The Whispers of the Crows

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Russ shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I said so.” Russ bit his lip. “I’ve got some stuff to do back at the farm after we finish up here.” He glanced at Connor, and his tone softened as his eyes returned to the road. “Maybe another time, OK?”

  Connor tried not to think about all the times his mother had taken them to the library. They’d shared so many stories together over the years, lost themselves in countless adventures across hundreds of worlds, all through the pages of books. Connor’s eyes stung. He was glad when the truck pulled into the café parking lot. He jumped out of the truck and wiped his eyes before anyone could see.

  The café was surprisingly crowded. The air smelled of cigarettes and french fries. The interior consisted of a modest single room with bare walls and few furnishings. A solitary gumball machine was pinned against the wall, almost as an afterthought. Local patrons busily engaged in noisy conversations over lunch or coffee.

  A hush came over the room when Connor and his family entered, the door whooshing closed behind them. Everyone stopped eating or talking and looked toward the entrance. Some were hostile, others suspicious. Connor flinched nervously under the weight of the strangers’ stares until Russ nodded at the patrons, and the conversations suddenly resumed.

  “Order mine to go,” Buddy said. “Beans and a ham sandwich. I’ve got an errand to run while we’re here.”

  “What?” Russ looked from Buddy to Connor and Megan and back again, as if terrified at the prospect of being left alone with his own children.

  “Relax.” Buddy slapped his brother on the back. “I’m just going to head to the Family Dollar. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  With that, he turned around and left, nearly bumping into a fellow patron on the way out. Russ marched off to the register to place the order while Connor and Megan packed into an unoccupied booth. Russ returned with their food in short order, and it wasn’t long before Connor was hard at work on a ham sandwich and potato chips. He had just started helping himself to Megan’s leftover fries when the door opened again, and a woman in a business suit entered the café.

  Connor popped the ketchup-drenched fry into his mouth and studied the woman, whose business attire stood out in the casual eatery. She was probably in her early thirties, slender, with long black hair clasped behind her neck. When the woman’s gaze fell on their table, she started walking in their direction.

  “Russell Stevens?” she asked their father, who wiped his hands and rose from his seat.

  “Call me Russ.”

  “Elizabeth Hayes, but I go by Liz.” They shook hands. She met Connor’s eyes, and her lips drew into a smile. “And who might these two be?”

  “These would be . . . my children,” Russ answered, almost as a question. “Connor and Megan.” He waited for her to sit before returning to his place at the table. “They’ll be staying with me at the farmhouse for a while. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before. It was a bit of an unexpected development, to tell you the truth.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I bet you and your brother are glad to have some company in that old house. So, what do you make of the place?”

  “There’s a lot of work to be done, that’s for sure.” Russ slid a folder across the table to her. “I’ve included a list of everything that needs repairs, in addition to all the equipment that should be sold or scrapped.”

  Liz whistled as her eyes swept over the list. “It looks like this could take quite a while.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Liz shook her head. “The bank already has a potential buyer, but he wants the property in manageable condition first—the better the condition, the better the asking price.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Connor noticed the strangers continued to watch them, whispering after each glance.

  “What’s with them?” Russ asked Liz. “People in these parts are usually friendlier than this.”

  “Don’t mind them.” Liz sighed. “It’s not you. It’s the farm. Some people around here believe there’s a curse on the land. There was a lot of talk about the previous owner, Jasper Blackwell. People thought he was losing his mind. He stopped coming into town, paying his bills . . .”

  Russ filled in the blanks. “That’s how he lost the farm.”

  Liz’s brow furrowed. “I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Blackwell disappeared a few months ago. No one’s seen him since.”

  * * *

  The ride back to the farm was uneventful. Russ and Buddy discussed their plans for upcoming repairs while Megan fiddled with the radio tuner. Connor sat in silence, dwelling on Liz’s words. The experience in the café had unsettled him, and not only because of the way the locals had looked at them. They were living in the house of a man who had vanished without a trace—on land the townspeople thought was cursed.

  The revelation cast the farm in a different light. When the pickup pulled onto the winding gravel road leading home, Connor regarded the land with new eyes. Menacing crows flocked overhead, following the truck down the path. Even the farmhouse, which seemed innocuous only a day earlier, now took on a more sinister appearance.

  The pickup came to a stop in the grass beside Buddy’s truck, and Bandit jumped off the back.

  Megan stayed behind, searching the truck for something. “I can’t find Mister Bear.” She looked to her father for help.

  “I don’t see it in here.” Russ pulled the keys free of the ignition and opened the door. “I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere.”

  “We need to find him!” Megan insisted.

  Russ looked toward the horizon and shook his head. “It’s not long before sunset. You can look for him tomorrow.”

  Megan started to cry. Buddy knelt beside her and wrapped her in a tight hug, but she didn’t stop.

  “I don’t get it,” Russ said. “It’s just a stuffed animal.”

  Connor met his father’s gaze and held it. “Mom gave it to her. It’s important to her.”

  “I think she had it with her on the farm earlier.” Buddy patted Megan softly on the shoulder. If not for the circumstance, Connor might have laughed at the image of their giant-sized uncle attempting to console his tiny sister.

