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Sacecrow - WiP

You find a magical scarecrow - true love's kiss will turn it back into a prince.

The scarecrow was missing its head.

The summer sun was beginning to melt into the horizon. Moira adjusted her gaze, the spindly figure casting a shadow across her eyes. The lack of a head wasn’t the only oddity in regards to the scarecrow. It seemed to be... standing on water.

Moira’s gaze darted around the pond, searching for an explanation. This must be some kind of joke. Or perhaps a new art installation. Nobody else in the park seemed to be as captivated by the sight as she was.

The last of the sunlight glistened on the glass skyscrapers beyond the trees. Two ducks conversed as they sailed by the scarecrow.

Moira walked through the park every evening on her way home. She was certain that there had not been a scarecrow standing... on the pond just yesterday. She sat a nearby bench, too charmed to leave the scarecrow. After further inspection, she could see that the scarecrow was not actually standing on water but rather, a lily pad. This was still odd, as the lily pad should not be able to support the scarecrow. Yet, there he was. At least, she was pretty sure it was a he.

The scarecrow wore an ill-fitting suit, though, Moira wasn’t sure what kind of suit might actually fit a scarecrow. The material looked fairly worn but even from the bench, she could tell that the tie was pure silk.

The light finally smouldered out. There was just enough of a glow for something orange to catch Moira’s eye. It bobbed gently amongst the flora at the water’s edge. A pumpkin. Moira moved to get a better look at it. There seemed to be something carved into it. A jack’o lantern, perhaps? It was a face but there were other symbols carved in a ring along the top and bottom of the pumpkin.

Runes.

Moira was surprised. She knew there were other witches in New York but she had yet to run into one. It was also quite foolish to leave one’s magic simply lying around. For witches, magic is like a social insurance number. Completely unique. Very valuable to someone who knew what they were looking for. Easily stolen if the right thief were involved.

Moira looked at the scarecrow again.

“Whoever did that to you must have been very willing to deal with any consequences.” She stooped down and gingerly retrieved the pumpkin from the water.

“Looks like you are stuck there until you get your head back,” she muttered, turning the pumpkin over in her hands as she read the runes. While the jack o lanterns face was quite basic, Moira noted that the two front teeth had been exaggerated. They were comically large compared to the rest of the carving. She flopped back down on the bench, her fingers running over the runes.

Runes could be like computer programming. Even though two programmers are technically using the same programming language, it can sometimes be incredibly difficult for one to understand the work of another. Moira was faced with such a conundrum now. She could understand the gist of the spell, but not the full intention of the caster. In addition, there seemed to be more than one spell in use. They were woven together tightly.

It was good work, someone had put a lot of time into “programming” this spell. The caster even accounted for the head being accidentally removed, in which case, the scarecrow would freeze. That explained the illusion of “standing” on a lily pad. Still, it was a strange place for a scarecrow to be.

She looked at the headless figure on the pond, back at the jack’o lantern and back again at scarecrows body. Moira let out a huff. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She scanned the area to see if anyone was paying any close attention to her or the scarecrow. The coast was clear but she would have to be quick.

“Ylf,” she commanded the pumpkin, her voice taking on an eerie echo. It began to slowly float out of her hands.

“Revoh.”

The pumpkin maintained it’s height, bobbing in the air as it had been in the pond.

Moira pointed at the headless scarecrow on the lily pad.

“Nruter.”

The pumpkin zipped to the scarecrow, snapping into place in the middle of the shoulders. No longer suspended, the scarecrow’s pole dropped into the pond. It began to fall over, but Moira had been expecting this.

“Ereh emoc.”

The scarecrow levitated a few feet in the air and hovered over to Moira. She watched her surroundings carefully for any onlookers. Nobody seemed any the wiser. And really, this was New York. This couldn’t possibly have been the strangest thing these people had seen today.

Once the scarecrow was in front of her, she inspected it a little more closely.

“That’s quite an expensive looking watch,” she motioned to the timepiece hanging off of the branch that would have been the left arm.

The scarecrow began to... hop of it’s own accord. Moira couldn’t quite make out if this was out of fear or excitement. She walked back to the bench and flopped down, chin in hand, examining the scarecrow.

“It says there,” she motioned to the runes on the pumpkin head, “that if you receive a kiss, the spell on you would be broken.”

The scarecrow’s hopping became erratic. It bounced around in what Moira decided was delight. She narrowed her eyes at him and spoke sternly.

“Listen here, stop drawing attention to yourself! I can simply walk away from this but you’ll be put straight into a wood chipper if you unnerve enough tourists.”

