Several of the high school kids were already joking about it being better than any slasher movie, but Mac didn’t have time to try and correct them. Not that he would have expected them to believe him anyway.

Kids their age tended to enjoy this kind of excitement just a little too much, at least until it became all-too real.

Mac tried not to worry about the people following and pushed on, hoping the police would arrive soon enough to be of assistance. He saw something flash ahead like a blade and made a beeline for it, crashing through the bushes until he came to a small clearing.

Steffi and Billy lay on the ground in the center, and neither moved.

MacGyver almost didn’t want to approach them. They both lay on their stomachs, and at first he couldn’t see any signs of injury, but then as he grew closer, he finally spotted a blood pool beneath Billy’s torso.

He checked the teen first, and when he found no pulse rolled him over.

Billy had been stabbed several times, and Mac guessed it was the scarecrow’s turnip knife that had caused the damage.

I guess he isn’t the killer then…

He moved on quickly to Steffi, and was relieved to find her breathing but unconscious. Her injured arm appeared to be bleeding through the bandages, but apart from that he couldn’t see any further wounds save a bump on her temple.

She groaned softly as he rolled her over and gently put his jacket under her head.

In the distance, he finally heard the sirens he’d been so hoping for moments earlier, and as he looked up in their direction, he noted that a small crowd was already forming.

“You need to go tell the police we need an ambulance out here.” Mac chose the person who looked most senior, at least from what he could see through the costumes, and asked them for help. “And tell them to get this crowd outta the woods. The scarecrow’s here…”

There was mumbling and indecision among the assembly, as if people weren’t sure if it was still all a prank or not.

MacGyver wasn’t ready to deal with explaining. He was angry at what he’d allowed to happen, and he didn’t intend to let the killer get away this time. Not like he had back at the mine.

“This isn’t a trick, and that kid is really dead. No will you folks all get back to the lake and stick together until the police take charge?” His voice said he wasn’t to be tangled with, and finally the group stopped mumbling and turned tail.

A few stragglers milled around seconds longer until the true horror of what was happening took hold, and then they too vanished back towards the now defunct party.

Mac sighed with relief that he wasn’t responsible for them anymore. Now he could try and follow the scarecrow.

He kneeled again to search for tracks, but instantly found something tugging at the back of his t-shirt. Standing back up, he turned to face a teenager in the midst of pulling off a Grim Reaper hood.

What it revealed was a short, spotty and very nervous young man with a stammer and dark-rimmed spectacles far too large for his face. “There…th…there’s a couple of kids out here th…that don’t know what’s happening.” He looked terrified.

MacGyver wanted to growl back a response, but he just couldn’t do it. The kid was asking for his help. He sighed. “What the heck are they doing out here?”

The kid turned red and winced. “W…well, there’s this cabin you see, and Chrissie and Steve decided to go out there f…for some fun…”

“Right,” MacGyver rolled his eyes. “That kinda fun, huh?” Finally the penny dropped.

The teenager nodded helpfully.

“Didn’t they know about the scarecrow attacks?”

“W…well, yeah, but after the professor was arrested w…we all kinda thought we were safe. I mean I know we kinda played that prank in the f…fruit field, but…”

Mac held up a hand, stopping the youth in mid-sentence. He was incredulous. “You and this Steve and Chrissie were the ones that set that fire and started this whole mess? And you still came out here?”

The kid’s face screwed up into an expression that reminded him of Dexter Filmore. “W…well, yeah,” he apologized with a squirm. “I’m D…Dean by the way.”

“Okay, Dean, you better show me where this cabin is.”

Dean nodded but didn’t look happy about it. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and pointed to a path that led from the south side of the clearing. “It’s down there. Not far…”

Mac realized the kid was shaking and quickly took point. Once he was sure where he was heading, he would send Dean back to the remains of the party, into the safekeeping of the local cops.

They’d not gone far when Dean tugged at Mac’s tee again. “W…we need to leave the path here and push through the bushes.”

