Chapter One
To the scant few who knew it existed, Mercer County, Iowa was known for its corn and annual fair. However, when Wilbur Ferris was murdered, the town's reputation got hijacked. It was not just the rarity of the event that attracted attention. It was the savage brutality with which the crime was conducted. The poor man, who was a pillar of the community, was stabbed no less than seventy-five times according to final autopsy reports. Add to that the fact that his mangled body was found hanging from a tree, and his head was barely attached to his mutilated frame, it was a wonder how he could hang there without his battered corpse becoming decapitated.
If such a heinous crime had been conducted in the old South, cries of a lynching would have been raised up. Wilbur Ferris was far from the typical poor, black man that was so commonly executed. He was of Anglo Saxon descent. Certainly, he had no hereditary mixtures of anything scandalous to prevent him from claiming blue blood status. He was a member in good standing of the Second Baptist Church Ferris Avenue after some distant relative.
The question for the community, and indeed the country at large, was why. Why did anyone not only murder poor Wilbur Ferris, but with such brutality? The local police, in association of the Iowa state police, conducted a thorough investigation. Hordes of people were interrogated. After several weeks, when the circus like atmosphere had dissipated, there came out an official conclusion; the authorities determined that Wilbur Ferris had been killed by some stranger who had passed through the community.
Some of the facts were consistent with the official conclusion of the matter. There had been a mysterious individual who could be labeled as a transient who was present in Mercer County
Anne McFry knew most of the intimate secrets. The dark details haunted her mind as she boarded the Greyhound Bus with a one-way ticket to New York City in her trembling hand. Conveniently, her leaving was a scheduled trip planned months in advance, and so it would not have gathered any suspicion from any watchful eyes. That is, if the law was even interested in her. After all, they had no good reason to. The young lady would be pursuing her dreams of becoming a professional singer. Like thousands of other aspiring stars, she was making her pilgrimage to the Mecca of show business. Anne was determined not only to never return but not to even take a look back. She rejected Lot 's wife syndrome.
The young lady mechanically clutched her purse knowing that if the police knew its contents, she could be charged with murder. Truth of the matter was that she was in that intangible gray area. It could one day become a reality that she would be charged for murder in this heinous crime. If she had a good lawyer, she wouldn't go to jail. But being a relatively poor person and thus having to rely on a public defender, most likely the outcome of any trial would be to find her guilty. Such a prospect only urged her to flee her home all the more.
Anne looked all around in a fit of paranoia. Then with confidence, she relaxed using the techniques she learned from her musical experience. The singer imagined she was going on stage and focused. Using controlled breathing, she exorcised her anxiety. Many of her fellow passengers felt agitated with the thoughts of taking the trip to New York City . Consternation was inflicting the faces of many boarding the bus. Why should she fear arrest anyway? A fair number of the police knew the exact details of that dreadful night when Wilbur Ferris had his life snuffed out. They were as guilty as she. How many there were involved exactly Anne had no way of determining. It could be the whole damn police force for that matter. Anne was certainly an integral part of the secret society that had done the gruesome act. It was a group dominated by mystery. As a safety precaution, members held their anonymity. When meetings were conducted, members masked their faces and disguised their voices. They also went by aliases to hide their true identities. For them, secrecy was the norm.
The young lady sat back in her seat and did the best she could to relax. Looking out of the dirty window of the bus, she saw her parents standing. Her Momma had broken down in tears this morning, as her baby was leaving her. Both her parents were adamant against her making this trip. She was being foolish to do such a thing was their declaration. But Anne was of age, and the reality was that she would make her journey with or without their blessing. So instead of dealing with the shame and embarrassment of their precious daughter sneaking out in the middle of the night, the unhappy parents gave her a proper send off.
So consumed in her meditations, she failed to notice a stranger sliding into the empty seat on the aisle next to her.
"Is this your first time to New Yawk City
Scarecrow, Scarecrow
Anne McFry Series Book 1
by John Kaniecki
Genre: Horror
The Scarecrow lurks in the shadows of a young girl’s frightened mind. Everywhere Anne McFry looks, she sees the face of a twisted demon that haunts her past. Escaping from the horror ridden town and going to the big city, Anne thinks she is safe from the Scarecrow. That is until it starts popping up everywhere she looks. Befriending a young man against her better judgement, she experiences a demented ride of torture as the past she is running from catches up to her. The Scarecrow is coming to collect dues, and the only payment Anne has is her soul.
