I told him.
“I’m too short?” he replied.
“Don’t worry, Mark,” I said, grabbing his arm. “I’m going to stick you up on a pole!”
“Huh?”
I laughed. “Gotcha,” I muttered. “I’m kidding.” I started to lead him to the cornfields.
“Think this is going to work?” Mark asked, walking stiffly. “Think we’re really going to scare Sticks?”
I nodded. An evil grin spread over my face. “I think so,” I told my brother. “I think Sticks is in for a terrifying surprise.”
Little did I know that we
all
were!
21
I gripped Mark’s arm with both hands and led
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