MacGyver followed the directions until the trees, and indeed the bushes thinned. The area wasn’t exactly a clearing, but there was enough room for a cabin between some of the smaller aspens.

There were no lights in any window, and the scene was made all the more eerie by an ankle deep mist coming in off the nearby water.

The cabin itself had seen better days, and MacGyver guessed it had been derelict for at least a decade. Brown faded curtains hung limp in the windows, and the porch steps were rotten and deformed with termites.

He felt something brush against his arm and realized it was Dean, and he was shaking again.

“N…no lights, huh? C…Chrissie and Steve must be having a real good time…” A scream broke Dean from any lurid thoughts he might be about to have and he plastered himself to a nearby trunk like an age-old lichen.

On any other day, Mac might have found the kid’s likeness to Dexter Filmore amusing, but for now, everyone’s survival muted that thought. “Wait here,” he commanded, knowing the kid wasn’t likely to move a muscle anyway.

Dean nodded but didn’t speak and Mac instantly headed for the cabin.

The yell had definitely come from the second floor, but as MacGyver reached the porch steps he realized he had a problem. His Maglite was in his jacket pocket, and his jacket was under Steffi’s head.

He sucked down a breath and cautiously scrambled over several broken timbers to reach the cabin door. It was ajar, and what lay beyond was hidden by a blanket of darkness.

There was no time to let the scene get to his already jangling nerves, and MacGyver entered the small living area, trying to be as quiet as he could on the creaking and rotted flooring.

Above, he thought he heard movement, like something sliding across the boarding, and the sound immediately reminded him of the scarecrow’s shuffle.

Mac’s eyes searched through the gloom, looking for stairs, but the upper storey was really nothing more than a loft, and the only way up to it was via a ladder.

Noting several missing rungs, he headed for it anyway and was rewarded with something large and unmoving blocking his path.

In the dim light, he almost fell over the body before he saw it.

It was a young teenager with vivid blond hair and deep blue eyes – eyes that now stared into an empty void they could never return from.

Even before he checked for a pulse, MacGyver knew Steve was dead. There were wide puncture marks down the center of his back that suggested another vicious attack with the turnip knife.

Mac cringed. How could anyone do this, even if they had issues?

Remembering there was a girl still unaccounted for, he resumed his path to the ladder. Testing the bottom rung with his weight, he surmised it was relatively safe enough to climb and began to quickly scramble into the loft.

As his head cleared the opening, he realized it was lighter here where the moonlight cascaded through gaps in the woodwork.

Mac hoisted the rest of his body through the opening and almost silently spun around.

What he was looking for was by the far wall nearest the window.

The scarecrow had Chrissie backed into the corner, and it had the familiar turnip knife in its hand. The blade twirled between gloved fingers, like the killer was getting impatient.

It hadn’t seemed to notice MacGyver’s presence, but Chrissie had. The girl’s eyes widened with relief and her expression changed from terror to hope.

The transformation didn’t go unnoticed by the scarecrow, and it whirled round, red orbs dancing and gyrating in the soft light.

Mac expected it to pause, to cock its head like before, but in a surprise move, the scarecrow simply tossed the knife at him like it was some bizarre circus act it had been practicing all its life.

The troubleshooter was caught unawares, and only narrowly dodged the blade, its tip almost catching his right ear before the spiked end embedded itself into the wall.

MacGyver’s eyes widened but he didn’t pause for thought. Instead, now that it was unarmed, he made a dive at the scarecrow.

The killer wasn’t impressed, and made a full-frontal attack of its own, reaching out its spidery, gloved hands to try and grab Mac’s throat.

For a moment, it looked like the scarecrow would succeed, but then Chrissie joined in the fray and picked up a piece of loose timber, which she brought down hard on the scarecrow’s head.

The wood shattered like it was a movie prop, but from age and termites, or something else? MacGyver shuddered at the thought as he remembered how Steffi had described shooting the thing in the skull.

The wood was just rotten. Don’t let it spook you, that’s just what this guy thrives on, superstition and fear…

The scarecrow turned its attention back on the girl, had she angered it/him more?

