It gets very restless when there is no one to play with. Hopping down the hallways, bumping into crumbling doors, peering through observation windows, cartwheeling down the narrow stairs, it turns the dark ward into its hunting grounds. In tandem with discarded jumping jacks, it mimics the residual motions of the long-gone inmates, scattering dust and hay as it beats the headless cardboard figures against the walls. One of these days someone may come and carry it like an effigy down a village street, warding off evil spirits and frightening small children alike. For now the scarecrow has only itself left to scare.