The Whispers of the Crows

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Megan stirred. “Are we there yet?” Her right hand was fastened around the arm of a stuffed bear given to her by their mother. Since her death, Megan had taken to carrying the stuffed companion with her nearly everywhere she went.

  Russ nodded. “Almost, pumpkin.” The corner of his mouth twitched at the words, as if he had tried the nickname on for size and found it distasteful. The truck sped past a green sign as they headed downhill. “Welcome to Booneville. We’ll be home soon.”

  Connor wasn’t sure where they were going, but he knew it wasn’t home. How could it be, without his mother? He missed Maryland already, and yet, part of him knew he could never continue living in the house where he watched his mother die. It felt like being divided in two. Part of him couldn’t bear letting go of the past. The other half wanted desperately to start a new life somewhere else.

  The pickup passed from one side of town to the other in less time than it took to reach his old school from his house in Maryland. If he blinked, he might have missed it altogether. A single gas station loomed at the edge of town. A Family Dollar and a Dollar General in somewhat close proximity served as the two local grocery stores, as far as Connor could tell. Farther in, several vehicles were parked outside a small café across from the courthouse. Nestled under the watchful gaze of the overlooking tree-covered hills, the sleepy country town was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of city life to which he was accustomed.

  With Booneville behind them, it wasn’t long until the road twisted and turned through the hills. The world slipped away, the power lines the only remaining sign of civilization. Finally, a farm materialized on the other side of a wooden fence with peeling black paint.

  “Here we are,” Russ said. A cloud of dust rolled off the pickup as it turned onto a narrow gravel road.

  Megan pulled at Connor’s sleeve. “Look, Connor—cows!” A black cow stood near the road, chewing cud and lazily watching them from its fenced-in pasture.

  Russ leaned forward. “This is a working farm. We’ve got all kinds of animals here: cows, horses, chickens. You might even spot a goat or two if you look hard enough.”

  A vast cornfield ran the length of the road, stretching toward a forest at the property’s border. An enormous green tractor drove through the adjoining field, baling freshly cut hay.

  The road ended at a rustic, two-story farmhouse with black shutters. A group of barns and sheds at the end of a dirt trail, all in varying states of disrepair, neighbored the house. Connor counted four barns and three sheds in all. The barns were all painted red, save for one farthest away from the farmhouse. Two gray silos, side-by-side and three times as tall as the trees in the yard, cast twin shadows over the barns. A rusted tin windmill teetered in the breeze above a small reservoir.

  “Wow. There’s so much . . . land.” The prospect of exploring the farm and its mysteries sent a sudden surge of excitement coursing through Connor’s veins.

  Russ laughed. “You’re not in the city anymore. Things work a little differently out here. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

  The pickup ground to a halt beside a truck that sported an amateur camouflage paint job, offset by the rippling green grass in which it was parked alongside the farmhouse.

  “Don’t forget Mister Bear,” Megan said when Connor helped her out of the truck.

  He dutifully delivered the stuffed animal to her outstretched hands, fetched his backpack out of the back, and followed her, eager to move freely after the long journey. Sunlight flooded him with warmth. The sky was a clear blue, without a cloud in sight for miles. At the edge of the field, the green tractor spat out a hay bale as it began its slow return to the farmhouse.

  “You live here?” Connor surveyed the property from up close. The farmhouse seemed old—very old. Sections of gray paint were faded or missing entirely. Vines had grown up along several walls.

  “More or less.” The tailgate squealed then boomed as it crashed down, and Russ proceeded to unload their suitcases from the truck bed. “I’m the farm manager here.”

  Connor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s a farm manager?”

  “The bank foreclosed on this property, but they need someone to keep it from falling into disrepair and to spruce it up until they can find someone else to buy the land.” He glanced around, taking in the farm for himself. “This place has seen better days. I reckon it’ll take some time to restore it to its former glory. From the look of things, we’ll be staying here for a while yet.” His back to Connor, Russ set two suitcases on the ground and reached for a box of Megan’s toys.