MacGyver didn’t care; it gave him the chance to swing a punch right at the thing, catching it just below the jaw.

Surprisingly, the scarecrow flew backwards much faster and harder than Mac could have hoped for, and he realized for the first time in his life he’d actually hit someone without it feeling like he’d broken his knuckles.

It was almost as light as a feather. Or as light as straw…

Mac tried to push away the niggling thought. This was a person, not a supernatural being. He moved forwards, hoping to grab it while it was down, but as quickly as it had fallen, the scarecrow was on its feet again, and fighting didn’t appear to be on its itinerary.

The shutters on the upper storey window were damaged, and dangled wide open. The glass had long gone, replaced by the odd cobweb.

The scarecrow seemed to view this as an open opportunity for escape, and threw itself lithely through the empty frame like a rag doll.

MacGyver made it to the window in time to see the killer roll across the porch roof and vanish as it jumped the rest of the way down to the ground below. It was a mad move, but an effective one.

“Is it gone?”

Mac turned back to see Chrissie looking over his shoulder. She was far from the stereotypical blonde in distress, but now that it was all over he could see the fear taking hold in her eyes.

Did she know Steve was dead? Had she witnessed it?

“For now,” he admitted the truth as he took her by the shoulders. “But we need to get you someplace safe.”

Chrissie swallowed and almost sagged into his arms, but then she seemed to draw strength from somewhere, maybe even from the firmness of his grip and the depth of his stare.

Eventually, she pulled away, heading for the ladder, but her voice still quivered as she spoke. “Anywhere, as long it’s far away from here.”

MacGyver wanted to agree with her, but his priority lay with catching the killer, and as he climbed down the rungs two at a time, he couldn’t help but wonder just how far the scarecrow had actually gone.

* * * *

Mac managed to get Chrissie away from the cabin without her seeing Steve’s body. Somehow, he had a feeling she already knew about his death, and exactly where the corpse was, but she didn’t mention it, as if by blocking the thought, she could block the death itself.

Maybe tomorrow she would confront what had happened, but for tonight she seemed content in her own little world. How many years of counseling would it take to fix her?

MacGyver didn’t like to think about it. For now, he steered her to the trees, and to the spot where he’d left Dean.

Except, Dean was gone, and the police obviously hadn’t gotten this far yet.

Has he run, or has the scarecrow taken another victim? Mac didn’t think it likely that the kid had moved under his own steam, and that didn’t bode well for his chances.

The thought somehow made MacGyver even angrier than before. Dean was just a naive youngster who had a lot to learn about the world and people in general. Heck, all the kids who’d played the prank were. None of them deserved what was happening.

Chrissie seemed to sense something was wrong and for a moment came out of her daze. “Why have we stopped?” She whispered like a child playing hide and seek.

“I left a friend of yours here. A kid named Dean?” MacGyver was honest. She deserved at least that.

Chrissie shrugged and simply mouthed. “Oh…”

Mac took a second to think and then headed back through the increasing mist to the cabin. As he grew closer, he realized he was almost having to drag the girl to get her to follow.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she whimpered, clutching at his hand so tightly his fingers tingled.

MacGyver stopped in front of the crumbling porch and found a loose board. He kicked at it with his right foot without letting go of Chrissie. Eventually the board dropped away and he urged her through it into the impromptu hideaway.

“Wait here. I need to go find Dean. Do you understand?” Mac hated leaving her in her current state, and the thought that he had left Dean to the scarecrow’s bidding was a constant niggle in the back of his mind, but somehow, the killing had to stop tonight.

Chrissie bobbed her head in understanding and slid further into the gloom, but she didn’t speak. Instead she started to rock backwards and forwards, her limbs trembling as Mac was forced to turn around and leave her.

I won’t be long, he mouthed silently, hoping that he wasn’t lying.

The truth was, though, that he really didn’t have much to go on.

