The Scarecrow

In front of a camera, a large set of old keys dangles from a metal chain attached to a rusty ring. A gloved hand reaches out, plucking them from their obscurity.

“Upon every person is a set of keys.”

The Scarecrow appears.

“Connected to your waist by a rusty chain, worn and weathered by the annals of time, all different varietes rest upon that single link. Different kinds of shapes and sizes. Some are jagged, rugged, sharp and some are dull, blunt and aged. You mere mortal peasents spend the entirity of your menial insignificant lives, trying different keys in different doors, trying to unlock your way forward.”

“For every door, there is a key upon your chain that fits; at least that’s what you believe. And you’ll spend seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years trying different keys until you unlock it or fail. Every individual is different. Some will try a couple of keys and in their defeat, try another door. Others will remain steadfast and defiant. They will go through their set twice, three times, until the door either unlocks or their keys break. How many keys do you think Brent Kersh has broken over the decades? Yet he still stands at the very same door, pleading and fumbling with his keys, hoping that one day they’ll let him in. Hoping that one day, he can unlock the potential he believes resides within his being.”

He chuckles to himself, pulling the keys in closer to inspect them.

“Janus holds all the keys. There’s no mistake about what remains in his possession. If there’s a door in his path, he’ll have the key to unlock it. If a gate blocks his way, he’ll open it. Ordell, this power now resides within you. Yet despite this, you could not create a beginning nor an end for Hades. Despite such great power as the holder of all keys to all doors, you find yourself unable to unlock what is necessary to defeat your rival.”

“And now, little birdie, you find yourself stood beyond the towering door that belongs to The Scarecrow. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, isn’t it? A door made of flesh and bone. It screams at you, in agony and terror, as the moving parts within it are denied peace. It smells like fear and death, putrid and seeping. You stand before me with your set of keys, and Janus within your soul, and you intend to unlock my door, don’t you?”

The Scarecrow grins.

“But you see, some doors shouldn’t be opened.”

He nods.

“Because beyond my door is a horror unlike anything you have ever seen. Your keys will rattle in sheer terror as they enter my lock, one by one breaking until you have only one left. It’ll take everything from you, little birdie and when you reach the other side, I will devour what’s left. You mortals often find yourself stood before a door you can only dream of unlocking. You have more keys than you could ever imagine, yet you can’t find the one that fits the lock.”

“On Monday night, you will not want to find that key, Ordell. If you do, you will regret what you find on the other side.”

And where your eyes don’t go, you will always fear The Scarecrow.