Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
I can actually see my breath—
There’s a knock on the driver’s side window.
Two quick raps.
I scream so loud, it’s a wonder the windows don’t shatter. Immediately, I scramble to the passenger seat, opening the glove compartment to find a weapon, but there’s nothing but a manual and an unpaid parking ticket. Terror wracks my entire body. I’m too terrified to look out the window to find out who knocked. What if it’s the freaking scarecrow? Who could live a normal life after seeing something like that?
“Ma’am,” booms a deep voice outside of the car. “I’m sorry for scaring you, ma’am. I just…I saw your headlights from my house. Is everything all right?”
“Please don’t kill me!” I shriek.
“Kill you?” His country accent is heavy with surprise. “I mean you no harm. And if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am, you’re a lot more likely to freeze to death.”
My eyes are squeezed shut.
Don’t look.
You do not want to see a talking scarecrow.
“Are you the scarecrow?” I call in a shaky voice.
A pause ensues. “Are you on drugs, darlin’?”
“What? No!”
“It’s a real problem out here in the country.”
“I’m not from the country. I live in the city.” I’m almost ready to open my eyes and chance a look at my potential killer. “I just got lost and there’s no reception. The road is too dark to see where I’m going.”
“That sounds like the start of a horror film,” he remarks, jolting me on the seat. “I really hate to break this to you, ma’am, but when you finally get enough courage to look at me, my appearance isn’t going to be very comforting.”
“Why?”
“I’m pretty big, is all.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t bother throwing on clothes, except for these overalls and I’m still muddy from the day’s work. I’m also holding a pitchfork, because every once in a while, we get wolves down from the mountains and I needed something to fend them off. I’m guessing I’ll be quite a sight.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound promising.”
He makes a sound of agreement.
“My name is Dusty. What’s yours?”
“Bianca.”
“Bianca, I’d really hate you to freeze to death on my property.”
“No, I wouldn’t like that very much, either.”
“What can I do to convince you to come inside and sleep somewhere warm?”
Fact: if I stay in this car, I’m going to die from hypothermia. I don’t have enough gas to keep the heat pumping all night and I have nothing to warm my body. I could attempt to keep driving, but I will probably wreck my car and I’ll never be able to afford repairs. A warm bed in a farmhouse sounds incredible right about now but accepting his invitation could mean years of suffering in a basement full of bloody torture implements.
“I mean…” Here I go, justifying my bad decision. “This doesn’t feel like the kind of conversation a victim has with her murderer in a slasher film. It’s usually more…lecherous and creepy. Like, ‘what’s a pretty girl like you doing in these backroads?’ You don’t sound creepy.”
“Much obliged, ma’am.”
Wow. I just had the weird urge to laugh. Is this farmer kind of funny? “Do you live with anyone? A wife, maybe? That would help.”
“No wife.” Did he sound a little embarrassed revealing that? “It’s just me. And my chicken, Mildred. She doesn’t like sleeping in the coop. Spoiled as can be, that one.”
Am I being naïve or is accompanying this man to his farmhouse beginning to feel way less scary? “Could you go stand in front of the car? I’m going to turn on my headlights, so I can have a look at you first.”
“Brace yourself.”
“I’m braced.”
When I hear heavy footsteps scuffing on the dirt road away from the driver’s side, I reach over and twist the key in the ignition, my lights coming on automatically and—
“Oh my God.”
Pretty big? Is that what he called himself?
This man is easily six-foot-six and built like an honest to God ancient gladiator.
One strap of his overalls is unhooked, the other one sagging down, leaving his rippling, hairy chest on display. I have belts at home that wouldn’t fit around his arms. His thighs are on the verge of ripping open those denim pant legs. But his face…
His face is kind. His eyes are patient.
He’s not handsome in a classic sense. His features are hard and weathered, yet he doesn’t appear to be that old. Maybe thirty?
Those eyes, though. Some deep-down intuition tells me he’s a pure soul.
“Well?” he shouts. “What do you think, Bianca?”
I turn off the engine and sit in the dark silence for a few seconds, my limbs shivering from the cold, my molars sealed together, skin like ice. Hoping like heck that I’m making the right decision, I pick up my phone and collect my car keys, then I open the passenger door and climb out, my spiky heels immediately sinking into the grassy earth.