There was a trail to the side of the cabin, but the mist was making it hard to distinguish, especially as the trees overhead were blocking out most of the moonlight. MacGyver used it as a starting point anyway, and hunkered down to feel at the ground beneath the mist.

It was quite soft here, and there were definitely recent prints in the soil. There was no way to be sure, but Mac guessed he was looking at boots and sneakers – the scarecrow and the kid?

A lump formed in his throat, Dean wasn’t dead yet, so was this a trap?

Ignoring the obvious, he pulled up from his crouched position and followed the trail until it petered out completely. Replacing the track was the remnants of an actual concrete path, and that led to an old water mill.

The mill was in worse repair than the cabin, and parts of the main stone and wooden structure had collapsed completely.

MacGyver noted that the chase had taken him almost full circle. Across the other side of the stream that once powered the wheel was the new parking lot and visitors area where he’d set out from.

At the far end, he could just make out the swirling red and blues of the police cruisers that he called for, and for a second he deliberated whether to go call the cavalry.

But then he noticed something else.

There were pumpkin lanterns set out around the water wheel, and they were lit. Not only that, but they were carved in the exact same pattern as the one down the mine shaft.

Party goers hadn’t set these as decorations. These pumpkins were the work of the scarecrow.

As if to confirm his fears, a muffled yelp came from the bottom of the water wheel, and as MacGyver squinted and blinked in the darkness, he was finally able to make out Dean’s spread-eagled form tied to it.

And the wheel was moving.

Within seconds, Dean’s head vanished beneath the stream, leaving a myriad of air bubbles in his wake.

Mac ran to the stone embankment and looked down, his mind racing as he realized that the wheel had stopped moving and Dean was literally drowning before his eyes.

A malevolent chuckle brought his gaze back up to the wheel’s mechanism in time to see the scarecrow jamming it tight with a steel bar.

“No!”

The scarecrow turned as Mac shouted, but its cloth face was expressionless. Its head cocked sideways mockingly, and then it gave a small salute.

MacGyver knew instantly what the silent message was. It was an insane version of trick or treat, and Mac had two simple choices, catch the scarecrow, or save the kid.

The scarecrow’s eyes flashed red, and then the color drained away like a fading strobe as it slipped away into the darkness of the night.

Mac’s limbs wanted to give chase, but instead he forced them to run back to the edge of the stream.

The bubbles from beneath the surface were slowing as the air in Dean’s lungs began to run out.

MacGyver dived into the stream and quickly swam beneath the huge wheel until he came to the kid. Dean’s eyes were wide with terror and he was struggling not to panic more and exhale what little air he had left. His arms yanked desperately at his bonds, but there was no way to pull free.

Mac tugged out his knife and moved to cut Dean away, but as he grew closer, even through the murky water he could see the kid was handcuffed, not tied.

And in such terrible visibility, even if he had the right tools, there was no way he could manage to pick the locks on the cuffs.

Mac surfaced and sucked down fresh gulps of air while he tried to think of a solution. What he needed was time, and if he couldn’t get Dean out of the water into the night air, then he would temporarily have to get the air to Dean somehow instead.

He circled around in the water until he spotted what he was looking for. The side of the bank where the new parking lot was being built had recently been cleared and cleaned, but the other side of the stream was still pretty overgrown – and that meant reeds.

MacGyver swam quickly over, found one a suitable length and cut it down. Sucking in one last, large breath, he dived once again back to the submerged section of wheel.

Dean wasn’t struggling anymore, and as Mac offered up the reed to use as a breathing tube, for a moment it looked like he was too disorientated to understand. MacGyver demonstrated, and when Dean finally nodded, he carefully placed it in the kid’s mouth and hoped he’d be able to keep it there without the use of his hands.

Turning tail, MacGyver surfaced and pulled himself up the stone wall next to the wheel. His dripping t-shirt and jeans left a trail of water behind him, but he didn’t even notice as he headed for the water mill’s mechanism.

The steel bar the scarecrow had used was still sticking out from the wheel’s gearing, and Mac grabbed a pumpkin lantern, bringing it closer to get a better look at the damage.

