I hate scarecrows, I have ever since I was little. I found something about the dolls stuffed with straw to be unsettling. I remember my parents tried to help me get over this fear by telling me things like "they're not scary, they only want to be friends" or some other lame line to get me to lighten up. When I got older, my fears started to fade. Scarecrows still weren't my favorite things in the world, but they weren't the nightmare fuel they used to be. This all changed, after the events that took place last Halloween.
It was almost the weekend before Halloween and my friends were planning on hosting a party at one of their apartments.
"You should come, Jo," My friend Dennis said one morning before classes "exams will be taking over our lives soon, so might as well have a little fun." I tapped my fingers on the side of my to-go cup before taking a sip of my latte.
"You're acting like nobody has parties during exams." I retorted "I'm sure I won't be missing much." I was never r