Five

There was the sensation of broken glass.

The iron certainty that had filled Penny Whiteface's head until a moment ago was splintering apart, falling to pieces inside her head. This wasn't how it went.

Her shoulder screamed at her, louder even than the dull, icy pain in her wrist from the scarecrow-thing's grip. It was holding on hard, its grip tighter and more painful than a vise, and paying no attention to her discomfort. Its legs were long and uneven. She was nowhere near as tall. All she could do was stumble along in its wake and try not to let it rip her arm off.

It had simply brute-forced its way through the mob at the theater doors. Now it was dragging her back towards the carts, through the panicking crowds. She had dropped the whip somewhere back in the press of bodies. She had no weapon.

But... it hadn't tried to kill her. It appeared to be trying to save her.

It had saved her.

She could hear screams and the splintering of wood as the booths were broken and trampled in the mad rush, but those noises were fading now. There weren't as many people running through the carts. They were headed for the exits, into the forest.

The scarecrow-thing staggered to a halt in front of her cart and roughly hauled her around so that she was standing in front of it. When it took its hand off of her wrist, she saw a livid bruise already beginning to rise around the deep scratches that its claw-like fingers had left.

She stood perfectly still, staring up into the hollow jack-o'-lantern eyes, her expression carefully blank. It was the same expression she had worn during the show: stony impassiveness, with the slightest hint of disdain.

Confusion and fear fought for control of her features. She stifled them. She refused to break down now.

Instead she said, in a voice like a scalpel, "Who are you?"

The thing in front of her shifted slightly, rocking on its uneven legs. The leering, predatory grin on its carved face didn't change, but she thought she detected a hint of uncertainty there.

After a moment, the thing lifted its hands and slipped them into the pockets of its overlarge coat. Then it shrugged. It was a surprisingly expressive gesture on its deformed frame.

"I don't know." The carved mouth didn't move when it spoke. Its voice was high-pitched and cold, like a file being drawn across a rusted hinge or the creaking of old wood. Again, it appeared to hesitate, as if it was surprised at the sound.

She stared at it, waiting for something else, but it didn't speak again. It seemed to be waiting for her to react. Eventually, she gave in. "Then what do you want?"

"To talk to you." Its head swung from side to side slowly, as if looking around, but without eyes, it was difficult to tell. "I want to know who I am and how I got here. I remember some things, but not much." Another pause, but this time it spoke before she felt the urge to fill in the silence. "I remember your name."

She laughed, once. There was no humor in the sound. "Yeah?" She rubbed ruefully at the bruises and cuts on her wrist. "Well, that's weird, because it's not my name. It's a stage name. Penny Wise? Come on."

The thing just continued to watch her, swaying. It had the most emphatic silences she had ever heard.

"Penny Columbine," she said eventually. She opened her mouth to continue, but there was another scream from the crowd, longer, and with the sharp edge that indicated pain rather than fear. Her head snapped around towards the noise.

The scarecrow looked around as well. "It's still out there," it rasped. "We need to keep moving."

We, she noticed. Well, it was strong, and apparently wanted to keep her alive. And was either brave or suicidal. Good enough.


"Fine," she said sharply. "Where are we going?"

Something in her mind told her that she should have the answer to that question, but it was lost in the splintering sensation. Her brain felt as though someone has poured ice water into it. Her mind was crumbling.

"Into the woods." The thing slipped its hands out of its pockets and lurched off towards the trees. "Away from here." In the dim light, the jeering grin on its face seemed to mock her.

"Any better ideas than getting hopelessly lost?" she snapped, as she fell into step just behind it. Her wrist throbbed dully, and she grimaced angrily.

"You're the one who doesn't have amnesia," answered the thing flatly. "Tell me what you know about this place and we can figure out where we're going."

"Who says I don't have amnesia?" she said, frowning at the back of its head. "I've got no clue how I got here either."

The thing paused for a moment to glance at her over its shoulder. "But you were in the show," it said simply, as if that meant something. "And you know your name."

She snorted, and stomped ahead of it to lead the way into the trees. Behind them, more screams broke out amongst the crowd. "I know my name, but I've got no idea where we are, what's going on, or how I got here," she said, without looking back. She heard the crunch of twigs and leaves underfoot as the scarecrow started forward again, following her. "I only know I keep waking up in crazy fucking situations, and the same thing happens every time."

"What happens?" The scarecrow had caught up to her. It wasn't really surprising; the thing had almost two feet in height over her, and with legs that long, it moved fast, even if it was clumsy.

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face it again. "I die," she snarled, jabbing a finger towards its chest. She felt the wood under the shirt. "Everything acts normal, even if the place is weird, until all of a sudden that thing shows up and it kills me. And then I wake up again. I've lost count of the number of times I've had to go through that."

The jack-o'-lantern kept up its mocking grin, but the voice that came from it held no edge of malice. "But you didn't die this time," it said simply.

"Yeah, because you showed up," she said. She knew that she should feel grateful, or relieved, or anything other than angry - but her blood was rushing in her ears, her head was throbbing, and the confusion in her mind was so overwhelming that she could almost feel herself starting to go insane. "Whoever the hell you are. You weren't supposed to - I've got no idea what to do now!"

Despite herself, her voice cracked, becoming a wail. She grimaced again and dropped her gaze down to her suit. A tiny fleck of dust on the lapel caught her eye, and she brushed it off with a hiss.

"You come with me," said the voice of the scarecrow. She looked up.

"You come with me, and we find out where we are, how we got here, and who I am," it continued flatly. Then it stopped, and swayed on the spot again. "I don't want to watch you die," it added, after a moment.

She snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm not too fond of it either, but at least I knew how it worked," she said. She realized how stupid it sounded almost as soon as the words had left her lips, and scowled again. Then she turned away and stomped a few steps off into the forest. "So where the hell are we going?"

"That way."

She waited for some indication of direction, but none came. After a moment, she turned back. There was the scarecrow, standing in the middle of a small clearing and pointing almost directly upward.

At the moon.

"What, can you fly?" Despite herself, she smirked slightly.

It shook its head. "No. But that's the only landmark we've got. The moon." It lowered its overlong arm and slipped its hands into its pockets again. "It's the center," it said, still looking upward. "Everything spins around it. It's like the Pole Star. I remember the Pole Star. There isn't one here, but there is the moon." A pause. "It looks bigger than it should, too. Like it's closer. I want to find out what's under it. In the center of all this."

It lowered its head and fixed her with its empty grin again. "Or we could go back and see what happens when you die this time."

She sighed heavily and started walking again. "Point taken, Mister Sticks. It's better than dying. Let's go."

Again, she heard the crunching sound of the scarecrow walking behind her. Together, they set off through the forest.