Without a lot of tools, and a lot of leverage, the gears weren’t going to move anytime soon.

Mac turned back to look at the wheel as its wet, static form glistened with algae in the moonlight. The snarled gears wouldn’t allow the water to move it, and no human’s strength alone was going to do the trick, so what other options did he have?

The Jeep was the other side the stream, and even if it wasn’t, he doubted he could drum up any kind of leverage with it or the winch it carried, that would work.

He ran a hand through his drenched hair and turned to look if there was anything left in the mill. Safe for a few planks, a few mice, and a family of bats, there was nothing.

He jogged outside, but on this side of the water there was nothing but trees and foliage.

And then it hit him – on this side of the water there was nothing, but on the other, there was a whole multitude of tools and machinery that was being used to put in the reserve’s new lot.

MacGyver paused and stared across to the cordoned off work zone. An excavator sat innocently looking back at him like a metallic dinosaur – a very strong dinosaur.

The only problem was, the stream sat between them, and while the nearest side wall was easy to climb up, the bank the other side was steep and pretty muddy where it had recently been cleared.

Mac was still willing to try and swim across, when an idea struck him. He ran to the wheel, and using its wooden laths like a ladder began to clamber up and over it.

The surface was wet, and slippery with green age-old slime, but he clung on, reminding himself every time his grip loosened of the kid below the water.

Once he reached the far side, he licked his lips and took a moment to judge the height between the top of the wheel and the ground the other side. It wasn’t impossible, but if he didn’t land right he could easily break an ankle or worse.

He stepped back, balancing carefully, and then dived for the muddy shore that waited. As he landed, he tucked and rolled like a paratrooper and was quickly back on his feet in seconds.

The excavator sat waiting, its huge yellow body brightening the otherwise gloomy construction area.

MacGyver slid into the open cab and checked for keys. Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple. Fishing his knife back out of his still soggy pocket, he quickly opened up the panel next to the key slot and slid his fingers through the wires until he found the right two colors.

Slicing through the insulation to bare the wires, he then touched them together until the engine kicked into life.

The next part would be the trickiest maneuver. He needed to position the excavator as close to the edge of the stream as possible without it actually sliding into the water off the mud.

Mac teased the behemoth along the embankment as quickly as he dared until it sat just in front of the water wheel the other side, then with a flick of a lever he extended the boom, wedging the bucket under one of the upper paddles on the wheel.

Once the bucket was in position, Mac moved another lever to pull out the boom further, which in turn began to lift the water wheel.

He swallowed as he watched the wooden giant slowly turn, hoping that the ancient timbers wouldn’t give way under the force of the excavator’s strength, and praying that the full extension of the boom would give enough movement to free the kid.

It took ten laborious seconds for Dean’s prone form to be dragged from the depths back into the cool night breeze. He coughed out the reed and began to choke out water, but the relief and gratitude on his face was clearly evident.

MacGyver didn’t waste time thinking about it. He jumped back down from the excavator and swiftly traversed the wheel again back to the other side.

The problem of the handcuffs still remained, and he began to drag out his jeans’ pocket linings looking for a clip. All that came out was a soggy section of duct tape and his knife.

Would it be worth looking in the mill again?

“What are you doing?”

Mac whirled around his heart pounding, and then relaxed a little when he realized it was just Chrissie. She still seemed stunned by what had happened, but some color had returned to her cheeks.

“I thought I told you to stay put until the police came?” He scolded, and then added, “I need something to pick those cuffs and get Dean off the wheel fast…”

Chrissie looked over the edge and finally seemed to understand what had happened. Her face paled again and MacGyver thought she would retreat back into her own world, but instead she gathered herself and plucked a clip from her hair.

“How about this?”

Mac took it gratefully with a smile. “That should do just fine.” He stuck it between his teeth and carefully climbed out onto wheel, this time moving down instead of across until he reached Dean.

The kid was shivering and most probably in shock, but as MacGyver worked on the locks Dean couldn’t help but grin at his savior.