  A low growl emanated from the farmhouse. Megan had wandered to the porch a short distance away, where a snarling dog stared her down. The dog was small but muscular and stout, with patches of black and white fur. Its ears were pointed, and a black circle around one eye made it look like a robber.

  Megan trembled and clutched Mister Bear for protection.

  “Don’t move,” Connor called to her.

  She didn’t seem to hear him. When the dog bared its teeth, she fled, waving the stuffed bear wildly in her panic. The dog leapt off the porch, nipping at her heels. Megan ran blindly into the side of an old well. She was pinned there by the dog, with nowhere to go.

  “Megan!” Connor felt frozen—powerless. In an instant he was back inside the middle school bathroom again, being pummeled by Derek and his goons.

  A whistle brought the dog to heel. “This is Bandit.” Russ squatted down and scratched the dog behind the ears. “He’s a blue heeler—an Australian cattle dog. He’s bred to herd cattle, so he’ll chase anything that runs away. You don’t have to be afraid of him. See?”

  Bandit let out a lazy yawn and licked Megan’s leg. Megan grinned and bravely patted the dog on the head, and Connor found himself able to breathe again.

  The tractor rolled inside the largest of the barns, and the roar of its engine fell silent. The man who emerged was almost cartoonish in appearance. He was a behemoth in size, almost as wide as he was tall. Sunlight glistened off his bald, sunburned scalp as he stepped outside the barn’s shade. A scraggly gray beard obscured the lower half of his face and the top half of his overalls.

  When the stranger spotted Connor and Megan, his face broke into a toothy grin. “Look who we have here.”

  Russ stood and gestured toward their ungainly relative. “Kids, this is your uncle Buddy.”

  Buddy swung a raggedy baseball cap over his head and scooped Megan into a tight hug. Connor was almost afraid his uncle was going to crush her. “Lord, how you’ve grown. And you must be Connor.” Before Connor knew what was happening, Buddy was hugging him, too. Sweat dripped off his uncle’s drenched shirt as the man relinquished his grip. “I ain’t seen y’all since you were teeny.”

  Connor, who doubted he would ever forget having encountered a man like Buddy before, guessed his uncle must have met them when their parents were still together, which felt like a long time ago now.

  “Ol’ Bandit here isn’t giving you any trouble, is he?” Buddy’s gaze moved to the dog. He struggled with one of his pockets until at last he fished out a doggy treat and tossed it to the blue heeler. “He’s a good boy. You’d best watch out for that well, though. It goes deep, and it’s been a while since this place has had a good rain.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Russ turned to the kids. “Buddy works here, too. He’s also going to help keep an eye on you two.”

  “You make it sound like a chore.” Buddy aimed a wink at Connor. “I’ve been looking forward to spending some time with my niece and nephew.”

  Connor couldn’t help smiling at his uncle’s lack of reserve. He was unlike Russ, who had said next to nothing over the entire trip from Maryland. Buddy had an easy friendliness about him and seemed glad to see them. Connor decided, despite everything, maybe he would enjoy living on the farm after all.

 
Russ looked around. “It looks like you’ve gotten off to an early start in my absence. I barely had time to move my things in and stock the fridge before I got the call about . . .” He looked at the two children beside him, and his voice trailed off. “So, what do you make of this place? It seems like a real fixer-upper to me.”

  Buddy pulled out a faded red hanky and wiped a torrent of sweat from his brow. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Can’t seem to keep the crows away though.” He motioned to the fence, where a black crow watched them with an unnerving stare. “They’re everywhere. I’ve never seen so many of the devils in one place.”

  Connor noticed two more crows perched on the house and another flying over the forest.

  “We’ll have to do something about that,” Russ said. “I don’t want them messing with the crops.”

  Buddy glanced up at the sky. “I reckon that’s better left for another day. We’d best be getting these two settled inside before it gets dark, don’t you think?”

