Shadow Puppets: Scarecrows of Minnow Ranch Read online

  Shadow Puppets

  Scarecrows of Minnow Ranch

  An Erotic Horror

  By: Carver Pike

  Shadow Puppets: Scarecrows of Minnow Ranch

  1st Edition

  Copyright © 2016 by Carver Pike

  Published by Erotic Mayberry Publishing

  Written by Carver Pike

  Cover created by Carver Pike

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  http://www.eroticmayberry.com

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  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Dedication

  Not everyone understood my need to create a separate pen name for my dark fantasy and horror books, but some of you trusted my decision and some were even really excited about it. That means a lot to me. I know a lot of people are used to my Chris Genovese name and all the erotic fun that comes with that name. Sometimes a guy just wants to write darker stuff. I’m not always in a jolly mood. I may want to write about the things that go bump in the night or the monster hiding under your bed or maybe even something as dark as that dastardly depression demon. I go through my ups and downs, my light and dark, and Carver Pike is that darker, alter ego of mine. So I dedicate this book to all the people who said they will read anything I write. Those are the fans I keep writing for. Those aren’t fair-weather fans. Those are the kickass people I fucking love. Thank you!

  *The characters in this book are fictional and fully understand the need to use protection during sex. If it is not mentioned in this novella, it is only to prevent the slowing down of the story or interruption to the fantasy element. Have fun and be safe!*

  Introduction

  The cornfield was out of control. At least that’s what Miller thought as he parked his old rusty Ford in the Minnow Ranch driveway and looked out at the messy tide of shadowy stalks. Yes, the old lady had definitely let things go these last few years.

  He couldn’t see much beyond the first row or two of corn with only the porch light illuminating the scene.

  Who’d turned the porch light on anyway? Had she left it on before keeling over? He thought it might be possible. He had definitely seen crazier things in his sixty-two years of life.

  The wind blew and the corn swayed.

  Just get in and get out. You know where she kept it.

  Miller wasn’t a coward by any means but something about the ranch had always bothered him. For one, the old lady rarely left the place. She seemed to be content with staying locked indoors. Then there were the stories.

  Ronnie told him he’d stopped by one evening to get payment for fixing her water heater and saw her running naked into the corn, twirling around as if dancing in the rain. Only it wasn’t raining.

  That was one crazy broad.

  Miller looked up at the house. Everything beyond the porch was shrouded in shadows. The upstairs windows were dark, and what, during the day would seem like nothing but squares covered in outdated drapes, seemed much more menacing at this hour.

  He was glad he didn’t need to go into the house. His destination lay beyond, and even though he knew he was being paranoid, Miller reached into the cab of his truck and pulled out his shotgun. Just in case.

  In case what? In case a werewolf leaps from a nearby tree? You’re just a chicken shit, old man. Get in and get out quickly.

  He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, slapping the cool barrel of the gun in his palm as he made his way around the side of the house, down a wide corridor of sorts, with the house to his right and a tall wall of corn to his left.

  Dry grass and leaves crunched beneath his feet.

  The stalks rattled in the wind.

  The porch light no longer reached him and he wished he’d brought a flashlight.

  What kind of idiot plans to go out to a dark barn and doesn’t bring a fucking flashlight?

  He’d counted on the barn having a light. It would. All barns did since a lot of work needed to take place after dark. Gone were the days of lanterns. This wasn’t Green Acres.

  “Nooooooo.”

  Miller stopped. He’d heard a voice. A singsong whisper really. It could’ve been the breeze through the silks. He’d been on enough farms to know the odd calling from the fields. It was the stuff that gave kids ideas for terrifying tales.

  He looked back and considered returning to his truck. It was so close. This was a bad idea. To give up now would mean wasting all this time driving out here and having to admit to Ronnie that he’d failed. It was Ronnie that had told him about it in the first place.

  “Goooooooo.”

  It came from the corn. That much was clear. This time it sounded like a human voice. Raspy. Low. But human.

  “Who…who’s out there?” he asked.

  He’d asked a question and realized he didn’t want an answer. He only wanted to get to the barn. His pace quickened and his chest wheezed with it. His beer gut bobbed over the giant belt buckle at his waist. The “Vote for Miller” pin tucked in his breast pocket clanged and the keys in his pocket jingled. He realized he sounded like a cacophony of metallic clanking as he finally made it to the barn door.

  He stopped walking but something else did not. At least four footsteps came after his had died down.

