It had happened again. Vicki had tried to control herself but, as an eight-year-old, she’d been unable to help herself. This time she’d killed the nanny.

     Vicki perched on the taupe leather barstool in her parent’s kitchen, skinny elbows on the cold granite countertop. She took mouse-sized nibbles of a soft chocolate chip cookie and tried to figure out how to fix things. Although Sarah Rosen hadn’t been the nicest nanny in the world, she also hadn’t been the meanest either.

     Vicki knew she was just a waypoint on Sarah’s journey to something bigger and better. She knew because Sarah had told her that on the very first day she’d started.  She’d used those exact words and had repeated them at least once every week.

     “I’m destined for something bigger and better,” Sarah always said. “This job is just a waypoint on my journey to stardom.” Then she would brag how rich and famous she would be and ask if Vicki wanted an autograph before Sarah hit the big time.

     Vicki stared at the cookie in her hand while simultaneously trying to come up with a solution for her problem and not think about it at the same time. Instead, she counted chocolate chips. Eighteen. She counted exactly eighteen chocolate chips in her cookie. She glanced at the bag that boasted their cookies were stuffed with chips and decided they might just be telling the truth. She would have to eat a few more before coming to a final decision.

     “You better finish that up, Vix,” the nanny said as she rinsed a glass and placed it in the sink. “Waste not, want not.”

     “Okay,” Vicki took a bigger bite and struggled to swallow it down without choking. What the freak was she going to do? She had to find a way to stop this. While she didn’t really care for the willowy, childless thirty-something nanny, she certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. But Vicki had had the Feeling. That meant something would happen to Sarah.

     “I forgot to tell you.” Sarah dug in her pocket and produced a square piece of paper. A huge grin split her narrow horsey face as she waived it at Vicki. “This one’s it. I feel it.”

     Of course she did. Sarah always thought her most current lottery ticket would be the big winner. Vicki started to nod, agreeing with her as she always had, but stopped with the downward stroke of her chin.

     Vicki had had the Feeling about Sarah. She knew something would happen to her. Soon. Within the next week if things went as they had in the past. But it didn’t have to be something bad. Sometimes when Vicki had the Feeling, something good happened. It was rare, but it did happen.

     Maybe this time something good would happen. Maybe this time Sarah would win.

     A huge weight lifted from Vicki’s eight-year-old chest.

     Maybe she hadn’t killed the nanny. Maybe she’d actually helped her get what she’d always wanted. Money. Lots and lots of money.

     Vicki grinned back at Sarah, nodding her head vigorously.

     “Finish up quick, Vix. The drawing’s in ten minutes.” She turned and headed for the living room. “And make sure you clean all those crumbs off that counter when you’re done.”

     Vicki didn’t mind. Something good would happen this time. She swiped all the minute crumbs into her hand and dashed for the sink. Sarah would win the lottery. She could feel it.

     Just as Vicki made her way to the couch in the living room, the doorbell rang.

     “Some people’s timing just sucks.” Sarah grunted with frustration as she pushed up from the recliner. She headed toward the foyer, her eyes glued on the television as she walked past. The bell chimed a second time.

     “Alright already. I’m coming.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed in anger. “If it’s somebody trying to sell something, I’m going to smack ‘em up side the head.”

     Vicki refocused on the television. A woman sat in a restaurant and complained about her split ends. She then listened as her sympathetic friend told her about a new shampoo. Animated graphics proved that with regular use, the woman’s hair would be stronger than ever. The next day and one shampoo later, the woman smiled and agreed. Her split ends were gone forever.

     Thump.  

     Vicki’s head snapped toward the foyer. Voices rang down the tiled entryway, one deep and jagged, the other shrill. Had someone really made the mistake of ringing the bell and attempting to sell something to Sarah?

     “Welcome to tonight’s Power Four Lottery drawing.” The woman’s voice on the television was peppy and breathy as she made the opening announcements. The muffled sound of ping-pong balls bouncing around sounded like a popcorn air popper.

     Vicki scooted off the couch and eased toward the front of the house. If Sarah followed through on her threat—which she usually did—then Vicki wanted to see this guy get smacked by her nanny.

     She eased to the edge of the wall, a smile of anticipation tugging at the corners of her mouth. She heard Sarah yelling at him, reading the riot act to him—at least, that’s what her dad always said her mom did to him whenever he did or said something she didn’t like. And even though Vicki couldn’t understand every word, it sure sounded like Sarah was giving him an ear full.

     “Our first number in the Power Four drawing is two,” the spokeswoman said. “Two.”

