My parents, who were avid gardeners, got a scarecrow a week ago. Though there wasn't much of a crow problem in the garden, I shrugged it off and started to look at it. The weird thing was that it had not a single piece of straw sticking out of its wool-like body, almost professionally made. It had buttony eyes, and a stitched up mouth. I could never really figure out why it was made with wool, my parents said that it was an unimportant question, so I just stopped asking.

It started freaking me out because crows pecked on it the day after it was made and there was still no straw whatsoever. I decided to investigate that following night by walking up to it with a pocket knife and cutting a hole in it to see if there was any straw or if it was just stuffed with fluff. After I cut a hole, it... moved. It bent its arms. I tried reaching my hand out but the scarecrow literally jumped and started screaming in horrible, agonizing pain. I ran for my life to my workplace and closed the drapes. His screaming lasted for about 15 minutes before I opened the drapes and saw that it was limping towards my window. I started screaming for a brief second, but covered my mouth as my parents were asleep. But how could they not be awakened by the scarecrow's screaming?

It broke my window and what I saw will traumatize me forever.

Its stitched up mouth was now ripped open, it was a dark crimson red. It lifted its hands to its head and stuffed its fingers into its eyes, making a sickening squelch as it entered and slowly exited its now missing eye sockets. I fumbled for my pocket knife again and stabbed it in the stomach two more times. It screamed even louder and lurched backward and tried to regain its balance. I just watched in horror anticipating its next horrible move.

It stopped screaming, and violently clutched its head. I knew exactly what it was about to do. It pulled wildly, seams ripping from its neck. It finally tore its own head off. But... There was no straw.

Instead, there was thick, dark red blood, pouring out of its head and stump. Falling over, I thought I heard a whisper of someone asking for help. I sat on my bed for almost half an hour contemplating what had just happened. I couldn't gather anything. I could barely sleep that night. I only got about two hours of rest. I asked them if they had even heard someone screaming, and they thought I was delusional for talking about a scarecrow that moved and killed itself.

I went back to my room and found a dead crow with its head torn off on my desk.