“Y…you should do t…this saving people thing for a living,” Dean stammered.

Mac smiled softly back. “Who says I don’t?”

* * * *

MacGyver felt physically and mentally drained as he walked towards the array of police cruisers and ambulances dotted across the reserve’s parking lot. He was wet, bruised, and mostly frustrated about how the last forty-eight hours had panned out.

Beside him, Dean and Chrissie walked in silence, their own traumatic experiences scarring their minds far more than any real wounds they’d sustained.

And still, for Mac, at least, the night wasn’t over.

The scarecrow had won the previous battle, but MacGyver wasn’t about to let it win the war.

He spotted Neil Ryder among the milling crowd, and after depositing the two teenagers with a uniformed officer, he headed for his long-time friend.

Neil turned and smiled as MacGyver called his name.

“You had me worried after your call, and then I got here to find this mess and no sign of you…” Neil looked Mac over, assessing him.

Mac brushed off the concerned gaze. “I’m fine, but the scarecrow is still out there. Once I’ve checked in on Steffi at the hospital I need to talk to you about our old hideaway.”

Neil looked puzzled and his brow furrowed. “The old mine? I haven’t been out there since…”

Mac nodded, remembering Jesse again, along with his recent experience. “Yeah, well I have, and it wasn’t pretty.”

A patrol cop breezed over and appeared apologetic at butting in on their conversation. He looked to MacGyver first. “Excuse me, sir, but I couldn’t help hear you ask about Sgt. Webber?”

MacGyver instantly became attentive. He’d left Steffi to go after the scarecrow, and if anything had happened to her, well, he wasn’t sure he could bear another death on his conscience. “Did she get to the hospital okay?”

The cop squirmed. “Um, no sir, she insisted on not letting the paramedics look at her. Said something about knowing who the scarecrow was, but she had to be sure.”

MacGyver’s heart almost jumped out of his chest. “Did she say where she was going?” he demanded, all the exhaustion he’d felt instantly falling away as adrenalin kicked in.

The cop shrugged. “Ah, I think she mentioned something about going home…”

Mac looked at Neil almost pleadingly. “I need to get over there, and fast! Do you know where she lives?”

Neil nodded. “I know,” he assured. “And I’ll drive – I have my cruiser, and I’m darn well gonna use my lights and sirens, my jurisdiction or not!” He pointed to a Mission City P.D. car parked away from the other cruisers and Mac joined him in running for it.

MacGyver may have grown close to Steffi, but he knew Neil had been a friend of hers for almost ten years. Things were about to either get resolved, or get real messy.

* * * *

Neil pulled the car up just short of Steffi’s drive and moved to grab the police issue shotgun where it sat innocently in its cradle.

MacGyver reached out without saying a word and placed a hand to stop him.

“Mac, I know how you feel about guns. You know I have my own reservations, but we can’t face the scarecrow with your Swiss army knife and expect to come out on top. We have to think about Steffi.” Neil’s expression said he didn’t want to have to wait for an answer, and his hand managed to touch the stock of the twelve gauge before MacGyver’s own hand stopped him.

“We don’t need it,” Mac offered cryptically. “I’ve finally figured this whole thing out, including how the scarecrow took two slugs to the head and survived.” He moved his hand away from the pump action and climbed from the cruiser.

Steffi’s house was a small unassuming wooden structure painted in pastel blue and white. It was in darkness, just like the cabin in the woods had been.

Neil joined MacGyver minus the shotgun and sucked down a breath. “Yeah, well have you figured how to stop the thing? ‘Cause I’d sure feel better going in there armed.”

Mac wanted to say he had all the answers, but he hadn’t. All he knew right now was that it was one minute to midnight, and before this Halloween was over, the scarecrow had to be dealt with once and for all.

He shrugged and started to scramble down a small grassy incline that led to Steffi’s porch. “I guess we’re about to find out…”

From the look on Neil’s face as he gave chase, the sentiment didn’t exactly fill him with confidence.

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