  Russ nodded almost reluctantly. “Yeah. Come on, kids. I’ll show you to your rooms and whip us up some dinner.” Followed by Bandit, he grabbed their suitcases and walked up the porch steps toward the farmhouse’s screen door.

  Megan reached for Buddy, and their uncle took her hand. “After you, princess.”

  Connor lingered behind, disappointed. He’d hoped for a chance to explore the farm. It wasn’t even dark yet, but it looked like he’d have to wait for tomorrow.

  He swung open the screen door and entered the farmhouse. There was an old smell to it, similar to the pickup but not quite the same. The furniture was worn and antiquated, as if he’d stepped into the past. The wooden floorboards were well weathered by time. They creaked under his weight as he moved through the room. The hands of a tall grandfather clock remained fixed in place, even as the pendulum swung back and forth.

  “The sink’s broken,” he heard Russ call from an adjoining room.

  “I’ve been meaning to fix it.” Buddy’s boots thundered down the stairs, and then he poked his sunburned head into the parlor. “I think I left my wrench with the tractor, or maybe in the barn. I don’t remember.”

  “I’ll get it,” Connor volunteered, eager for a glimpse of at least part of the farm before sundown. He tossed his backpack onto the sofa. The screen door slammed shut behind him as he hurried down the dirt trail that led to the red barn, where the tractor sat idly.

  After surveying the metal giant twice, Connor determined the wrench wasn’t anywhere near the tractor. He walked through the spacious barn, searching for the tool, passing stalls full of horses and storage rooms full of feed.

  It’s not here. He walked out of the open gate at the rear of the barn.

  Carried by the breeze, a whisper echoed from down the trail. Connor’s gaze fell on the unpainted barn farthest from the farmhouse. The abandoned barn looked out of place, as if it didn’t quite belong among the other slightly more spruced-up structures. Many of its planks were rotten or otherwise missing altogether. A gust of wind stirred fallen leaves across the path, as if motioning for him to come closer, and Connor found himself drawn down the trail.

  It was darker inside the dilapidated barn. Dust and hay were everywhere. There were no horses or other animals to occupy the rows of empty stalls. A rusty lock barred passage through a splintered wooden door.

  Sunlight glinted off an object in the hayloft. Was it the wrench? Connor looked from the hayloft to the floor and back up again; it didn’t seem so high up. He climbed the ladder and pulled himself onto the hayloft. The scent of musty hay hung about the air, and Connor fought back a sneeze. He searched for a sign of the wrench and felt through the haystacks with his hands.

  Something rustled past his fingers, and Connor drew his hand back, startled. Before he could react, a crow hurtled at him from the shadows, flapping its black wings. Connor lost his balance and stumbled backward blindly. He felt a rotten board crack under his weight, and the floor opened underneath his feet.

  The darkness swallowed him whole.

  Chapter THREE

  He woke to the sound of whispers.

  Connor moaned and coughed out a lungful of dust. His entire body ached from the fall. It was dim inside the room where he had fallen. A hint of light seeped through the child-sized gap in the wooden planks above, which took on the appearance of an open maw.

  He listened again for the whispers, but the room was completely silent. Connor pushed himself up and brushed the dust and debris off his shirt. Nothing seemed broken. He was lucky the dirt floor had cushioned his fall.

  Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he realized that he had fallen into the room behind the locked door. Connor looked from one side of the room to the other. Aside from an empty trough and a few cobwebs, the room was bare.

  Suddenly, he was aware of another presence. Connor noticed a dim outline in the area farthest from the light. He squinted, trying to get a better glimpse of the shape concealed in the shadows.

  A face swam at him out of the darkness.

  Connor’s breath came in short, uneven gasps. He trembled, more overwhelmed by fear with each passing second as the figure in the dark grew clearer. He scrambled backward until his back hit the wall.

  Against the wall across from him sat a man wearing a pointed hat and a long, torn coat. The man’s hands stretched out like branches along either side of the wall, as if beckoning him. Connor turned his head away and grimaced in anticipation of an attack . . . but none came. Instead, as he rubbed the dust from his eyes, he realized the figure wasn’t a man at all. Its face was a burlap mask. Thick black stitches ran up the thing’s face to the crown of its head. A button was sewn over the place where its left eye should have been. In place of the other eye, there was only a deep indentation.

