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  Each step Jack took made the fallen leaves crunch beneath his feet in this glamorous season of the year. On his back, he carried one of his scarecrow dolls.

  The scarecrow was made from patched cloth and worn-out clothes Jack had stopped using because of age and his childhood mischief. It was so ugly that even Jack felt uncomfortable looking at it. Still, it wasn’t the worst of them. He had assembled the scarecrows many years ago, and this was the only one that could move without falling apart.

  ‘I guess even ugly scarecrow can be useful now,’ Jack smiled as he moved carefully, making sure not to alert the dogs on the Dawnson lands.

  He nearly slipped, and the scarecrow’s face appeared beside him, staring with its chilling expression. It made him slightly nervous when he glanced at it.

  ‘Mom, you really didn’t have to say they were beautiful. A little honesty to my childhood self would’ve been nice.’

  Jack looked over the vast property of the Dawnson family. There were five barns filled to the limit with pigs, cows, and sheep, along with three packed chicken coops. As he passed nearby, the smell of manure filled his nose—but it wasn’t as unbearable as the next place he would have to cross.

  There were also thirty hectares of crops, including his hated pumpkins. It was impossible to avoid them if he wanted to reach his destination. The best route was straight through the pumpkin fields, then through the cornfields, and finally to one of the Dawnson houses—a house he hadn’t visited in a couple of autumns.

  Standing before the pumpkin field, Jack wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming scent. It flooded his nostrils far worse than the manure paths had. He sighed in reluctant frustration at the inevitable path.

  “I had to appear in a village called Pumpkin Village,” he grumbled while stepping around a large pumpkin. “Couldn’t it be Potato Village? Or Carrot Village? No. Pumpkin Village. The great and magnificent Pumpkin Village. Seriously, who even likes pumpkin?”

  He held his breath and quickened his pace, trying to cross as fast as possible without damaging the crops or leaving signs that someone had been there at this hour.

  The entire place was silent. At such a late hour, everyone on the Dawnson lands was deep in pleasant dreams. The only sounds were Jack’s footsteps and the murmuring wind.

  Reaching a familiar house of the Dawnson family, Jack stopped and looked around with nostalgia. Years ago, he had come here with his father to share meals. Now they were only memories. His old, dear father had stayed until Jack turned sixteen, then left him in this village. Two autumns had passed since then.

  Before moving closer, Jack made sure none of the other houses showed signs of light or activity. The last thing he wanted was to get caught. The Dawnsons were very territorial about their land—they might even mistake him for an agent of the Charnock family trying to ruin their crops.

  A chill ran down his spine at the thought.

  “If that happens, I might be the one who dies of fright. Wait… does scaring myself count for the mission?”

  He thought for a moment, then shook his head.

  “Depending on who catches me, they might not let me go so easily.”

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  He let out a nervous yet playful laugh.

  Jack then began climbing Tom’s house carefully and with surprising agility. Searching along the windows, he soon found his target—a window he knew well. The room where two boys slept.

  “Bingo.”

  He smiled mischievously, his gaze filled with playful malice as he looked toward the annoying little boy. Tom Jr.—little Tomy, who always treated him like a jester.

  “Today is the day of my revenge, little one.”

  Jack crouched beneath the window and took a slow breath, calming his excitement so he could focus on the theatrical task ahead. He reviewed his plan again and again, though he kept changing small details without fully deciding on one.

  He also chose a hiding spot in case one of the brothers got up to investigate.

  He was extremely excited to progress the system’s mission. He wanted to see what changes it could bring to his daily life.

  Because that was what it meant for his monotonous existence.

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  Tom Jr. lay under his blankets in a deep sleep. His breathing was slow and calm. Even with the soft sighs of the night wind, he did not wake or feel discomfort. Since they were small, both Terry and Tomy had slept with the windows open to let in the breeze. Sometimes they closed them depending on the season, but not tonight.

  They slept on the upper floor in a small bunk bed that would soon need replacing as Terry continued to grow.

  Now and then, the rustling leaves made Tomy’s eyebrows twitch slightly in his light sleep.

  The wind grew stronger. The gentle breeze turned sharp, and the wood began to creak loudly. The high-pitched sound reached Tomy’s ears, and he opened his sleepy eyes.

  He blinked softly, on the verge of returning to the warm embrace of dreams.

  But the creaking grew louder—as if something heavy had stepped onto the floor. The house was completely silent otherwise, making the sound seem even louder.

  Tomy’s eyes opened fully for a moment of nervousness, but he quickly thought of his brother—Terry’s usual late-night trips to the bathroom.

  Then he heard the window slide open. The breeze grew stronger, almost like a small hurricane hitting his body. His dulled senses made the wind feel colder than it truly was. Shivers ran down him. His toes curled, and his legs trembled slightly.

  Tomy’s pulse quickened. The footsteps sounded heavier than his brother’s. And Terry was never careful about walking quietly at night.

  That ruled out his first idea.

  ‘It’s Terry. It has to be Terry,’ he reassured himself.

  But the creaking steps came closer to him instead of toward the bunk’s ladder.

  ‘It’s a raccoon. Yes, a fat, furry raccoon.’

  Tomy squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath as if pretending to be dead.

  Then he felt warm breathing on his neck. Deep. Heavy. It couldn’t belong to a small animal. Nor could it be just his sleepy imagination or warm air from the window.

  No. Impossible.

  There was something—someone—behind him.

  He felt a soft touch against his body. Light, yet rough. It brushed against his legs, then his face. The sensation was coarse and uncomfortable, like sharpened wooden stakes. More than one. Four sharp tips touching his face.

  That wasn’t his brother playing a prank.

  Tomy’s imagination ran wild. He remembered the horrible scarecrow that had stared at him earlier that day. He remembered its wooden, pointed hands. He imagined that dreadful being standing behind him.

  The image grew more and more vivid until he could picture nothing else but the scarecrow stroking his skin deliberately.

  He imagined its face watching him, eager to devour him.

  A soft whimper escaped his lips. The urge to scream was overwhelming. Tears filled the corners of his eyes.

  But when the hand withdrew, it did not touch him again.

  Still, he did not dare open his eyes.

  Time passed. Two minutes. Five. Ten. He wasn’t sure how long. He only felt frozen in terror.

  At some point, Tomy began breathing again. His heartbeat slowly calmed, and courage began to return. He imagined his older brother mocking him.

  Finally, he gathered the nerve to turn around.

  There was nothing.

  Only a window completely open and a dark night beyond, the moonlight faint behind thick clouds.

  A window that had not been open when he went to bed.

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  Jack slipped away through the cornfields with his scarecrow, a wide grin on his face as he looked at his updated status window.

  [Exp: 1/5]

  “1 experience point. That’s progress. And now it shows how much I need to level up. Once I finish the mission, I’ll level up.”

  He grinned even wider.

  “Will there be a reward for leveling up?”

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