These Ol' Bones or, The Lament of Ichabod Hewitt
"In the fields where dark things creep,
Stands a figure, still to reap,
Ichabod Hewitt, straw and bone,
Guarding secrets, all alone."
The labourers move ever, ever on. To the next job, and the next, and the next. It seems like having more skills, albethey physical ones lead to more work, but always less pay and new dangers. That's what befell the lumber camp a few mile stones outside of Cambria. A new danger.
There were always guards around these places, the land owners and the Foreman always found some local hunter or a band of mercenaries ready to take low pay for clearing out a few greenskins or shambling horrors from the unconsecrated graves. But they weren't the town guards.. They weren't always there when you needed them.. And being miles apart in small, isolated camps made the workers sleep with their axes.
The boy was new to camp, no one even really knew his name, or bothered to learn. Names were things that got passed around as often as the alcohol or ladies that frequented the labour camps looking to ply their trade for coin. You remembered nicknames more often than not, so most just called him "The Boy"... To them, it seemed fitting.
"Crows don't dare to caw or cry,
In his fields, they know they die.
With hollow eyes of glassy grey,
He sees the lost, the ones that stray. "
Things were not going well in the lumber camps. The quotas were being met, at first.. But the more they pushed into the forest the more people seem to disappear. No one was really concerned, this happened all the time with cheap labourers.. Often they got injured and left to the local healer's camp.. Or they just happened to learn of a better offer nearby.
With every hand that was taken away from the axe and saw, the more the Foreman pushed them forward into the forest. They had to get those bigger trees, the older trees.. The more expensive trees.. But that wasn't a problem, new people would be hired to help, sooner or later..
The boy was diligent in his work, wanting to make a good first impression on his first job. Not that anyone would have really cared. People have dropped out of jobs like this many times in the past, and probably many times in the future. It was a shame really, with all the pushing and delving deeper into the dark forests, the closer he got to understanding something that would lead to his death.
"Oh, Ichabod, in the moon’s pale light,
Guarding the corn through the endless night,
With a heart that’s silent, and a smile like sin,
Whisper your secrets, let the harvest begin."
It was his turn to scout ahead, what was it someone once said? The prize for good work is more work. Well that's what the boy got. We thought it would be alright, though many of the older lumberjacks were starting to mumble. The hunters should have cleared anything dangerous out of the woods.. But more and more people had started to go missing. It was starting to get more noticeable, and more disconcerting...
The boy pushed through cops after cops of trees, the forest getting denser as he got in.. He probably thought this was a good thing. Denser forests means more trees to cut, well at least he wasn't cutting them, giving his arms a rest..
A few more yards of trees past and the Boy unexpectedly exited the treeline. Out of the forest and into.. a Farmstead.. The Boy was confused, this wasn't on any of the maps but as he looked around, it was certainly there.. Though from the desolate look of the homestead and the tall wheat straw growing in the fields it seemed to have been abandoned..
"In the rustle of leaves, you can hear his name,
A warning to those who would play his game,
For the scarecrow knows of the darkness within,
As the moon rises high, the harvest begins."
The Boy moved closer to the farmhouse, his sure footsteps slowly turning into cautious creeping treads. He looked up and suddenly noticed that the sky had turned black, the Boy had thought the darkness came from the trees blocking out the sun.. But now the sky had turned to night with a full and bright moon, the only illumination.
A few steps closer and the Boy heard a voice call out, crackly and dry. He looked around expecting an older man, maybe the owner of this desolate farmstead.. Instead he found no one, only the corn blowing around an old scarecrow. He felt his heat beating faster and faster as he heard the voice again "Come.. sit with me for a while boy..".
The Boy frantically looked around, trying to find a face, a friendly face he hoped that he could put to that voice. Everywhere he turned there was nothing, nothing but the old scarecrow with a blackbird on his shoulder. The Boy's lungs started to burn from the short sharp breaths his panic had forced him to.. Until he heard the voice again "Sit with me a while boy... There are secrets here you do not want to find"..
"So tread lightly, child, where the shadows play,
For Ichabod Hewitt holds the night at bay,
In the stillness he waits, with a watchful gaze,
A guardian of secrets in the autumn haze. "
He turned on his heel then, looking up at the face of the scarecrow.. The Boy thought the sound couldn't be coming from him.. No.. that's not. Possible.. The scarecrow looked down on the Boy, his seemingly unmoving expression gave way to a smile, the corners of his sack faced mouth turning upwards in a rictus grin..
The Boy turned towards the treeline and started to run, his footfalls stamping down the sheaths of corn that his hands parted in front of him. He was getting lost now, lost in the fields of wheat but he hoped upon hope that he was heading back towards the treeline.. Sweat mixed with the dirt and strands of wheat, smearing his face..
He raised an arm up, trying to wipe the sweat and dirt from his eyes.. It might have been his brief blindness, or the tight fields of wheat obscuring them.. But the Boy ran into something hard, tripping and falling forward he put out both hands to break his fall.. But instead his crown broke upon the edge of a tombstone, hidden in the corn. His vision was wavering, blood ran from his head into the earth and he felt his consciousness leaving up as he looked up at the stone which read "Here Lies Ichabod Hewitt And Family.. Taken From Us Too Soon.."
"Oh, Ichabod, in the moon’s pale light,
Guarding the wheat through the endless night,
With a heart that’s silent, and a smile like sin,
Whisper your secrets, let the harvest begin."