  A spider crawled from behind the button, and the masked thing slumped forward. Connor screamed at the top of his lungs.

  A bark rang out on the other side of the door, and Connor heard claws scraping against the wooden surface. Metal clanged against metal as someone pounded on the lock, the door flew open, and Bandit burst into the room, followed quickly by Connor’s father, uncle, and sister. Baring his fangs, the dog positioned himself between Connor and the thing against the wall.

  “Connor?” In his hands Russ held a large wrench, which he likely had used to smash the lock. “What happened?”

  “It looks like he took quite a fall.” Buddy pointed to the hole in the ceiling. “The boy looks a little banged up to me, but nothing serious.”

  “Lucky. What were you doing in here?” Russ put his hands on his hips. “You could’ve hurt yourself.”

  When Connor didn’t answer, the others followed his gaze to the creature leaning against the wall. Megan walked toward it, dragging the stuffed bear behind her.

  “Don’t touch it,” he blurted out when she started to reach for the figure.

  Russ wandered over to the creature and propped it up. “Don’t tell me this is what spooked you.” He shook his head in apparent disbelief. “It’s just an old scarecrow.”

  “I don’t know,” Buddy mused. “It looks plenty creepy to me.”

  Connor agreed. The scarecrow appeared no less sinister in the extra light permitted by the open door.

  “This could be just what we need to frighten those crows away from the cornfield,” Russ said. “I reckon the previous owner didn’t realize the old thing was in here when he locked this room up. Could’ve saved himself some trouble with those flying pests.”

  Buddy looked around. “Nothing in here except this creepy thing and that old trough over there, so why lock it at all?”

  Russ shrugged and squinted through the Connor-shaped hole in the floorboards above. “It’s getting late. We’ll hang it in the field tomorrow. Come on, Bandit.” The dog cast a final wary glance at the scarecrow and bounded after his m
aster. “Let’s get you all back to the house.” His father shut the door behind them, sealing the creature away in the darkness once again.

  Still shaken by the fall, Connor couldn’t quite help feeling like that one button eye was watching him as he followed the others on the path back to the farmhouse. He kept close to Bandit and stole an occasional peek at the old barn, half-expecting to see something waiting for him. He noticed a lone crow watching him from its perch in the loft before distance obscured it.

  Sunset came quickly to the farm; it was dusk by the time they reached the porch. Connor staggered inside the parlor. Even though he’d spent most of the day on the road, he felt utterly exhausted.

  “The grill’s already fired up,” Russ said. “Why don’t you get washed up, and I’ll throw on some burgers? Your bathroom is upstairs. I hope you don’t mind sharing with Megan.”

  “We always shared at home.” Connor was struck with the uncomfortable realization that the farm was home now.

  “It’s settled then. Buddy was kind enough to prepare your rooms for you while we were on the road. Megan, can you show Connor to his bedroom?”

  Apparently full of the energy Connor was sorely lacking, Megan grinned and dashed through the hall. “Come on, come on!”

  “I’m coming.” Connor snatched his backpack off the sofa where he’d left it and trudged up the stairs.

  “Look how big your room is!”

  Connor walked inside to find Megan jumping on the queen-sized bed. Bandit looked on from the floor, seemingly amused.

  “It is big,” Connor admitted.

  When he flipped the light switch, the light fixture dangling from his fan remained lifeless, but enough hallway light seeped inside to reveal a good view of the bedroom. The spacious room was twice the size of his old bedroom. Like the rest of the house, there was an antiquated quality to the room. Yellowed wallpaper peeled at the seams on the walls. A layer of grime fogged and obscured the solitary window, a lone portal to the outside world. A large, ornate wardrobe sat against the wall beside his bed, opposite a full-length mirror. Connor’s suitcase had been left on the floor, presumably by his father.