Timovore

Imagine a bar, near Halloween, Back in the back corner two figures sit at a table. One is a young woman probably in her last year of college, she’s dressed up in a cute scarecrow costume. The other woman looks a bit older, and dressed up as a demon with purple skin and horns. The two are sitting and talking, clearly flirting and the scarecrow is blushing bright enough to show over her rosy painted cheeks.

“I always love Halloween, the costumes are just so adorable.” The demon says smiling.

“Why thank you, I’ve always loved it since I was small. It got me into cosplay as I got older.” The scarecrow replies sipping from her solo cup.

“Want to hear a secret? When I was young I always imagined getting turned into whatever I was dressed up as for Halloween.” The demon smiles meaning forward.

“Well that would go great for you. You look… stunning.” The scarecrow replies, pausing as she realizes what she just said. “I think I’d get the short end of that stick.” She continued pointing down to herself.

“Oh but just imagine that. Imagine how it would feel to suddenly feel the straw be part of you.” The demon smiles over her glass, leaning in more. The scarecrow finds herself leaning in, her eyes transfixed on the woman across from her, her hand reaching up to scratch at her neck.

“Imagine how stiff you would feel, having sticks inside you to keep your arms out straight.” The scarecrow nodded, her motion suddenly much more stiff, her eyes furrowed and darted to the side as she felt her arms stretching out of their own accord.

“Imagine being made of straw. Too weak and helpless to move on your own.” The demon smiles, watching the panic set in as the scarecrow’s eyes widened in panic as she fell back into the chair.

“S-stop this.” The girl demanded. Her body feeling so helpless. Surely someone would notice what was happening. They were in the middle of a public bar! But no. Everyone else was busy drinking or dancing or lost in their own conversations.

“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one imagining yourself with a face that’s just painted onto a burlap sack.”

The scarecrow gave one last panicked yelp as she felt her face changed her lips seal shut. Her eyes become nothing but painted on details on a cloth sack that now was her head. She remained motionless, resting in the chair, looking to all the world as just a scarecrow, even though inside the poor girl struggled to even do much as twitch.

“Such a good decoration.” The demon cooed. The scarecrow was surprised to hear the voice both from the lips of the woman, but also echoing in her mind. “But you’re too large to move. Whatever you do, don’t think about shrinking down and becoming the decoration you are.”

She tried not too. She tried so hard not to picture herself as what the demon said. But it was no use. She felt herself shrinking down to four feet tall, maybe less. Her body lightening as the straw inside was replaced with lightweight foam, even the painted on details on her face simplified as she turned into just a generic looking decoration of a scarecrow. The demon smiled brighter and stood up. Grabbing the frozen scarecrow and walking toward the entrance of the bar before planting the singular stick of the scarecrow in a bale of straw at the entrance.

The scarecrow gasped internally as she was turned to stare forward into a mirror on the fae wall, she wouldn’t have recognized herself if the purple skinned demon had not been stroking her fabric face with a clawed hand.

“You just stay right there.” The demoness cooed and smiled, knowing the scarecrow was helpless to do anything. Well, anything but panic. And that’s what the demoness wanted. As she pressed her fingers into the stuffed head of the scarecrow she felt the connection grow stronger, the thoughts and fears of the helpless woman flooding into her mind, joining the choir of the other half dozen victims she had already transformed in this small town. Their collective fears feeding the Timovore like a continuous buffet. She would make sure to visit them once a day to stir up the hope of being restored, only to let the fear settle in anew.

The demoness left the poor girl begging for help as she sauntered from the bar and looked up and down the street. After all, there was always room for desert.