The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight by R. L. Stine Read Free Book Online Page A

set the milk carton down beside my bowl. She smiled at me. Her eyes remained dull behind her square-rimmed glasses. “I hope you two are enjoying your visit,” she said quietly.
    “We would be if it weren’t for Sticks,” I blurted out.
    Her expression turned to surprise. “Sticks?”
    “He’s trying to scare us again,” I said.
    Grandma Miriam tsk-tsked. “You know Sticks,” she replied softly.
    She pushed at her red hair with both hands. “What are you two planning for today?” she asked brightly. “It’s a beautiful morning to go riding. Before they left this morning, Grandpa Kurt had Stanley saddle up Betsy and Maggie, in case you wanted to ride.”
    “Sounds like fun,” I told her. “What do you say, Mark? Before it gets really hot out?”
    “I guess,” Mark replied.
    “You two always enjoyed riding along the creek,” Grandma Miriam said, putting the cornflakes box away.
    I stared across the room at her, stared at her red curly hair, her pudgy arms, her flowered housedress.
    “Are you okay, Grandma Miriam?” I asked. The words just tumbled out of my mouth. “Is everything okay here?”
    She didn’t reply. Instead, she lowered her eyes, avoiding my gaze. “Go have your ride,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry about me.”
    Grandpa Kurt always called Betsy and Maggie “the old gray mares.” I guess because they were both old and they were both gray. And they were as grumpy as can be when Mark and I climbed onto their saddles and started to urge them from the barn.
    They were the perfect horses for us “city kids.” The only time we ever got to ride horses was during our summers at the farm. So we were not exactly the most skillful riders in the world.
    Bumping along on these two old nags was just our speed. And even as slow as we were moving, I dug my knees into Betsy’s sides and held on to the saddle horn for dear life.
    We followed the dirt path past the cornfields toward the woods. The sun was still climbing a hazy yellow sky. But the air was already hot and sticky.
    Flies buzzed around me as I bounced on top of Betsy. I removed one hand from the saddle horn to brush a big one off Betsy’s back.
    Several scarecrows stared back at us as Mark and I rode past. Their black eyes glared at us from under their floppy hats.
    Mark and I didn’t say a word. We were keeping to our promise of not talking about scarecrows.
    I turned my eyes to the woods and tossed the reins, urging Betsy to move a little faster. She ignored me, of course, and kept clopping along over the path at her slow, steady pace.
    “I wonder if these horses can still get up to a trot,” Mark called. He was a few paces behind me on the narrow dirt path.
    “Let’s give it a try!” I called back, grabbing the reins tighter.
    I dug my sneaker heels into Betsy’s side. “Go girl — go!” I cried, slapping her gently with the reins.
    “Whoooa!” I let out a startled cry as the old horse obediently began to trot. I really didn’t think she would cooperate!
    “All
right!
Cool!” I heard Mark shout behind me.
    Their hooves clopped loudly on the path as thetwo horses began to pick up speed. I was bouncing hard over the saddle, holding on tightly, off-balance, beginning to wonder if this was such a hot idea.
    I didn’t have a chance to cry out when the dark figure hurtled across the path. It all happened so fast.
    Betsy was trotting rapidly. I was bouncing on the saddle, bouncing so hard, my feet slipped out of the stirrups.
    The dark figure leaped out right in front of us.
    Betsy let out a shrill, startled whinny — and reared back.
    As I started to fall, I saw immediately what had jumped onto the path.
    It was a grinning scarecrow.

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    Betsy rose up with a high whinny.
    My hand grabbed for the reins, but they slipped from my grasp.
    The sky appeared to roll over me, then tilt away.
    I slid backwards out of the saddle, off the horse, my feet thrashing wildly for the flapping stirrups.
    The sky tilted even more.
    I hit