The scarecrow stopped bouncing but Moira could tell he was vibrating with excitement. She began to feel a little sorry for him, truth be told.

Moira let out a sigh. Her curiosity was definitely getting the better of her. It had been ages since she’d seen a spell of this caliber and the mystery was too much for her. She could go home and try to forget about this but it would only keep her awake at night. On the other hand, if she broke the spell on the scarecrow, she might have a lead on another witch in the city. Moira had moved to New York 6 months ago and was finding it extremely difficult to locate any other witches. Much more difficult than she had anticipated. She thought a larger city might allow her more opportunities to practice magic in a coven, or to learn something new. Or just to make a new friend. It seemed the witches in big cities were more guarded and cautious.

Until now.

Moira had been staring off into space and had not noticed that the scarecrow had hopped up next to her. She blinked in surprise.

“You’re eager to have that spell broken,” she muttered, still weighing the pros and cons inside her head. The caster would know that the spell had been broken and Moira didn’t want to make any bad first impressions when she finally did meet another witch. However, it wasn’t unlikely that the scarecrow was a witch. Considering it was harmless “prank” kind of spell, she may have just stumbled into a disagreement between friends.

Moira scrunched up her face and looked at the scarecrow. The jack o lantern grinned back at her. She noticed a candle inside.

“Erif.”

The a flame now danced within the jack o lantern’s face, making him much more charming.

“Eh, fudge it.”

She stood up on her tiptoes and planted a quick kiss on one of the exaggerated front teeth.

The smell of cinnamon and orange trees filled the air as the spell dispersed.

It was quickly replaced by a very sharp cologne that made Moira’s eyes water.

“Took you long enough,” came a voice spoilt by a silver spoon.

Eric Trump stood before Moira. He looked down his nose at her and Moira could tell that he trying to decide what to do next.

“Most people would say ‘thank you’,” she sputtered back at him.

He was taken aback by this. He opened his mouth to say something more, thought better of it, and closed it again. There was a pause.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” His tone was still off for someone who had been quite helpless not a minute ago.

Moira crossed her arms. She was no fan of the Trump family on all levels. She understood completely why Eric Trump had been turned into a scarecrow and nearly regretted her decision to undo the spell. Nearly. If it got her closer to other witches in New York then maybe it would be worth it. A panicked thought entered her mind just then.

“Isn’t your father looking for you? There hasn’t been anything in the news about you being missing.”

“Are you stupid,” Eric scoffed.

Moira was about to ask more questions about who had cast the spell when the scent of cinnamon and orange groves returned. She felt the hair on her neck rise. Eric’s face whitened. He tried to take off but Moira was to quick for him.

“Llits eb.”

He froze, mid sprint. The only thing that could move were his eyes, which were widened in terror.

“Thank you,” came a melodic voice from behind her. Moira turned. A beautiful woman with dark skin and adorned in gold jewelry smirked back at her. She wore a smart blue velvet suit which Moira liked very much.

The woman raised a brow at Moira. “I’m surprised someone kissed this wretch less than 24 hours after I cast the spell. It’s a shame, I’ll have to start over again.”

The woman sauntered over to Trump and tsked.

Moira blinked, trying to think of how she might be able to make a connection and earn the other witch’s trust.

“It was the only way I thought I might find another witch in New York,” Moira said.

The golden witch turned her attention to Moira. “Ahh that explains things. You just got lucky then, didn’t you Eric?” She pinched his cheek.

“My name is Ahiam,” she said to Moira with a subtle bow of the head.

“Moira.”

“What do you propose we do with Eric, Moira?”

“What’s the end-goal?”

Ahiam laughed. It was full, from her belly. Moira liked her.

“Mischief,” Ahiam replied with a grin, “just good old-fashioned mischief.”

“We could turn him into a frog but then he might be eaten.”

“That would BE tragic.”

“Quite.” Moira thought for a moment. “I’ve got it.”

* * * *

Luz Gonzales had been cleaning up after the Trump family for 30 years. As such, it wasn’t too surprising to her when she dreamed she WAS Eric Trump. She’d had dreams like this before, ordering shrimp cocktail after shrimp cocktail as she lay by the pool.

This time was different.

She could TASTE the shrimp in this dream. She could feel the sun on her skin. Her back pain was gone and she was much taller. There was also the fact that this dream was now on day three.

Luz was fairly sure that she really WAS Eric Trump. She had woken up in his usual room three days ago with a note saying she should enjoy her 2 week vacation. The air had smelled delicious. Like oranges and rain.