monster mash [open]

[chaseee]

[/center][/ul]

[based on Worlds of Fun's hit haunted attraction, Cornstalkers!
ALSO, wanting to try out second person. :3]

Sun sinking low beneath the horizon, the walls of corn begin to rustle behind you as the things begin to lurk. Though they jump off of their stakes and roam like clockwork every single night, you've found no reason to leave your uncomfortable position. No one comes down to these parts anymore. No use to get your clogged limbs loose only to force yourself back onto that rusty pole.

Straw sifting under your coveralls, you sigh, moving about to scratch your back. Having an occupation such as this one is tiresome work. Always looking fearsome, always scaring off anyone who dares walk by, you've never experienced real joy. Some of the others think ruthless slaughter might be a pleasing pass time, but you find it rather disgusting, tearing into the flesh of others and feasting on the squirming red things inside. Just yuck.

The farmhand that built you must have been insane. His creations turned out completely evil, might have even killed him. You haven't seen any of staff lately. Had they decided to pack up and move without their beloved scarecrows? Or had the scarecrows done their job too thoroughly, terrorizing even those who tended to them? Nevertheless, you will miss the ones who regularly came by to trim the weeds that bloomed at your feet, that stuffed the loose filling back into the numerous gashes and cuts you have acquired over the years.

The rustling grows closer. That's unlike your neighbor. He doesn't usually cross into other's territory. That usually suits you just fine, though. You aren't entirely fond of those malicious things coming onto your side of the field.

But no. These footsteps are faster, more steady than those of the monsters that prowl the cornfield. Could it be?

In one quick motion, you've removed yourself from the stake. Your limbs, though stiff, still prove dependable, and you begin to walk, not in the direction of the noise, but backward, into the wall of corn. With the husks that have been draped over your frame, you easily disappear. Your yellowed eyes scan the path ahead, but you see no-

There.

Humans.

Against your better will, you lick your dry lips. You don't enjoy killing them, but you are pretty hungry. Your voice barely rising to a whisper, you plead with the fast approaching people. "Run."

ooc; Let's say the scarecrow has fifty HP? :3