On the night of the 15th March 1865. Vincent was summoned in his sleep awake yet unaware, the man with the glowing face vivid in his dream drawing him out. Out in his corn field he stood with a white glaze in his eye staring out into nothing, the only thing he could see was the same glowing face that had been calling him.
By morning Frieda woke in an empty bed the air as quiet as the grave, as she looked outside she saw her husband, crucified in the cornfield where he stood last night, his face decorated with a ceremonial paint that mimicked his spectral visitor the previous nights.
She left to call the officials in a panic but of course when she came back her husbands body had vanished, only to be seen again in the dreams of the next poor soul chosen to bare the face of the Scarecrow.
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