Connie cursed her own foolishness as she plodded through the barley field. She had hoped this would be a shortcut - she’d been making her way home from town after going shopping with some friends, and on this humid summer’s day, with sweat sticking her shirt to her skin and a heavy bag of clothes swinging from one arm, she’d been keen to get home as soon as possible.

Rather than take the known route along the roadside, which took a while, Connie had decided to cut across the barley field, thinking it’d be quicker. But she’d clearly underestimated how long and how wide the field actually was. It stretched so far, she could barely see the opposite edge. If she’d known how long this would take she would have stuck to the normal route, but it’d taken her too long to realise her mistake, and by now it was pointless to turn back. Glancing behind her, she couldn’t even see the road any more. Rows of barley stretched around her for what seemed like miles in every direction.

She let out a yelp as a crow flew close by her, but it ignored her, clearly far more interested in the crops surrounding her. Connie let out a shudder as she resumed her pace. It wasn’t as if she was afraid of birds, but there were a lot of crows in this field. She felt like they were going to attack her en masse at any moment.

Just as she was wondering why whoever owned the field hadn’t bothered to erect a scarecrow, her eyes fell upon a long wooden pole sticking up from the ground not far ahead of her. It was well over six feet tall, dwarfing the five-foot-two Connie. Another pole was tied to it near the top, held in place horizontally to make a cross shape. A smaller pole was affixed near the bottom of the main shaft, also horizontally.

Clearly, this had been set up for a scarecrow. Someone must have got these sturdy wooden staffs together, tied them in place with durable ropes, but then been unable to gather sufficient material for an actual decoy humanoid and simply abandoned the project.

As Connie got closer, the air around the poles seemed to shimmer and distort a little, like a heat haze. That wouldn’t surprise her on this hot afternoon. Unfazed, she stepped into the distortion, and immediately felt a wave of dizziness, her vision blurring. Stumbling a little and shaking her head, she blinked hard to dispel the haze.

Recovering slightly, she straightened up and looked ahead of her. The edge of the field was visible, but only just. It was so distant. It could take her ages to reach it. She was suddenly aware of how tired she was, and how much her feet ached - not to mention her left arm, carrying its heavy bag of newly-purchased garments. A huge yawn suddenly forced its way out of her, and she closed her eyes tightly and opened her mouth wide to let it out.

She wondered if she should rest for a moment, and as soon as that idea crossed her mind, it stuck there, impossible to ignore. She was so exhausted. She’d walked so far. If she just rested for a minute or two, she’d recover enough to continue her journey. But where? She looked around, searching the field for a convenient place to rest.

As another yawn overtook her, her sleepy eyes fell upon the empty scarecrow’s pole, and lit up. Perfect!

Carelessly dropping her shopping bag on the ground, she took a couple of steps forward and clambered up, using the short lower beam to support her feet. She wrapped her arms around the higher horizontal pole and grasped the ends loosely, holding herself in place with minimal effort, her head and back resting against the vertical pole. Wriggling a little, she soon got comfortable, letting out a sigh of relief that was almost a moan.

It didn’t occur to Connie what a bizarre choice this was, to rest her weary body by climbing onto a wooden apparatus upright in a barley field. It didn’t seem strange to her that she felt so comfortable resting against the hard wooden beams, or how easy it was for her to hang from them despite the unnatural position, her profound exhaustion, and her hands’ relaxed grip. It didn’t trouble her that her body was stilling, her movement decreasing, her eyes blinking less and less as she stared out at the endless stretch of barley in front of her.

All she could think about was how tired she was, how nice it felt to rest here, and how pretty the field of crops looked. As she gazed out at it - her head lolling slightly to the right, her mouth curled into a lazy, contented smirk, heedless of the strands of her bright red hair falling in front of her eyes - her blinking decreased more and more by the second, until it stopped altogether, leaving her staring glassily into space. Her breathing, too, slowed to a stop. But her heart continued to beat in her chest, and her eyes didn’t grow dry or tear up.

Time moved on without Connie. The sun began to sink behind the trees, its bright light dimming and turning the pale blue sky to shades of red and orange. Her hooded, staring eyes watched the beautiful sunset vacantly, dreamily, all her thoughts having long since drifted away.

Eventually, someone approached her. She couldn’t see them - whoever it was stayed out of her line of sight - but she wasn’t even aware of them anyway. Though her ears heard their footsteps, her mind was too empty to register the sounds. The same went for the newcomer’s speech.

“My, my, you are a pretty thing,” said a low, husky, feminine voice. “I thought someone had come across my little trap when I saw all the birds had cleared out. So glad that hex finally worked - it’s been a long wait! Hardly anyone ever crosses through my field...”

A hand ran through Connie’s hair, and then fingertips brushed against her freckled cheek. Frozen as she was, she made not a twitch in response.

“Such a pretty scarecrow,” the owner of the hand purred, their touch moving down over Connie’s chest. “Oh, I like these,” they giggled, groping her ample boobs through her plaid shirt. “Very nice decorations! My word, you are almost perfect...”

After reaching down and fondling Connie’s butt through her jeans, the newcomer stepped back to admire their scarecrow. “But there’s just one thing missing,” they mused. A second later, Connie felt something wide and coarse press onto the top of her head - if she was still capable of thinking, she might have realised it was a straw hat. It immediately slipped down in front of her unblinking eyes, leaving her staring blankly into darkness.

The scarecrow’s new owner chuckled. “Oops! It’s a little big on you - maybe I’ll get you a smaller one.” There was a brief pause. “Or maybe I won’t - it’s not like you’ll care. And somehow you look even cuter like this, smiling out from under your big hat like that, not a care in the world.”

Connie felt, but didn’t really notice, ropes being tied around her wrists and ankles, tightly binding her to the wooden poles. “Just to make sure you don’t fall down,” her owner explained, somewhat unnecessarily given that she was oblivious to everything happening to her. “I mean, you shouldn’t, given the nature of the enchantment, but I like to be certain.” They sniggered again. “Besides, the ropes kinda complete the look!”

Their fingertips caressed Connie’s smirking lips. “I should really give you a name... How about Ginger, for your hair? Yes, I like that...” They patted her on the cheek. “I’ll come back and check on you in a few months, or years. Keep my field safe, Ginger! I know you’ll keep those naughty crows away for me...”

The warlock nonchalantly trotted away, cackling quietly to themself. Ginger the smiling scarecrow remained suspended from her wooden framework, suspended in time, completely at peace, in the middle of the wide, wide field.