His name was Scarecrow.
Though this was surely a strange name for a young man, it was suitable for him. He looked so patched together, it was as if Mother Nature had decided to create a human rag doll. He was skinny, always limped a bit. His grin seemed odd, like he never really learned how to smile properly. His movements were somewhat awkward and stiff, as if his ligaments refused to work as they should.
He couldn't be considered beautiful, not even handsome. Strawy blond hair grew out of his head, as messy as a bunch of hay. His skin had the tone of a gunnysack, grey-brown and strangely enough shabby, like his head was made out of worn linen and his face was painted hastily in it, just to give him a human look. His eyes were blue; however, the left eye was bright, like ice, the right eye was dark, like the deep sea. And there were his hands, his knobby hands with this knaggy fingers that reminded everyone of twigs.
He had indeed something of a scarecrow. Nothing on him really matched together, like he was made out of the leftovers of humanity.
When he wandered through the streets of the little town, children were hold off him. Soon, the children started to hold off him by themselves. Some strange and horrifying myths went with him; allegedly he had murdered his own parents and his brothers when he had been twelve. Though, apparently no one knew either his parents nor his brothers. He was always surrounded by ravens, crows and magpies; at least that was one more reason why his name was Scarecrow. Although he didn't seem to fulfil his name's duty.
Scarecrow wasn't old at all. No one knew exactly how old he was; he was estimated around twenty. But when he looked at someone with this piercing, mismatched blue eyes he seemed a lot older, not only due to his look; he seemed ageless. He seemed to know more than he said, he seemed to know everything about one. He seemed to know about the sins of one...
He liked to prowl around the graveyard. He dandered between the tombstones – and he always made a stop at five certain tombstones. He knelt in front of them, his artificial grin never faded, but became some kind of sheepish. As if he was a child that tried to apologize.
Her name was Margaret.
A little girl, merely 10 years old, she appeared to be the complete opposite of Scarecrow. Everyone liked her with her brown, large curls, the hazelnut-like eyes and the delicate figure she had. She was the daughter of the local judge and had the most beautiful smile one could ever see. Birds started to sing and flowers started to bloom when she was around, smiling innocently.
Many artists portrayed her, but no portray of her was as pretty as Margaret herself was. If anything, one could only compare her to a doll, made of finest porcelain, with eyes made of shining stars and a face that looked like shaped by angels themselves. Everyone loved her and loved to look at her, because her appearance brightened the day.
She never just walked on the street; she hopped along her path, no matter if the sun was shining or the rain was falling. Even the smallest things delighted her, such as a pretty stone, a cute kitten or just the green woods around the town. She laughed a lot and if she laughed, it sounded like pure wedding bells. Everyone simply had to join in her laughter. She made the people plainly happy; when she was around, all worries seemed to be gone to nowhere.
She was very polite. She greeted everyone that crossed her way; whether it was the mayor or the old Widow Farrier, it didn't matter to her. She always had a friendly word for everyone; though she was so young, she was always aware that politeness and kindness took her far.
And so she was kind to Scarecrow. She was the only child that didn't flee from him. When she saw him coming down the street, limping, she showed her smile at him, too.
And he smiled back his odd, painted grin.
Margaret's father, Judge Bench, tried to impress her not to talk and to look upon the strange young man. He was afraid that Scarecrow could steal her away and murder her. At least, he was suspicious for killing his family.
But Margaret did, notwithstanding that she was a well-behaved girl who always listened to her father's advices, not take care about what her father had said. She still showed Scarecrow her smile and had a friendly word for the outcast.
Scarecrow liked her.
He felt in somewhat responsible for her. She was never really alone, for either her coeval friends or adults surrounded her. But Scarecrow wanted to protect her. Maybe because Margaret was the only one in town who was nice to him. Not that he was complaining; he accustomed himself to the way the townspeople threatened him. But he always looked forward to the meetings with Margaret.
