***Nathaniel Derrington***

"How did you manage to recover?" Devon asks, turning away from me. He does a pretty good job of keeping it cool, but we all know what he's really hinting at. The witch doesn't waste any time beating around the bush.

"Why, magic, of course," she laughs. "Oh, wipe that look off your face. You're more surprised by my candid admission rather than the fact of the matter, and words themselves are not so impressive."

"Are you gonna curse us?" Connie blurts. His face, as messed up as it is, instantly shows that he regrets the question.

The witch chuckles. It's a deep, throaty noise, something that shouldn't come out of an old woman. Much less one that should be dead.

"The notion did cross my mind once or twice..." She glances at me and adds, "Or thrice. But I've been keeping an eye on you boys for a little while now, and, after some thought, decided to err on the side of compassion. Growing old has made me soft, I suppose." The cloak shifts. She's putting her hands on her hips. "So I've come to make an offer."

This is where either Connie or Devon are supposed to play their part and ask what her terms are, but both of them are hesitating.

"We're not interested," I say bluntly.

The three turn towards me. For a moment Connie and Devon are so surprised that I get to see what their faces look like undiluted by how they feel about me. It's only for a moment, though. Devon's expression falls back to the usual wordless accusation, eyes filled with suspicions about things I did do, didn't do, will do, won't do - it's all the same to him. But the unease in Connie's bruised eyes - that wasn't there before. And it makes me feel like shit. 

As for the witch, her beady little fucking eyes don't flinch no matter how hard I stare into them.

"Oh, don't be like that!" the she finally replies with a creepy little excited clap of her hands. "The offer was for you, anyways."

"Okay, listen. Whatever you're doing - this - it's not going to work," I say, waving my sword at her dismissively. "Every other folk tale out there pretty much ends the same way. Protagonist trusts witch, witch fucks him over. Every time. Not gonna fall for it." I turn to Connie and Devon and open my mouth to make the brilliant idea that we shove our fingers in our ears and ride off into the sunset, but then that idea is squashed by a bigger, more brilliant plan. 

Maybe the universe is conspiring to give me a second chance. If I can squeeze in just a little bit of alone time, maybe I can get rid of this stubborn bitch for good.

I press my hands together and tap them lightly against my lips, taking a moment to construct the best way to play it out. Then I mimic her excited little clap.

"You know what? You really know what? You guys are right. The least I could do is hear her out," I say to Connie and Devon, ignoring that they actually didn't say anything, because sometimes people just agree with you if you act confidently enough. I shove my sword back into its holder, all open palms and easy smiles. "Why don't you two ride ahead and I'llll, uh, catch up to you later?"

"Excellent plan," the witch chirps in. 

Connie and Devon glance at each other. Aside from that neither of them move a muscle. 

"Ain't smart to split up," Connie finally says.

"I second that opinion," Devon adds with a nod, crossing his arms and shifting his weight in a way that's just confrontational enough to get on my nerves.

"Look, guys, you know that I'm more than capable of defending myself. And, in a really weird way, so is grandma over here, so-"

"That's not the point," Devon snaps. "You clearly do not and cannot comprehend the ramifications of your actions-"

"Oooh, so that's how you're gonna play it?" I sneer. "Just because you've spent the last decade of your life sitting on your ass reading books, you think you're smarter than everyone. Well, news flash, there's more to reality than what you see on paper."

"That is not what I said. How typical of you, distorting people's words so you can fill your head with self-righteous justifications-"

"Oh, enough of this," the witch sighs. Pulling her hand from her robe, she snaps her fingers. The sound is surprisingly crisp, as if she rubbed her fingertips in chalk, and loud enough to send a small echo running through the hills. 

For a long, heavy moment, nothing happens. But then I see the terrified expressions on Connie and Devon's faces and hear a scratchy shuffling behind me and the blade is in my hands ready to slide into whoever I need to eliminate, but then I realize it's not a who but a what and that I already did.

The doll I beheaded is bent over on the ground, grasping the dirt, groping, trying to stand, and it's then I finally get that it's a scarecrow, the scarecrow, the same one I had knocked down and replaced with its owner. 

