It's probably just my nerves, fear of getting caught.
I'm not a fucking monster. I know what I did was wrong, and I definitely shouldn't have let it go so far last night. I didn't expect it to turn into what it did, and now, in the cold light of day with the alcohol out of my system and the idea of my family finding out, I feel... guilty.
Maybe that's what has me reaching for the hood. Maybe it's just curiosity; an itch I have to scratch.
Either way, I'm not prepared for the sight when I pull off the hood.
"Fuck!" I shout, pushing the weight off of me as the scarecrow falls toward me.
But it's heavy— far heavier than it should be. The weight throws me off balance and knocks me to the ground with it on top of me.
The scarecrow has a face, though, it doesn't look like much of it is left.
Long claw marks drag the length of the flesh, or what's left of it, and the skin is flayed apart, ripped open but not bleeding.
I've seen props like this a thousand times, thanks to my sister. But this one is especially convincing.
"Fucking hell." I growl, shoving it off of me and scrambling to my feet. "That's nasty."
Jackson's too busy laughing to commiserate with me, so I roll my eyes and give the damn thing a kick for good measure, to release some frustration.
Except, when I kick it, the body rolls and I catch a glint of gold on its neck.
Suspicion prickles at my spine as I squint, wondering if I'm seeing what I think I am.
"This is fucking stupid." Jackson rolls his eyes and whips out his phone. "I'm gonna call him again."
I can't get my tongue to work to say the thing I'm thinking... the thing I realize as I see the crucifix pressed against his neck.
A ringing sounds from somewhere beneath the scarecrow, and I jump back as realization slams into me.
It takes another minute before Jackson catches on.
"What?" He asks, eyeing the body for signs of anything amiss. When he hears the ringing, I see awareness begin to light in his eyes.
"The hell?" He asks, glancing down at the blood-soaked jeans. I have half a mind to stop him as he bends down to turn the body over. And it is a body, I'm sure of that.
He's silent as he grabs the still-ringing phone out of the back pocket, confusion crossing his face as he looks down at the screen.
He turns it to face me, confirming exactly what I suspected. The name of the caller on the phone... Jackson.
We found Toby's phone.
And his body.
"Tell me again..." dad says, "Nice and slow. How did you boys end up out here?"
I tear my attention away from the woman who zips Toby's body into the bag, her brown ponytail swaying when she stands.
"We couldn't find Toby anywhere." Jackson explains. It's the truth. "And we had some time to kill before the game tonight, so we decided to look for him, right, Krowe?"
"Right." I nod, watching them lift the stretcher into the back of the SUV. "He wasn't answering his phone."
"And you didn't find his phone?" Dad asks, eyeing me with unveiled suspicion.
"No, sir." Jackson shakes his head. "But we didn't look much. As soon as Krowe recognized the necklace, we called you."
Dad's gaze lingers, but after a moment, he nods.