     Vicki peeked around the corner, not wanting to miss the blow she felt sure would occur at any moment. It would be better than any of the wrestling matches Sarah watched on TV when she thought no one was looking. It would be for real.

     But instead of Sarah smacking a sales guy, the man at the door smacked her. Vicki watched as her nanny stumbled across the foyer, falling onto the skinny table against the wall. Her head slammed into the large framed mirror hanging above it with a sickening crack, causing the glass to break and spider web into a million fragments. Sarah moaned and staggered toward the kitchen, but the guy who’d hit her grabbed her before she’d taken two steps. A shaft of greasy blond hair fell across his eyes as he spun her toward him.

     “Where?” The deep voice rasped from a scarecrow head with hollowed unshaven cheeks. He wore stained jeans and a ripped t-shirt that actually fluttered on his skeletal frame as he grabbed her. His wild eyes searched her face with hunger.

     “A house like this? You gotta have money stashed somewhere.” His long skinny fingers dug needle-sharp into her arms as he shook her. “Tell me where.”

     “Our second number is four,” the Power spokeswoman said. “Four.”

     Sarah’s head lolled and blood from the gash on her forehead trickled down the side of her face. Her arms came up and slapped at the guy, but her weakened state made it easy for him to avoid.

     “Time’s up.” He snarled at her, his face contorting with monster rage. Scarecrow chucked her away with a lightening fast pitch. Sarah’s body thudded against the wall and when she crashed onto the floor, a tooth shot from her mouth and skittered across the cold marble tiles. It stopped inches from Vicki’s hiding place.

     She stared, transfixed by the tooth. It had been knocked out cleanly. Four bloody roots pointed toward Vicki. She wanted to grab it, but didn’t dare.

     “The third number is six,” the perky voice in the background droned. “Six.”

     A sharp click made Vicki tear her gaze from the tooth and look up at Scarecrow.

     A knife.

     He straddled over Sarah in the foyer. She flailed at him, clawed at him, even landed a few blows. She whimpered and growled inhuman noises. But the downward force of his arm as he plunged the knife into her chest and stomach was more than she could ward off. She quit moving after six.

     He kept going until eighteen.

     Vicki knew. She’d counted every one. She couldn’t help it.

     She pushed herself back from the doorway. Scarecrow would be coming this way. She couldn’t let him find her or he’d do to her what he’d done to Sarah.

     “And the last number in our Power Four drawing is…”

     Vicki scrambled through the living room, the familiar ping-pong sound of a ball dropping and rolling down a plexi-glass tube followed after her.

     “Eighteen,” the spokeswoman’s voice rang out. “The Power Number for tonight’s drawing is eighteen.”

     The lottery didn’t matter. Not anymore.

     Vicki scurried through the kitchen and up the back stairs. She ran as quickly and soundlessly as she could manage down the hardwood hall to her bedroom. After a quick scan, she decided the closet was her best bet.

     She eased back into the furthest corner behind all of her toys and stuffed animals. Her breaths came short and shallow. Her heart pounded so hard she felt sure Scarecrow would hear it the moment he stepped into her bedroom.

     And he would. Vicki knew he would. He had that wild, you-can’t-hide-from-me look about him. He would know right where she was.

     Vicki burrowed deeper into her pile of toys. She grabbed Mr. Brownsy and held the overstuffed dog tightly to her chest. She knew he couldn’t protect her from Scarecrow—nothing could—but he made her feel less alone while she sat huddled in the dark.

     The door to her room creaked open.

     Scarecrow. He’d found her.

     Vicki held her breath as he walked across the thick emerald carpet covering her floor. He wanted to find her. He wanted to shake her and break her like he’d done to Sarah.

     Vicki bit down hard on Mr. Brownsy’s ear. She didn’t want to make any noise. If she was as quiet, just like the church mouse her mom told her about, then maybe Scarecrow would leave her alone.

     Her breath, already shallow, hitched when her closet door opened. Light flooded the little space. Buried beneath her trusted stuffed friends, she shivered and silently cried, huge tears welling from the corners of her eyes.

     Go away.  

     “Victoria.”

     Vicki didn’t dare move.

     “Victoria Spear.”

     She tried to see past her fuzzy friends, but she’d buried herself too deep. She couldn’t see anything. All she heard was Scarecrow’s voice.

     Except it didn’t sound like Scarecrow’s voice.

     “You can come out, Victoria. It’s safe.”

     How did he know her name? She didn’t know Scarecrow. Never seen him before in her life.

     “The bad man’s gone, Victoria. You’re safe.”

     Safe? A spear of hope shot through her so hard she nearly jerked from its force.

