Harold. That was the name of a murderous scarecrow in a book of short horror stories I used to read when I was a kid. It’s a name that can still make my hair stand on end, all these years later. The book was designed for kids, but the tale of Harold and his victims was especially terrifying.
Last weekend, my friends and I stopped by a small village in the Iya Valley region of Shikoku. We were at the end of a two-day hiking trip, driving along winding mountain roads, heading back towards Okayama. One of my friends had found a place on the map labeled simply as “Scarecrow Village,” and we were close enough to stop by. I felt some of that childhood trauma stirring inside me, but we got out of the car and started looking around.
Scarecrow Village was aptly named. There they were, hanging out around the information center, seated on the side of the road, peering in through windows, laboring over stacks of hay in the field. There appeared to be a married couple as well as a grandmotherly figure reclining on the floor. Scarecrows everywhere. There were dozens of them, each with unique clothing stretched over a lumpy body and a carefully crafted face.
Across the road, it got even weirder. There’s a long-abandoned elementary school standing in the shadow of Mt. Miune, and the old gymnasium is open to visitors. When we walked inside, we let out a collective gasp. The entire gym was filled with many, many more scarecrows, standing or seated in various poses. Some were in kimonos, and others were lined up on the stage or watching from the floor. It was as if we had interrupted some silent ceremony.
Altogether, there were several hundred scarecrows scattered throughout the area. The human population of the town? Only about 25.
In the daylight, with two friends and a couple other tourists, it was funny. Almost quaint. But if you imagine an entire town filled with slumped-over scarecrows…after three decades, I thought Harold may once again start making an appearance in my nightmares.
It’s not all gloom, though. We were lucky enough to meet Ayano Tsukimi, the mother of all these newspaper-stuffed mannequins. She told us the story behind her shrinking town of Nagoro, and her plan to add life to it by attracting tourists to the small community. Tsukimi-san lovingly crafts each scarecrow, often modeling them on real people that she knew, or even characters from famous manga. The town has gained plenty of attention on social media, and many tourists have found their way to Nagoro over the years since then. Some of them even donate clothes or other materials to help the cause.
Well, that obviously changed my perspective a bit. Scarecrow Village may look like a great place to shoot a horror movie, but there’s something much sweeter – and maybe a bit melancholy – under those old shirts and latex gloves. Tsukimi-san has found a clever way to memorialize her loved ones and, in the process, help revitalize the small town.
Harold has no place here, after all.
A trio of scarecrows waves goodbye to visitors (and offers to sell them some chestnuts).
