An Original Folk Tale By
Jake Skully Jones
Once upon a timea village on an English countryside
feared an apparition with orange eyes
with a burlap face, and it’s not a mask
The villagers would warn to stay inside
“Turn back while you can,” they would advise
Every autumn, he comes out at night
The people of Crowswell named him Haystack Jack
Around the time of harvest, silence always fell
His name, they wouldn’t utter, think, or tell
They were wise to pretend that all was well
should they want their lives to remain intact
But fear was rampant throughout the land
After years of terror, a meeting was planned
They declared it was time to take a stand
However, one man merely smiled and sat
If only they knew
the sordid truth
behind their village and the harvest moon
He was present at the meeting; his concern was just an act
You see, it was his particular farm and field
which lay a secret he would never reveal
Was it blessed? Was it evil?
Was it his scarecrow? No, it couldn’t be that
Almost no one asked why his farm was better than most
Those who had an answer, didn’t come close
Indeed, it was the figure in his field on the wooden post
His scarecrow, to be exact
Many times he had contemplated
just how much he’d be hated
if revealed, that he created
the terror made of straw and rags
It wasn’t in bad spirit
That he kept this dark secret
If the truth be told, if anyone were to hear it
It would surely evoke the villagers’ wrath
They never knew what happened that fateful night
Since then, it’s been debated many times
Magic? Spirits? Were the planets aligned?
Men of religion and science remain aghast
That night, something was born by ways of a curse
when his straw-filled man was placed on unholy earth
The scarecrow or the spirit? Which came first?
Are they one and the same or just a perfect match?
All theories aside
a scarecrow came to life
in the harvest moonlight
When sun meets horizon, he turns back
The farmer didn’t choose to live this lie
So many times that he had tried
to prevent what went on during harvest nights
He’s tried all manners of restraints and straps
He couldn’t destroy the menace, he would never win
It’s not the body, he knew, it’s the spirit within
He knew that it would go after him
He knew better than to make his scarecrow mad
The meeting began
One woman raised her hand
“I say we need to stop this man,
this so-called ‘Haystack Jack’”
“He is no man,” another cried
“Every harvest, my crops, they die
Those nights I see those orange eyes
when the moon is out and the sky is black”
“He’s a demon!” “He has no face!”
“He’s the devil himself!” “Is no one safe?”
“Last year, my cattle vanished without a trace
and every fencepost was broken in half”
“We’re all going to die,” one man exclaimed
“Last harvest, he left a message in my field of grain
He vowed that he’d be back again
As of tonight, one year has passed”
All of a sudden
A stranger came in running
He collapsed and looked behind him, alas, there was nothing
The villagers erupted in whispers and gasps
As people rushed to his side
Clutching his chest, the man was petrified
Screaming over and over, “Those orange eyes!”
The man was scared to death, they knew who was back
The villagers began to conspire
Torches were lit afire
fueled by anger and desire
They wanted the head of Haystack Jack
They demanded revenge
Some had families to defend
Up in arms, prepared to fight and then-
They heard something laugh
They looked in awe
Pitchforks in withdraw
Who do you think they saw?
Confronted with their terror at last
Illuminated by their torches light
The living scarecrow that haunted the night
They had him cornered, but something wasn’t right
Despite the angered mob, he appeared relaxed
He began to speak
He said, “Yes, I am he,
the one who visits annually,
My, these years have gone by so very fast”
“You’ve heard all the stories
You come for vengeance and glory
Yet, you stand still before me?
Are you men or is it courage you lack?”
“Now everyone knows
It’s my job to scare crows
But they just wouldn’t go
I started talking to them,” said Haystack Jack
“I said, ‘you’re called omens, monsters, and a precursor to plagues
The villagers tell you to ‘shoo’ and ‘go away’
In order to survive, you endure this day after day
A life of interrupted meals and scraps’
“I said ‘Let’s make a deal,
For you shouldn’t have to steal
I promise you a feast, not a meal
I’m a scarecrow of my word, and that’s a fact’”
You see, the crows’ eyes were transfixed, they were listening to me
They could comprehend my rhetorical treaty
They nodded in a black ocean of feathers and beaks
They obliged that night and we made our pact
“We had come to understand
we would both get revenge on man
The crows shall receive their feast under my command”
As he smiled, he said, “Attack”
The villagers looked in the sky
and saw that darkness could fly
A mass of crows, perhaps miles high
The harvest moon was clouded black
The villagers looked upon his feathered forces
Their eyes were black and remorseless
They were waiting for the command and the sight of torches
The villagers realized that it was all a trap
The morning after, the air was still
Haystack Jack’s promise had been fulfilled
Despite the many that were killed,
one fortunate farmer was without a scratch
At the break of dawn
Haystack Jack was gone
Awakening villagers looked upon
the burnt-out torches, the only remnants of the failed clash
It was a good harvest that year
What transpired the night before wasn’t quite clear
Those who attended the meeting had disappeared
Their crops were untouched, yet the crows were fat
Some still reside in Crowswell to this very day
despite the others unfortunate fate
They never come out in the light of day
For it’s the harvest moon and Haystack Jack
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