Mr. Happy

Part One

      The orange sun was slowly giving way to a peachy tone, casting salmon brushstrokes across the cloud-blanketed sky. From my height, the corn stalks seemed to kiss the heavens, their dark green limbs stretched upward and cascading back down toward the earth. I watched them sway with the gentle breeze, dancing rhythmically, almost keeping time with the restless chirps of the crickets.
      I softly moved my hand over the stalks as I passed, listening to my footsteps crunch as I walked through the rows of soil. The scent of corn and dirt was strong, but for a brief moment, there was something more. It wasn't like any other natural surrounding scent. It was sweet, musky...it was the odour of cologne. Suddenly, the sound of a dried stalk cracking came from behind me. The corn rustled, and the scent grew stronger.
     "Psst." The cornstalks moved once more.
     "Wh-who's there?" I stammered, my eyes darting frantically.
      The answer was a thick, velvety chuckle. It sounded sinister, yet somehow inviting.
     "It's not funny! Tell me who you are!" I cried in frustration.
     The laughter echoed and filled the air in a way that made it sound close, yet far away.
     "If it's you Johnson boys, you can go on home!" I ordered, my small voice failing to hold any semblance of authority. Deep down, I knew the laugh was that of a man, not a couple of boys. "Daddy?" I finally asked out of desperation.
      "Shhhh."
      With that simple sound, I knew it wasn't my stepfather. For a moment, my mind went to a dark night, and the smell of whiskey on his breath.
    "Shhhh," he hissed, his rough hand covering my mouth as he crawled on top of me.
     Another stalk cracked behind me, frightening a murder of crows, and snapping me back to the present.
     "Please," I said at last, "please, just tell me who you are."
      The voice was silent for a short time. "I'm Mr. Happy."
      I instinctively started to run, darting in all sorts of directions, hoping to lose the man in the field. Despite having spent many days of my life in the field, hiding, playing, or just stopping to look at the sky, I suddenly felt the sinking feeling that I had gotten myself lost. I stopped and looked down at my boots, tears stinging my eyes.
      "Lost, Little One?"
      I looked up, only to find a tall man looking down at me. He dressed nicely, in a tweed suit with a shirt and tie, and a fedora sat atop his head. He looked very presentable, aside from the bright-yellow, smiling mask that rested on his face, and the large rusted scythe he held. His stubbled jaw peeked on either side of the mask. It looked so realistic; I could literally see the pores and wrinkles in the skin. It looked so real, in fact, that if he hadn't been breathing heavily, or speaking, I'd have assumed the mask was paint.
I tried to scream as I stared into his hollow, black eyes, but no sound left my lips.
      "You leave me alone, Mr. Happy. I'm not allowed to talk to strangers."
      "Why not?" He cocked his head to one side.
      "Daddy said they can hurt you." I said, looking up at him.
      "Well, have I hurt you?"
      I hesitated. "No...."
      "You're right, not yet. And if you do what I tell you, I won't have to!"
      My instincts told me not to do as he asked, but I also didn't want to get hurt.
      "Good girl." Mr. Happy rested his hand on my shoulder and knelt so that he was eye-level with me. "How old are you?"
      "I'm eight." I said matter-of-factly.
      "Eight! Such a smart girl for eight." His voice reminded me of Frank Sinatra, deep and smooth.
      "I read a lot." I looked down and moved a chunk of dirt with my boot.
      "Good girl," he squeezed my shoulder a little. "Reading is one of the best ways to learn."
       I looked up at him. The sun was dipping low and casting shadows on his mask.
       "What's your name?"
       "Violet."
       "That's a beautiful name for a very beautiful girl." He cocked his head to one side again. His voice sounded as though he smiled from behind the mask.
        My stomach churned. My stepfather said the same thing about me when my mother introduced us. "Th-thank you, Mr. Happy."
       "Polite too. You are a good girl." He stood and looked around. "Take me to your house."
       "N-no...Daddy won't take too kindly to strangers coming inside. Especially with Momma being sick." My head began to spin.
       "Shhhhh, you have to do as you're told. Remember, Violet? Besides, we'll be as quiet as a couple of church mice, I promise." Despite the eeriness of his mask, somehow the smile made me trust what he had to say.
        After some hesitation, I looked around, scanning for the light from the porch to guide us home. Before long, we reached the house. The old wooden steps greeted us with low groans as we quietly made our way up them. The porch light flickered, and the screen door creaked loudly, despite my efforts to keep it quiet. It caught the attention of my stepfather. 
       "Violet, that better be you." He growled.
       "Yes, D-Daddy, it's just me."
       "Good. I got plans for you later." His thick drawl indicated that his plans were of a dark nature.