The Black Pointy Hat (youngsters:fantasy, 2141 words)
Author: Ian Hobson	Added: Sep 13 2007	Views/Reads: 6707/3202	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Not that the scarecrow minded how he looked; he was, after all, just a scarecrow, without a single thought in his head...

The Black Pointy Hat 

©2007 Ian Hobson 

The wizard was having a bad day.  He was a grumpy old wizard and he'd
gone out for a walk on a sunny morning only to be caught in a rain 
shower.  Then, as he turned back towards home, the rain stopped and out 
came the sun again.  He stood for a moment at the edge of the village 
where he lived, not knowing what to do for the best, when suddenly a 
gust of wind came and blew off his hat. 

'Drat and tarnation!' he shouted as he raced back along the lane after
his hat.  But the gust of wind had lifted his hat high into the air.  
It was a tall black, pointy hat, and the wind had got inside it and 
sent it whizzing over the fields and over the treetops, like a kite 
with no string.  But eventually the hat came tumbling to earth and 
landed on a scarecrow's head. 

The scarecrow was quite old, having stood in the same field for almost
three years, and he was looking rather the worse for wear.  His head 
was made from an old sack stuffed with straw, his eyes, nose and mouth 
were buttons, and he wore an old coat and a pair of old trousers that 
had once belonged to the farmer, and his feet were just an old pair of 
rubber boots.  Not that the scarecrow minded how he looked; he was, 
after all, just a scarecrow, without a single thought in his head.  Or, 
at least, he was until the wizard's hat fell from the sky and landed on 
it; for the hat had a magic all of its own. 

To the scarecrow it was like waking from a deep sleep.  He yawned and
stretched, which wasn't difficult because his arms were held, stuck out 
straight at each side of his body, by a thick garden cane that had been 
threaded through the sleeves of his coat.  But when he tried to take a 
step forward, he couldn't because he was nailed to a wooden post. 

'Why am I here?' he asked himself out loud. 'And who am I?  And what am
I?' 

Suddenly a crow came swooping down out of the sky and landed on the
scarecrow's right arm.  The crow lived in a nearby tree and would often 
come and sit on the scarecrow's arm, for he knew that the scarecrow was 
nothing but a pile of old clothes stuffed with straw, though he 
wondered where the black pointy hat had come from. 

'Get away!' said the scarecrow, turning his head and speaking in a voice
so loud he almost frightened himself.  And the crow, having had the 
fright of his life, leapt into the air and went flying back to his 
nest. 

'Well that scared him,' said the scarecrow, suddenly realising that
scaring crows was his purpose in life.  'So that's what I am', he said, 
with new-found insight.  'I'm a scarecrow.'  And then, at the top of 
his voice, he shouted it out loud, 'I'm a scarecrow!  I'm a scarecrow!' 
and all the birds in the nearby trees took to the air in fright. 

But one bird was not frightened.  This bird was an owl, and she was very
wise; and while the other birds were flying away over the treetops, she 
came swooping down to investigate.  'My, my,' she said as she landed in 
the field in front of the scarecrow, 'a talking scarecrow, whatever 
next?' 

'Why are you not scared?' the scarecrow asked, looking down into the
bird's big round eyes. 

'Why should I be?' replied the owl.  'I'm an owl not a crow, and you're
just a sack of straw nailed to a post; though that's a strange looking 
hat you are wearing.  Where did you get it from?'  The owl swivelled 
her head, first left then right, as she looked up at the hat, suddenly 
remembering where she had seen one just like it. 

The scarecrow, realising for the first time that he was wearing a hat,
tried to reach for it, but with his arms still held stiff by the garden 
cane, he couldn't.  'I don't know where I got it from,' he said. 

'There's more to that hat than meets the eye,' observed the owl.  And,
with that, she took to the air and flew away. 


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