     “I know you’re in there. You can come out. You’re perfectly safe.”

     It sure didn’t sound like Scarecrow’s raspy monster voice. This one was rich and deep and clear. Instead of sending chills down her spine, this one made her feel warm. Like her dad’s voice. 

     “Hoo ah oo?” 

     She heard him kneel down. “What was that?”

     She pulled Mr. Brownsy’s ear from her mouth before repeating, “Who are you?”

     “A friend,” he said.

     “Friend?” She peeked around a large gray rabbit for a better look. “I don’t know you.”

     “Well, I’m Matthew. But since we’re friends, you can call me Matt.” He gave her a sun-filled smile that made her feel good. “Why don’t you come out so we can shake hands properly?”

     Vicki eased forward a little. “How do I know you aren’t friends with Scarecrow?”

     “With who?” His brow furrowed then cleared. “Oh. I promise. I am not friends with that guy.” When she didn’t move, he leaned his head to the side so he could see her better. “That Scarecrow guy, he wasn’t very nice. I got rid of him so you’d be safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He held up his hand. “Promise.”

     Vicki pushed through her stuffed animals and stood on wobbly legs. “Pinky promise?”

     “Pinky promise.” He extended his hand, offering her his grown-up pinky. Vicki reached out and wrapped her much smaller pinky around his. They shook twice. If he knew about the pinky promise, she could trust him. She took two steps forward before he lifted her from the floor and carried her to her bed. He placed her on the edge and sat next to her.

     He took a deep breath and let out a long whistle of air between his lips.

     “You’ve got something bad to tell me. Don’t you?” she said.

      “What gave it away?”

      “Whenever my daddy has something bad to tell me or like, when I’m in trouble or something, or when he’s really, really angry with me, he makes that sound.” She looked into his face and found kindness in his dark eyes. He might be younger than her mom and dad, but the coal black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie made him look much older.

     “It’s Sarah. Isn’t it?” Tears filled her eyes as guilt bore down on her eight-year-old chest.

     “Yes.” He ran a hand through his short dark hair. “I need you to stay right here until the police arrive. I’ve already called them, so you won’t have to wait long.”

     “Why did he do that? Scarecrow.”

     “Sometimes people do bad things.” He rose, leaving her alone on the bed. He walked to the door then turned back to her. “You wait here. Don’t leave this room. When the police get here, you tell them everything you saw.”

     “Even about you?” She didn’t want to get her new friend in trouble.

     “That’s fine. Tell them about me, too.” He tugged his earlobe twice while he thought. “Might even work better for them in some ways.”

     “Okay.”

     He stepped out in the hallway and looked around. “You probably won’t see me for a while, but know I’ll be keeping an eye on you. So stay out of trouble. Okay?” He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
     
     “Kay.”

     With a final nod he left her, sitting on her bed, waiting for the police. The silence of his departure teased and tortured her. Was he really gone? What had he done to get rid of Scarecrow? What was taking the police so long to arrive?

     She wanted to do what Matt had told her and stay put, but the silence that filled the house drove her from her bedroom. She eased down the back stairs to the kitchen. On the other side of the counter she found Scarecrow.

     He laid face-up in the kitchen floor, a small round hole in the middle of his forehead. A skinny trail of red scored the side of his head from the hole down to the tile where it gathered in a small puddle before soaking into the grout lines. Had Matt done this? Had Matt killed Scarecrow to protect her?

     Her eyes tracked the path the blood had followed, trickling down some grout lines but not others. She let her head tilt to the side. Her eyes narrowed, the focus blurring. Did Scarecrow have a last statement to make?

     Then Vicki saw it. Her breath caught as a shiver coursed through her body, raising goose bumps on her skin.

     Six.

     The blood from Scarecrow’s body had created the number six on the kitchen floor.

     Vicki backed away. She skirted the body and continued to her original destination. She found Sarah on the icy marble foyer floor. Where Scarecrow had left her.

     The persistent sound of sirens whined in earnest but was muted by the distance. They were headed to her house. Maybe she should have waited up in her room like Matt had told her. But there was something else she needed to do first.

     She knelt next to Sarah and pulled the white square of paper from her blood-soaked jeans pocket. Vicki already knew which numbers were printed on it, but looked nonetheless. Two. Four. Six. Eighteen.

     “You won, Sarah.” Vicki looked down into Sarah’s ashen face, her eyes staring off at nothing, glassy, lifeless. “You won.”

     The guilt Vicki had felt earlier returned in force. She leaned down and whispered into her dead nanny’s ear.

      “I’m sorry I killed you.”