Unnamed Journal Volume 2, Issue 3 - Page 34

Lost in the Strange, Cold Pleasure of the Night By Alfred Underhill T he clouds were thick and silver in the sky. Moonlight reflected well in weather like this. Emily could see clearly without a flashlight. She smelled snow on the air. It'll be here soon, she thought. Shivering on the hill, Emily admired her handiwork. The proportions were right. The figure stood at five feet, eleven inches. Its arms and legs looked almost natural, covered in an old shirt and pair of pants. Emily had also outfitted it with some galoshes and a raincoat she'd found in the attic. Not "it", she chided herself, "him". Emily had tied him to a pole so he wouldn't fall over. Good thing too because the wind was up. All in all, she thought he looked pretty good for a scarecrow. Now all she had to do was finish the process. Emily shrugged off her coat then pulled the rest of her clothes off, until she stood naked before the scarecrow. The wind gusted. She rubbed between her legs with one hand and played with her breasts with the other. The wind and cold made it hard for her to concentrate, but she had to get off in order for it to work; that's what the book said, at least. All the while she stared intently into the eyes she'd drawn on the straw man in front of her. A few moments later she cried out in climax. Emily carefully wiped her hand on the scarecrow's chest beneath his shirt, where she had already deposited a token amount of her blood, saliva, and tears. She then hastily donned her clothes and coat, teeth chattering. Dressed, she stood staring at the effigy. Waiting. Snow began to fall. Emily silently cursed, but didn't move from where she stood. A thin white blanket began to form as far as the eye could see. The sky rumbled. Thunder snow, she thought. It wasn't a bad sign, all things considered. She paced in place and crossed her arms trying to keep warm. A flash and boom knocked Emily off her feet. Her ears rang. She lay on the ground a moment. She stared at the at the oak tree a hundred yards away freshly struck by lightning, smoldering in the snow. Fuck this, she thought, getting to her feet. She cast an anguished gaze at the scarecrow. Nothing. Emily turned toward home. She trudged past the barn, steering clear of the chicken coop. The side entrance to the house was the easier door to open quietly. After removing her shoes, she crept up the stairs to her room without waking her parents. She hung up her coat and put on a dry, warm t-shirt then climbed into bed. Curled in her comforter, wiping silent tears from her cheeks, Emily wondered why the spell hadn't worked. Maybe I'm too ugly to even magic myself a boyfriend, she thought. She wept fitfully before falling into a restless sleep. In her dreams, Emily was sitting in her Pre-Calculus class. Mr. Wardlaw was droning on about sign, cosign, and tangent. Behind her, Burt Castlemeyer leaned forward at his desk to poke her in the shoulder. Emily turned around and told Burt to quit it. No sooner had dream Emily turned to face forward again, Burt poked her