Straw flakes from its sleeves like dandruff as it jerks upwards, its shoulders digging into the air, left, right, left, right, like a drunk puppeteer is trying to figure out how to make it stand up straight. For a split second it actually does and we all get to see how damned tall the thing really is, but then it teeters and stumbles, arms pinwheeling as it fights to keep its balance. The long, exaggerated movements could only mean that the limbs hiding under the worn cloth are just sticks nailed together at the joints, but there's something creepy about the way it moves, like there's something really living in there.

"What are you doing?" I ask the witch, keeping my eye on the scarecrow as I slowly pace backwards.

"That is my personal assistance of sorts, here to to its job," the witch replies.

The scarecrow stumbles over its head, a dented pumpkin, and shoves it on backwards, giving us a full view of its carved face. The eyes and nose are neat little triangles while the mouth is a jagged, hackneyed grin. Then the head spins forward fast enough to give a real person a crick and the scarecrow stands completely still except for a little swaying that, before all of this, I could have been convinced was nothing but the wind.

Suddenly the witch's reply feels a little more ominous.

"What do you mean, 'personal assistant?'" I ask, eyes narrowed. "What's it supposed to be assisting you with?"

"Convincing you that I am fully capable of completing my side of the offer, mostly. But also for keeping an eye on those two," she replies, jerking a thumb at Connie and Devon.

"If that thing takes one fucking step towards them, I-"

"-doubt that you'll try anything that you haven't done before," the witch says with a sniff. "Boys. Boys! Over here," she says, snapping her fingers. This time the movement isn't charged by magic. With a giant six and a half foot tall animated scarecrow as a distraction, it takes a few more snaps to get their attention. "I understand that you don't have any intention of leaving, but I do insist on a little bit of privacy. Turn around, if you will." 

Connie and Devon trade hesitant glances. 

"Oh, come on, now. Turn. It's not too much to ask." Maybe it's because of how stubborn she is or the fact that I'm not trying to stop them, but they both take the smallest of steps. "Yes, like that! A little more, a little more - now stop! From here on my personal assistant will make sure you don't try anything silly." I narrow my eyes at that, but I don't interrupt her. "It won't touch you unless you disobey me, so don't you worry about that, it'll just bore its gaze into you in an incredibly unnerving manner from behind. I implore that you do not turn around, under any circumstances, until I say... hm... the name of a vegetable. Otherwise I cannot guarantee your safety. Now push your fingers into your ears, plug them right up! And turn back around! Are they turning? No? Good." She turns to me and adds, "That means they can't hear anymore. That's all the privacy we need, really."

I wonder if she's pretending like she can't just freeze them in place with a curse, but I don't say anything. 

"So that... thing," I say, motioning to the scarecrow with my blade, mentally counting how many paces it is from Devon and Connie. Both of them are turned away, forefingers shoved into their ears, as instructed. They would be easy targets. "It does whatever you tell it to?"

"More or less. It was helping me carry my kitchenware before," she says, nudging a pan on the ground with her toe.

I circle around the scarecrow and slowly approach it from the side. I'm tempted to glance at the witch, but I'm paranoid that the scarecrow will do something the minute I look away.  "So it's not really alive, is it?"

"It has the potential to be," the witch replies.

"What does that mean?"

"Hear out my offer and you'll find out."

I finally manage to tear my eyes away from the scarecrow.

"I don't trust this thing. Have it step farther away from them."

The witch lifts her fingers and snaps again, sending an echo running through the valley. The scarecrow lifts a leg and stretches it backwards, one after the other, as it takes four wide paces away from Connie and Devon. I get on edge seeing how much distance the thing can cover with a single step. Even with the additional space it could be on them in seconds.

When I turn back to the witch, she's staring at me thoughtfully. 

"I won't hurt your friends, you know. Oh, no need to reply to that, I can see the disbelief written on your face and where your sword is facing." She looks back at Connie and Devon, still standing with their fingers in their ears. "It's true, though. They seem like genuinely decent people, and of that the world is in terribly short supply."

I lower the tip of my sword so it doesn't point directly at her neck.

"So what's your offer?" I ask.

Her beady eyes brighten with the question and she opens her soft, wrinkled lips, little pink tongue stretching to the roof of her mouth, only it doesn't quite make it because my blade slides right through her heart.

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All votes and comments are appreciated :)

For critiques: Character dialogue and interaction, how was that? Any specific grammatical mistakes pointed out are always great! My brain's autocorrect makes it hard to catch those sometimes :P