  His hand paused on the door handle. He was afraid to turn and look behind him. Then, without even a glance over his shoulder, he swung the barn door open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut. He threw the latch, locking it, and fumbled for the light switch. He found it and the light popped on. One single solitary light flooded down over him, making him the star of his own stage show.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he said, shielding his eyes.

  Now he had a damn green dot following him around everywhere he looked.

  This oughtta be fun. It’s jewelry I’m looking for and everything’s gonna look like jade.

  Miller fought past his distorted vision and searched for the spot behind the old broken down tractor, where Ronnie said he’d find the toolbox, the same toolbox his friend had used when fixing the water heater.

  The spotlight didn’t shine that far back into the barn, and once again, Miller wished he’d been smart enough to bring a flashlight. Then it dawned on him. His cell phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and opened up an app with a white background. He held it out and searched until he found a lantern and a box of matches. He lit the lantern and tucked his phone into his pocket. With his new guiding light, he searched behind the tractor until he found the toolbox. Behind that was the bale of hay. Behind that was the wooden box he was looking for.

  “Bingo,” he said aloud as he lifted the lid of the antique box.

  Holy shit.

  The lantern light died so Miller threw the thing onto the table carelessly and fished into his pocket for his phone. He punched a button to turn it back on. There, under the glare of the screen, was a pile of silver, gold, and platinum encircling diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and nearly every other kind of jewel imaginable. He and Ronnie would be rich.

  He fixed the bale of hay and turned to make his way back to the barn door.

  CRASH.

  The door blew open in the breeze and slammed shut. Then blew open and slammed shut again.

  I locked that door. I fucking c
losed and locked it.

  Miller scanned the barn, looking for a second door someone might’ve entered through or that he might use to escape. There was none.

  That’s not possible. Unless…

  Unless he hadn’t been alone in the barn. Unless someone had already been in here waiting when he’d arrived. Miller’s heart thundered in his chest and his balls ached. He thought he might piss himself.

  Then he saw the silhouette in the door, taking up most of the space, staring straight at him. The shoulders of the figure lifted and lowered, rising and falling with heavy breaths. Behind it, rain drizzled down and lightning flashed.

  Then he did piss himself.

  “Who’s there?” he asked.

  He’d wanted to sound tough but his voice had betrayed him and his bark came out more like a wimpy whine followed by that insistent wheezing in his chest.

  The figure in the doorway backed up and pulled the door shut. It squeaked on its hinges and bounced twice as it slammed shut. The figure had left and he was alone in the barn.

  Thunder crashed outside.

  Relief flooded through his limbs like warm water. Then it occurred to him that someone knew he was there. Someone knew he’d visited the ranch and was taking something out of the barn. What if they told on him? Miller realized he didn’t care all that much. He’d gladly argue an accuser’s word if it meant leaving the ranch safely and with a box full of jewels.

  He made his way to the door, sliding his feet forward, one at a time. The urge to run was overwhelming but he couldn’t quite encourage his feet to join in on his mind’s desire. His feet were too afraid.

  So he moved cautiously forward, hoping to God the door wouldn’t open again. Maybe it had been some wanderer who’d been sleeping in the barn ever since the old lady’s death. Yeah, that was probably it.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Miller reached the barn door and stopped. He was scared. He was afraid he’d open the door to find someone outside waiting for him. Some THING waiting for him. No, why was he thinking like that?

  She danced naked into the corn, Miller. You shoulda seen it. The old lady cackled like a fuckin’ hyena or somethin’ and danced naked into the cornfield.

  Miller leaned forward and put his eye up to the slat between the boards in the wooden door. He needed to check outside before opening it. At least that way, he’d know whether or not something was on the other side.

  He strained to see out in the darkness.

  The gleam of the moonlight off the metal was quick, too quick for Miller to comprehend.

  The long, sharp points of the pitchfork rammed through the rotted wood and sank into his eyeballs. There, under the one spotlight, Charles Miller hung skewered from the old barn door.

  Chapter 1

  The sun was setting over Minnow Ranch and Dawn knew it was finally time to give up unpacking for the day and settle down to a glass of wine and a good book. She fished an Ethan Radcliff novella out of a box she’d been using as a temporary coffee table and curled up on the couch.

  With her finger wedged between two pages, right where a new sex scene was kicking off, she took one look around the living room and smiled.

  God, I love this place.

  As much as the circumstances that brought her home completely sucked, she couldn’t deny that a certain amount of inescapable happiness had settled in her heart. She was home. Not only was she at the family ranch, it was the first time she’d been back since her childhood—since the divorce. She didn’t remember much about those days.

