Michael stepped into the small pocket of stagnant air in the crossroads, carefully placing his feet dead center. Waiting for the sun to rise, and a demon to visit.
A voice came from the diagonal corner, where a scarecrow casually perched.
“You sure about this?”
The sound of screeching birds started low, in ominous vibrations.
“I know what I’m doing.”
The scarecrow nodded. “You seem to be a decisive fellow.”
They watched as the horizon took on a bruised, purple boil, coursing in their direction.
Sweat trickled down Michael’s neck.
“What happens next isn’t pretty.”
Michael bolted just as the first dark feathers were meters away, clutching at straw arms.
As the sky turned to talons and claws, the scarecrow whispered, “boo.”
Instantly, the mass of roiling feathers dissolved into morning light and silence.
Shakily, Michael opened his eyes. “I thought you just did crows.”
“Demons are easier.”