About the Author
John Kaniecki was born in Brooklyn, New York. Though having no memories of life there, John is proud to be called a Native New Yorker. John was raised in Pequanock Township, New Jersey. At age twenty John was baptized and became a member of the Church of Christ. Presently John resides in Montclair, NJ and lives with his wife of over twelve years Sylvia. The happy couple attend the Church of Christ at Chancellor Avenue in Newark, NJ. John is very active in outreach and teaching as part of the leadership of the congregation.
Author Links
Website: https://johnkaniecki.weebly.com/
Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/John-Kaniecki-124897821477801/
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In the distance raged the tall red candles lit with dancing fire. The flickering of the flames produced surreal shadows as if demons were dancing upon the walls. In the background, quite a distance away, stood the members of the coven. They were chanting their unholy praise to the dark lord whom they served. Exactly what was transpiring Anne was uncertain. For some unknown reason, she had misunderstood the time of the meeting and arrived a full hour later than the correct starting time.
Anne, of course at the time, had no idea who was in that brown robe at this point. The individual wore a plain mask. It was one of a white face with thick black circles around the eyes. The mouth consisted of protruding fangs. It was another anonymous member. Anne knew the identity of a good number of the group. Of course, the oath for secrecy was the most fundamental vow that the organization maintained. The obvious reason was that betrayal in this aspect would bring rapid demise to one's existence in the normal world. So as a precaution, all the members wore masks to conceal their identities. All were instructed that if they were ever to testify in court, they would swear that they knew no one's true name.
As soon as Anne arrived, the action began. "Black Master Grand," called out the one who went by the name of Dragon Sword. "We have gathered here today to discuss your actions."
When the words were uttered, the reaction of the brown robed figure was swift. He looked upwards like a dog who heard a whistle disturbing its ears in agony.
The high priest continued, "It has been declared that you willfully and flagrantly disobeyed a direct command of the Grand Priest."
Anne shuddered herself when she heard the accusation. For a moment, she felt great sympathy for the accused. If he was found guilty, the penalty would be most severe. Though far from an expert in the by laws and regulations of the coven, Anne could not imagine that there would be any penalty less than death for the offense.
"How plead ye?" demanded Dragon Sword.
"I am innocent, of course," cried out the muffled voice of Black Master Grand. "I demand to face my accusers. Where are those who lie upon me?"
Dragon Sword looked over at Dark Bear, and the two met in a prolonged stare. It was as if they were somehow communicating in a non-verbal way. Anne could not comprehend how that could be, especially since both of the men were wearing masks that concealed all facial movements. After several seconds, Dragon Sword spoke in a roaring voice, "It has been determined that you are guilty of this crime."
Black Master Grand stabbed back as if he was a boxer reeling from a hard jab. Dark Bear, who was a larger individual, went forward and reached out his massive hand grabbing Black Master Grand's robe. He then jerked the man backward and pushed him to the ground. At the same time, Dragon Sword pulled out a long dagger approximately nine-inches long that was hidden under his tunic.
Upon the ground, Black Master Grand gave a shrill cry as if he was a woman giving child birth. The victim's right hand was on the ground propping up his body while he raised his left in defense. Dragon Sword advanced with the silver blade in his hand, eerily flickering in the candles' illumination. It appeared as if the weapon pulsated with electric energy. With a savage swiftness, the occultist plunged the dagger down striking the arm of the target. The cloth shred away, and soon blood was pouring out. It saturated the arm. Black Master Grand wailed in agony at the top of his lung. All the while the sickly sounding choir chanting its evil melody in the distance perked up.
Anne raised her hand to her mouth in disbelief. Several more brutal slashes descended. Still, the poor wretch somehow kept his bloodied hand raised in protection. "Please, please, please," he cried pathetically. Dark Bear advanced and savagely kicked the violator. Black Master Grand wailed once more in pain. Dragon Sword lurched forward and slashed repeatedly back and forth. The poor man's robe was shredded to pieces. Apparently, so was his skin, for blood oozed out wherever he was cut. Then, in frenzy, the high priest stabbed over and over and over. The young lady lost count of the times he thrust down his weapon. In surreal voices, the devil worshipping praise filled the air competing with the yelps of pain. Finally, Black Master Grand ceased to resist. Still, as if insatiable for blood and violence, the attack continued. Finally, the creature was no more than a mutilated sack of bones and flesh.
In the process of the devastation, the mask fell off. Anne was appalled to learn the identity of the man once known as Black Master Grand. The gray hair and long nose was unmistakable. It was none other than Wilbur Ferris. The killer turned towards Anne and barked out in a commanding voice, "Help me with this body."
Anne hesitated, daring not to take a single step forward.
"I said Day Night, help me with this body," he insisted one more. This time the decree was formal as Anne's secret name was evoked. It was a direct command, and what happened to those who disobey had been so clearly illustrated but a moment ago.
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