It was a long time ago on my old granddaddy's farms. I remembered those summer days when it was hot and I'd sit on the back porch, sipping granny's lemonade. It was like 1920 or 1930 something, I don't remember. I would sit back and watch my granddad work the fields in his big and old tractor.

One hot day I remember Tanner came to the house. It was this black kid who was my best friend until the accident. He wore nothing but overalls whenever I see him. He came from a poor family and his mama always kicked him out of the house during the day. So he'd come over here and we'd play silly games and things. Anyway, when he came over I was staring at Uncle Jimbo. He was the scare crow that everyone called Uncle Jimbo because he looked just like my uncle. But my uncle never knew that. When he was around my family would call the scarecrow Bob.

Tanner asked me what we were going to do today. I said I don't know. We thought and thought until we hatched a plan. We decided we would play a trick on my granddad. So we dressed me up like the scarecrow and put on the funny hat and put a potato sack over my head with the two eyes. Aunt Annie caught us dressing myself up. We begged her not to say a word and she promised she wouldn't while trying to restrain herself from laughing. Anyway, we waited until it was late and granddad was getting ready to hit the sack. I sneaked out to the cornfields and crouched in the field. I sat in that costume for what seemed to be hours. I began to suspect that I had missed my granddad. Just when I stood up, I saw my granddad right in front of me. He looked me straight in the eyes with an unbelievably wide-eyed look. I put my hands up pretending to choke him and he dropped his lantern and ran down the road back to the house crying out.

There was a lot of rejoicing between Tanner and I. We had this plan of making the whole town of Shakertown believe that Uncle Jimbo came to life. However, everyone at home ended up telling granddad and spoilt our plans. We were very disappointed. We got into trouble and we were told off for pissing off ol' granddad.

About a year later we did it again. And it's one year I regretted. After the problems with the hillbilly's hounds getting into our fields, granddaddy brought his shotgun along on his field trips at night. He said he was fed up with the hound business. "The hillbilly would just have to put up with a dead hound for a dog!" he would grumble.

One fateful night, as Tanner and I were playing near the fields, we came up with the same trick. This time, however, Tanner got to dress up as the scarecrow. As a matter of fact, he looked more like a scarecrow than I did on the previous year. I stood on the porch and took down 'Uncle Jimbo' so granddad would never suspect there was a second crow. Besides, I had the advantage of sitting on the porch so that nobody would ever suspect it was I.

Anyway, Tanner was out in the field. I watched granddad's lantern in the darkness as he pulled the tractor out of the fields to come inside for supper. Suddenly the lantern that was glowing in the distance disappeared in the cornfield and a low boom echoed through the valley of Shakertown. I felt my heart pumping and I just sat and watched in horror as granddad went running up the road back to house like he last time.

I jumped up and ran to my granddad when I noticed a bright glow coming from the field. The field was on fire! I ran to my granddad, pointing at the cornfield, "The field is on fire, Pop! The field is on fire!"

The flames were raging about twenty feet high as the corn became black and turned to ashes. My aunt held me back as the whole town tried to put out the fire. As I watched with tears in my eyes, a bright figure in rags began running towards us passing our house and straight down the road until it disappeared behind the hill.

The town folks looked everywhere but they never found the body. Nobody seemed to see the man on fire running down the street. After the town went through a deep depression, folks started to move out and the Shakertown became practically nothing.

One night I was sipping some cider when I saw a vague figure, which was glowing in greenish grey, sprinted down the street waving its arms past our house and disappeared silently. As a little kid I would always run into the house crying out in fright. I was certain it was Tanner. However, as I grew older, the figure appeared so often it became a typical sight to me. I saw him so many times I never thought much about it. Nevertheless, at times, I would have nightmares. In my dream, instead of him running past the house, he would run up the porch and grab me and yelled at me with his blood-curdling-high-pitched scream.

Many years after I moved away and have my own family, I came back to see Tanner. I stopped for a while and caught a glimpse of the town - where I used to live and the old cornfield. I followed the road where Tanner always ran through those summer nights. It made me feel depressed because I could still feel Tanner was nearby as I walked up that street. I followed the road until I found an old water tower where the town used to store its water. It was hidden from the road because of all the trees that have grown around it. I could still see a faint sign that says 'Shakertown'. I heard the howling from the tank as the wind blew through the rusted holes. Brown streams of rust flows from where the water has leaked out of the water tower. As I followed the poles that held the water tower up I saw something that caught my eye. I bent down and lifted it up carefully with my hands. I dusted the dirt off the round object. It was a charred skull.

For some reason I didn't feel scared anymore. After I called the police to pick up the remains, I had the skeleton buried in the Shakertown cemetery. I don't know if it was Tanner or not. It might have been and it might have just been a coincidence. I don't even know if what I had done had rested his spirit or whatever. People tell me I did. I don't really know or care. I feel much better after doing what I did and I just don't like talking about it that much anymore.

Next Story: Ghostly Rascal

Owl's Ghost Stories © 1997, 1998 by Will Ong