Though their meetings seemed to happen by chance, the chances also seemed to happen quite regularly. Scarecrow hung around the places Margaret used to go by every day, he just made an exception for his usual walk over the graveyard. He started to look out for the little pretty girl, who was so kind and almost gentle to him. He started to have little gifts for her with him; flowers, a notable neatly grown feather from his birds, curious shaped stones. He tended to lay those little gifts at the front door of Margaret's home and quickly disappearing right after doing so.
He feared the wrath of the judge.
He knew, that the father of his little friend hated him. He knew the reason why. As well did he knew the punishment awaiting him if the patience of the judge would've come to an end. But he couldn't understand the reason. Nor could he understand the punishment.
However; he tried to be as near as possible to Margaret. He watched her, even if no one could see him around. He followed her, when she was hopping along the streets or at the edge of the woods. He and his birds kept an eye on her.
It delighted him to see her happy. It made him indeed happy, if she smiled gladly at one of his presents. He was sure she knew who left all those small gifts at her door. She always handled them with care, like they were precious gems. She seemed really to enjoy them. And that was why he continued to give them to her.
He had noticed that Margaret hid them from her father. There was no doubt that she really liked Scarecrow and his presents, but was aware that her father didn't. And, unlike the other children, she never avoided his presence or ignored him.
She never feared him. And that was, what made her so adorable to him.
Margaret liked him.
He was different than all the other people around her. Not only by look, but also by heart. Her father and all townspeople claimed him as evil, but she would not agree. Well, he was some kind of... strange. But that didn't mean he was evil. In fact, he was very nice to her. He gave her presents. Not like those she was used to. Nearly every day she found pretty things at the doorsteps; banal things, sometimes on the first sight even rubbish. But she liked each of those little gifts very much.
Nonetheless, she always asked herself, who this guy really was. In the town everyone apparently avoided, almost feared him, but no one really knew him.
Margaret wanted to find out, who that guy was, whom everyone called Scarecrow. She began to return his presents; she laid flowers out of her garden on the graveyard wall; she placed apples in the grass at placed where he used to pass by; she made necklaces out of daisies and put them on the pavement, where he liked to stand.
Just a little something here and there, but as Scarecrow enjoyed her pleasure while finding his presents, she found delight in his happiness about her little gifts.

It was a hot summer day in July. Margaret and her friends were romping at the lake, splashing water at each other and laughed and giggled; it was a pleasure to watch them. So it was a pleasure for Scarecrow. He sat on a branch, high above the water and watched the children playing; he watched his little friend Margaret in particular. His birds perched around him and watched her with him.
They never really exchanged more than two sentences. Most of the talking did Margaret; she greeted him, he greeted back, she usually stated what a beautiful day it was and he agreed. Well, if they got so far. Mostly the adults and more and more the children chased him off, before they exchanged statements about the weather.
He didn't care for that. He still was near her. Protecting her – although no one saw his protection. Not even Margaret; but he had his careful eye on her, as today. He had felt mischief coming on its way. Mischief that concerned her. Maybe he could avoid a sixth tombstone to kneel in front.
Margaret hadn't spotted him already. She was enjoying the chilly water on this really hot day; her thoughts weren't about the strange guy she would consider as her friend. She had a lot of fun with her other friends who where at the same age.
One of her friends, the son of the miller, invited her and the others to go swimming. The children hadn't their swimsuits with them, but for it was a really hot day, the parents won't mind if they would bath in their clothes. And so they went swimming in their dresses, shirts and trousers.
Margaret was a good swimmer, she had learned it last summer and she liked to go swimming. So she swam out far, to the middle of the lake, still laughing and waving at her friends.
Scarecrow didn't smile this time, though he was grinning. But it didn't reach his blue eyes. Mischief was right ahead and he shifted his weight.
All of sudden Margaret felt that something pulled her leg and she was drawn under the surface. She wanted to scream, but it was impossible. She couldn't even breath, she tried to swim back to the surface and to cry for help, but what was around her ankle pulled the more the harder she struggled to get free.
Would she die right now? She thought of her father, who always told her not to swim too far out. That she should be careful not to get hurt. And now she was drowning.
She thought of her mother, who died long time ago at her birth. Would she wait for her in heaven?