  Only the screaming and the yelling and their father dragging them both out of that house, claiming their mother had lost it. They’d never returned. Their mother never came looking for them. Life simply went on. That was until her mom’s lawyer called to tell her she’d passed away and had left the old ranch to both Dawn and her sister, Daisy.

  Daisy would be coming in a few days to help her sort everything out. It wasn’t likely she’d stick around. She led a rambler’s life, moving from one place to another, kind of hippying it around as Dawn liked to call it. More than likely she’d try to convince Dawn they should sell the place, take the money, and run.

  Dawn wouldn’t let that happen. Times like these, when either of them needed a safe place in which to retreat, having a family home was more important than the money. Plus, this place had been in their family for generations.

  She looked around at the living room and laughed under her breath. Apparently, the décor hadn’t been changed since then. That was something she looked forward to. She was an HGTV addict and loved every show on the channel. She couldn’t wait to flip…well…EVERYTHING.

  Dawn glanced down at the book cover in her hand, then realized she should change clothes. She was no prude and being alone in a house with a sexy book was a recipe for a good self-love soup, and Mr. Radcliff knew how to get her motor running. Blue jeans wouldn’t work if things started to heat up.

  She hadn’t brought much with her. Since her own divorce, she’d abandoned most of the STUFF she’d collected, including the abusive man with whom she’d wasted so much time and energy. She’d packed two large suitcases with her belongings and had left everything else behind. Other than her two bags, the rest belonged to the house.

  As she made her way to the bedroom to change, she noticed how dark the house had grown with the setting sun. Not much light poured in through the windows and the staircase was bathed in shadows even at such an early hour.

  This was her first night in the house and she hadn’t considered what it might be like to be alone in the house in the dark. She’d never been afraid of much. She’d grown up watching horror movies and playing scary games and telling creepy tales. Her father had drank himself to sleep every night and it had been up to her sister and her to entertain themselves. They’d grown up two brave young women. Yet, alone in the corridor, she felt cold and afraid.

  Each step forward seemed to press a button on the old floor, setting off a loud squeak that made her lift her shoulders up as if someone had grabbed her neck. Chills shocked the base of her neck. She half considered running up the rest of the steps to her bedroom, the way she might as a young child, when wanting to reach the illuminated room and escape the darkness.

  Halfway up the stairs, she turned to look back down at the living room. From where she stood she could only see the front door and an old wooden rocking chair that sat to its right. She imagined the chair suddenly rocking and whining with each lean forward and back.

  It didn’t move. It was all in her head.

  But then it did move.

  It moved once, but that was all she needed to see. She bolted from her position and raced up the steps to her bedroom where she flipped on the light, flung the door closed, and locked it. There, safe in her sanctuary, she stood with her arms folded in front of her chest, staring at the bedroom door. Then, suddenly, she burst out in laughter.

  I’m such a wimp!

  Daisy would never cower like this. Her younger sister had balls of steel. Dawn didn’t even have a tattoo, where her sister was covered in them. Her arms, legs, even the back of her neck were inked. Secretly Dawn thought it was cool, but she’d never be able to bring herself to follow suit. She did get her nose pierced. Daisy’s convincing of course.

  She’d have to tell her sister about this embarrassing moment. They’d laugh like they used to. Without hesitating, Dawn walked swiftly to the door, jerked it open, and stuck her neck out into the hall. She peered down the stairs at the living room and saw the chair sitting perfectly still. Just as she’d thought. Her imagination was a bitch.

  With the fear tucked safely in the past, Dawn stripped off her jeans and kicked them over to the pile on the floor that was substituting as a laundry basket. Apparently mom didn’t own a washer and dryer. She loathed the thought of washing her clothes by hand.

  What was she, fucking Amish? I mean come on.

  She’d seen a clothesline out back earlier that day so she figured mom did things
the old fashioned way. Dawn supposed when living alone it couldn’t be that bad. She probably did no more than a load a week.

  Her T-shirt joined her jeans in the pile and there she stood, in her bra and panties, waltzing around an empty, dusty bedroom that seemed to have once served as a guest bedroom. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep in mom’s room. It seemed wrong, like she didn’t belong there.

  Mom.

  The thought of her spirit wandering the halls of the home gave her the chills. She didn’t know the woman well enough to know whether she’d be a peaceful, happy spirit or a malevolent, vengeful one. Would she be angry at Dawn and her sister for so willingly leaving with their father that night? Or did she understand? Maybe she didn’t care one way or the other.