  Russ sighed. “Fine. Let’s split up and search for it. Buddy, you take Megan back to the tractor. Connor, you search the cornfield. I’ll look in the barn.”

  As he made his way to the edge of the cornfield, Connor watched his father, uncle, and sister disappear down the trail with Bandit. Then he slipped between the rows. It was quiet inside the cornfield. The evening wind passed over the cornstalks, shimmering down their silky tassels and caressing the back of his neck. Connor shivered and pressed on. Lost to an endless sea of green, the red barns faded into the background.

  The cornfield seemed to take on a different quality under the impending night. Strange noises echoed from deeper within the mazelike field. A twig snapped nearby, and Connor glanced in one direction, then the next, looking for the sound’s source.

  “Hello?” There was no answer. He suddenly found himself feeling very much alone.

  Connor pushed some ears out of his way and stumbled into an open clearing. There it was. Megan’s stuffed bear sat in the dirt, its furry brown back to him, under a shadow even darker than the falling night. Connor trudged toward the darkened area and looked up, suddenly struck by the realization that he was standing in the heart of the cornfield where his father had hung the scarecrow only hours before.

  Unable to take his gaze off its terrible button eye, he stared up at the monstrous figure. The scarecrow seemed so lifelike—as if it might climb down from its outstretched position on the pole and drag him away. Connor wanted more than anything to run, but Megan’s bear was only inches from the spot where he stood. It sat facing the
scarecrow, as if the bear was watching it. As if it had been left there for him to find.

  Connor crept toward the bear, his gaze still fixed to the cross and the thing that hung from it.

  “Mister Bear?” Immediately he felt embarrassed. He knelt in the dirt directly beneath the cross and picked up the stuffed animal, old and patched.

  The wind grew stronger, carrying the voice of a thousand whispers. Connor looked up and found himself staring into the creature’s horrifying face. Without warning, the cross pitched forward, and the thing came free of the ropes binding its arms.

  The scarecrow descended on him from above, and Connor’s screams shattered the stillness of the cornfield.

  Chapter FIVE

  The hammer striking the nail echoed across the cornfield.

  Burying the black nail into the rugged wood, Russ swung the hammer again. He took a second nail, held it against the scarecrow’s outstretched palm, and started anew on the other side of the cross.

  Connor cringed with each blow. He shuffled over to Megan and extended the stuffed bear, which she gratefully accepted before wrapping her brother in a tight hug. The scarecrow loomed behind her, its features more disconcerting under night’s approach. Connor pulled himself free of Megan’s embrace and brushed the dirt from his clothes from where he’d fallen.

  He was grateful his father’s back was turned. It hadn’t taken the others long to come running when they heard his shouts. Russ, the first to arrive, found him struggling under the weight of the fallen scarecrow, nearly frightened out of his mind.

  “It’s just a scarecrow. It can’t hurt you,” Russ had said while pulling the scarecrow off Connor. He grabbed the rope on the ground and held it out for Connor to see. “Look. It just came untied, that’s all.” When he hauled the scarecrow back to the cross and started to tie it again, Connor had begged and pleaded with him to nail the scarecrow in place just to make sure.

  Connor felt Buddy’s hand on his shoulder. “How’re you feeling?”

  “I feel all right now.” In truth, he felt embarrassed that everyone had seen how the scarecrow had frightened him so much.

  “Of course he’s all right.” Russ drove the second nail farther into the wood beam. “He just thought a scarecrow was attacking him. I’m the one who has to waste his time nailing this thing in place.”

  Buddy let go of Connor’s shoulder and took a step toward Russ. “Now, Russ, that’s not fair. Connor just let his imagination get the best of him. He’s only a kid.”

  Russ let the hammer fall to the dirt. “I wouldn’t even be here right now if we didn’t have to search the entire farm for a stuffed animal.”

  “I don’t see why you’re acting so frustrated. Does this have something to do with that woman in the café?”

  “No. I thought we’d get more done today, that’s all. We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Then it’s a good thing we’ve got some extra help.”

  “Help,” Russ said under his breath.

  “Where are you going?” Buddy asked as Russ stomped off between the rows of corn.

  Russ didn’t bother turning around. “Away. I need a break. I’m going to town to get a drink.”

  “That’s not going to do anybody any good,” Buddy called after him, but Russ had already vanished into the twilight at the field’s edge.

  Buddy turned his attention to Connor and Megan. “Come on. Let’s get you two back to the house before it really gets dark.” Although Buddy looked cheerful, Connor was almost certain he was disappointed.

  They returned to the farmhouse just as night set in. Buddy made a surprisingly tasty, if slightly burnt, makeshift meal of fresh green beans and cornbread. Following his scare in the field, Connor didn’t have much of an appetite, though he made a show of cleaning his plate for Buddy’s benefit. Everyone was tired from a day full of farm work, so they went to bed early.

  Russ still hadn’t returned by the time Connor had readied himself and Megan for bed. Once he settled into his room, Connor peered out his bedroom window and searched for a sign of his father’s white truck. Greeted again by the prospect of another sleepless night spent in darkness, he turned around and stared into the shadows of his room.