She thought of her friends. Would they grief for her? Would the reproach themselves for not looking after her?
She thought about Scarecrow...
A loud splash was heard, right after Margaret's head disappeared under the surface. A slim, tall figure dashed downright to the place where she had disappeared, diving as he had reached it. Scarecrow grabbed his little friend, who was still struggling with evanescent strength, and pulled her up to the surface. He made sure, that she could breath and swam back to the shore, carrying her as good as possible. It wasn't easy; though she was light as a feather, Scarecrow had never been a strong guy and their clothes were soaked. But he didn't hesitate. He carried the little fragile body to the shore and not till there he rested.
Her friends backed off from the two as he lifted her from the waterside and laid her gently in the grass. He allowed himself to rest beside her and to close his eyes. He was understandably exhausted, he panted and his body hurt. But he was happy; he had saved her. His little friend was alive. He could hear her cough and choke. He could hear his name being whispered. Then he felt a small hand on his cheek and slowly opened his eyes.
He saw the grateful smile of Margaret and replied in the sheepish manner he only showed at the cemetery till then.
“Thank you...” She kindly stroke his face, which didn't felt as rough as she first thought. In fact, it was pretty smooth. Wet now, of course, but warm and smooth. She smiled weakly.
“You're welcome” He closed his eyes again, but laid an arm protectively around her. He would've taken it away, if she'd asked him to. But she didn't say a word...
The laid like that for minutes; until Scarecrow heard his birds croaking and almost screaming. He heard heavy footsteps and hurried to get up, but, alas, too late; he felt a hard kick into his stomach and gasped for air. He clenched and looked up; Judge Bench kneed beside his daughter and embraced her, asking her, if she was fine. The judge glared at Scarecrow, who tried to back off. But his stomach hurt like never before and man stood behind the poor outcast.
“No, don't hurt him! Father, he saved me. Without him, I would've drowned” Margaret tried to convince her father, bur the judge didn't listen to her. A maid took care of the child and tried to take her away from what happened. Margaret was too weak to really offer resistance, but she cried. “Please, don't hurt him! Please, father, he saved me! He saved me! Scarecrow saved me!”
Scarecrow flagged as they hoicked him. His head hung down, his fringe covering his face. He could feel the breath of the judge, smelled the wine and the duck he had for lunch.
“I've warned you once not to get close to her! Didn't I!?”
“You did” Scarecrow's voice was calm, almost lacking of emotion. The judge blustered and his face turned red as he shouted at the skinny man in front of him.
“And you violated my order!”
Again, Scarecrow's voice was even-tempered. He didn't look up, he dangled in the arms of the men who hold him up. “To be accurate you never gave me an order”
Judge Bench cried out and kicked Scarecrow again.
“Enough!! Your punishment is settled! I don't know what kind of witchery you have used over my daughter, but you will never see her again! You will be burned at the stack!! You will burn like your unholy family did!”
There was silence. Well, except of the wheezing judge. But Scarecrow remained silent, for a few moments he didn't even seem to breath. Then he raised his head. Slowly. He looked up to the judge, he looked straight into His honour's eyes. His own mismatched eyes seemed to burn. His grin turned into a smirk.
“It is senseless to kill a scarecrow – for you draw up a new one” The crows, ravens and magpies started to croak. At first very quiet, the croaks constantly rose to a rhythmic sort of loud chant. They circulated over the men. The guards at Scarecrow's side trembled anxiously.
“Tic, toc, midnight's clock, tic, toc, midnight's clock” Now Scarecrow started to chant in the rhythm of the croaks. “Watch out, beware, listen, take care, in the streets at midnight's jove, watch out for who’s your most beloved”
He repeated his chant as they carried him to the prison. He didn't stop, even not when they imprisoned him. He sat in his dark cell and repeated his chant over and over. The guards refused to stand sentinel over him; they even refused to be in the same room with him. No one cared to touch him.
Scarecrow once feared the wrath of the judge. But now, he was the one to be feared by the judge. At least, the judge always feared him. Well, his daughter didn't. As it stroke midnight, she ran on the streets to the prison, where she stood in front of the barred window. “Scarecrow?” Her voice was soft, she almost just whispered. She had heard the chant he was repeating, it had stopped when she had called his name. Then she saw his bright blue eye in the darkness and she smiled.
“Hello, Margaret. How nice of you to visit me” He didn't step in the moonlight, she just saw his left eye shining. A raven flew between the bars and returned shortly after, a bit of straw in his beak.
“I just wanted to thank you and to apologise for my father's behaviour. I guess he thought you've tried to drown me and just saved me because you wanted a reward” Another raven flew into the cell and returned with straw in his beak. “I'm so sorry. I don't want you to get burned at the stack. I tried to convince him, I really did, but...” He interrupted her.
“Hush, don't be sorry and don't apologise. You haven't done anything wrong, young lady. And you don't have to thank. Don't do unnecessary things. I'm the one who should apologise and who should thank you”
She looked puzzled, she sensed that he smiled, as she could tell from the shape of his gleaming eye. “But you saved me from drowning...”
“And you have always been kind to me. You talked to me, you smiled at me, you really eased my existence” She heard a rustle, like straw and hay got shifted. “I'm very glad I've met you. Thank you for your kindness, Margaret”
She was touched. She smiled, blinked a tear away and straightened up. No one ever thanked her for how she threatened people. “You always looked so sad, so lonely, I just wanted to make you feel better” Now a magpie did, what the two ravens had done right before.
“Margaret, I'm afraid we have not much time left. May you do me a favour, my friend?”
She cocked her head. “What favour?”
Again a raven flew into the cell, but returned now with a piece of fabric.
“Return home and leave your window open this night, will you?”
This plea astonished her. Why did he asked her to do that? “Uhm... yes, I will...”
She could sense him smiling again. “Don't worry. My friends just will leave you a little present at the window ledge. My last present I guess. May you answer me a question?” She nodded. “Do you want me to live or to die, Margaret?”
“What a question, of course I want you to live! You're my friend. You saved me, even though you could've drown yourself!” She didn't understood, what he had meant with this question. A crow came out of the window, carrying yarn in her beak. She looked at his eye, trying to see his face and his odd grin. But she failed to do so. It was too dark.
“Return home now, young lady. And don't worry about me. When the dawn breaks through the night, I won't be here any more. But I won't be dead. Just leave your window open this night” A crow flew into the cell and flew out with an amount of straw.
“Does that mean I will see you again?” Her voice was a bit tremulous.
He chuckled. “Sort of, young lady. No go, will you?”
She nodded unassertive and turned around. She didn't really want to go, she wanted to stay here and talk to him. But he assured her, that she will see him again. And she knew, that he would never lie to her. He had never lied to her...

When the guards opened the door the next morning, wondering why the prisoner wasn't chanting any more, they had to assert that the chamber was empty. Immediately they started to search for Scarecrow, they informed the judge and the townspeople, but no one had seen him. Like he just had vanished...
Judge Bench fumed and at the same time was fearful. The fear grew as he thought of his rhymes: Watch out for who's your most beloved. He rushed to the room of Margaret, where he found the window wide open and his daughter surrounded by crows, ravens and magpies, who looked at him as he entered the room. Margaret sat on a small chair at a small table, she always liked playing 'Tea Party' with her dolls and cuddly toys – but something was different this time. There was a new doll... an obvious old shabby rag doll with a painted face. It had brown eyes, but the odd, creepy grin on its face sent chills down his spine.
“Margaret, darling”, he began anxiously. She sat with her back to the door. “tell me, where did you get this new doll?”
She turned around and the judge cried out in fear.
“Oh, my friends here gave it to me. Isn't it neat? Look, Daddy, isn't it the neatest doll you've ever seen?” She smiled... innocently, like always, she laughed her clear laugh, she still looked like a delicate porcelain doll.
But her eyes weren't any longer like hazelnuts. Her left eye was like blue ice; her right eye was like deep blue sea. And they pierced right through him – seeing his sins.
And the rag doll grinned as if the painter of its face hadn't known how a proper smile looks like.