  Connor shivered. I wish I didn’t get so scared. He slid underneath his covers and remembered how his mother used to tell him that he could be brave. If only she could see him now. Unwillingly, but vividly all the same, he pictured the scarecrow entering the house, stumbling up the steps that led to his bedroom, staggering down the hall and . . .

  A knock came at the door, and Connor sat straight up in bed. “Who’s there?”

  “Can I come in?” Buddy mumbled through the door.

  “Yes.” Connor hoped his uncle couldn’t hear the residual fear in his voice.

  Buddy opened the door and stood in the threshold, holding something in his hands. “Did you know I used to be scared of chickens?”

  Connor laughed. “What?” He found himself unable to suppress a grin.

  Buddy shook his head, as if still embarrassed to share such a private insight. “There was something about the way the little devils scampered around, pecking at the ground . . . Anyway, don’t worry about your dad. He means well enough. He’s just under a lot of stress right now. He’ll come around. I promise. Oh, I almost forgot—I bought you something earlier at the Family Dollar.” Buddy tossed him an object from across the room.

  Connor opened his cupped hands to reveal a nightlight. “Thanks, Uncle Buddy. You’re the best.”

  “Don’t mention it. Sleep easy tonight, kiddo.”

  The moment his uncle shut the bedroom door, Connor slid out of bed and plugged the nightlight into the wall. Confident the scarecrow would haunt his dreams no more, he returned to bed and waited for sleep.

  * * *

  The bellowing tractor woke him. Connor stirred and opened his eyes. Sunbeams trickled inside through the window over his bed. Still unaccustomed to his new home, for a moment he forgot where he was. He let out a tired yawn and staggered out of bed.

  What time is it?

  Even with the nightlight, he hadn’t slept well. Although the details of his nightmares had faded from his mind, he knew he had dreamt of the scarecrow again. Connor hastily changed into his clothes and hurried downstairs.

  “Dad?” His footsteps echoed down the abandoned hallway. “Uncle Buddy?”

  There was no response. He was alone.

  According to the old-fashioned clock overlooking the kitchen table, it was almost noon. Connor stared at the clock, unable to believe the time. Judging from the sound of the tractor, his father and uncle were already hard at work. They had probably taken Megan with them.

  His stomach growled loudly in protest of a missed breakfast. Connor stifled another yawn and searched the kitchen until he found what he needed to fix a bowl of cereal. When he was finished, he dropped the empty dish into the sink, flung the screen door open, and rushed outside to face the day.

  Bandit waited for him on the porch. The blue heeler perked up when he saw Connor.

  “Hi, boy.” Connor filled the dog’s bowl from a nearby garbage can packed to the brim with dog food. Bandit proceeded to devour the bowlful with no small degree of enthusiasm before accompanying Connor as he went about his chores.

  When he had finished all the tasks Russ had previously laid out for him, Connor decided to go exploring. He spent some time looking through one of the sheds, where an animal skull looked down on him from a rusty barrel. At first, he thought the skull belonged to a cow, until he noticed its antlers. Most of the tools inside the cramped space were strange or unfamiliar. Jagged hacksaws and curved scythes hung from dusty walls like torture instruments. As Connor traced a scythe’s outline, he noticed a word etched into the wood behind it.

  “Keeper.” He brushed his fingers against
the letters. The message had been carved deeply into the wall. I wonder what it means.

  A mouse scampered across the gravel-covered floor and promptly vanished into a hole in the wall, much to Bandit’s chagrin.

  “Come on, boy,” Connor said uneasily. “Let’s go play.”

  He found a stick near one of the trees outside the shed and used it to play fetch. Bandit was an eager participant, and together they ran freely through the field. When he was finally out of breath, Connor collapsed on a withered stump at the forest’s edge. Bandit chewed the stick at his feet.

  Multi-colored leaves, each one a different shade than the next, fell around him. The babble of running water murmured from somewhere deep inside the forest. Connor closed his eyes and listened to the constant flow of water and the rustling of the comforting breeze.

  The abrupt sound of crushed leaves broke the soothing hum. Connor listened carefully, but the noise stopped after a moment.

  “Hi there,” a voice said, and he nearly toppled off the tree stump.

  Connor blinked and found himself face-to-face with a strange girl. “You startled me.” He’d expected that Bandit would have alerted him to the presence of a stranger, but the dog remained preoccupied, thoroughly engrossed in the stick.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Her eyes were green, exactly the color of the cornfield. Her sandy-blond hair, a shade darker than his, fell loosely to her shoulders. “My name’s Jezebel.”

  “I’m Connor. Do you live around here?”

  “Just on the other side of these woods.” She pointed across the valley. When Connor didn’t say anything, she continued. “Sometimes I go exploring, just to see something new. We live by ourselves, and it can get pretty lonely. I spend most of my free time out here in the forest. Haven’t seen you around before though. You must be new here.”

  Jezebel was slightly taller than Connor. He guessed she was around thirteen years old. “I just moved here with my sister a few days ago. My dad is running the farm for the bank.”