Russ laughed and hooked his pinky on hers. “I promise.”
“Yay!” Megan hugged him, and Russ kissed her forehead. “I love you, Daddy.”
The words seemed to take him by surprise, and Russ breathed unevenly for a moment. When he composed himself again, he said, “You know, I wasn’t sure at first how all this was going to go, but now that you’re here, I couldn’t imagine life without either of you.”
Buddy walked into the parlor carrying a strange-looking musical instrument.
“What’s that?” Connor asked.
His uncle let out a hearty laugh. “Only the most lively instrument on God’s green Earth. It’s called a banjo.” He lifted the banjo, held it like a guitar, and began to tune the strings.
“Music!” Megan did a little dance in excitement.
Russ wiped a bead of ice cream from the corner of her mouth. “How about some old-fashioned square dancing, little lady?”
Buddy played a loud, lively tune that soon filled the entire house. He tapped his feet and hopped about as he played. Megan took Russ’s hand, and he led her to the center of the room. Bandit jumped off the sofa with a bark, and before long, even Connor joined in.
They danced and laughed well into the night, together, and for the first time in a long time, Connor was sure everything was going to turn out all right.
* * *
Moonlight bled through the trees, where two figures crept through the woods in the dead of night. A murder of crows looked on from withered branches as the pair approached the forest’s edge, where the oversized moon painted the Blackwell Farm in an otherworldly hue.
Keith Evers emerged from the forest’s dark recesses into the moonlight. He cast a glance back at Tommy. “Keep up.” He hoisted a bright-red gasoline can over his shoulder. Tommy trailed behind, weighed down by two more canisters. “You hear what I said, boy?” Tommy quickened his step.
They walked through the field for several minutes in a hushed silence. Aside from the crickets chirping and the low hiss of the breeze, the property lay still and silent. After a time, the barns’ outlines grew sharper. Keith’s eyes fell on the darkened farmhouse, where the Stevens family slept obliviously, and his lips curled into a thin smirk.
“Come on.” He stepped onto the dirt path that led to the barns. The farmhouse was so close now he could almost hear the fat man snoring.
Save for an older barn farthest away from the others, it was clear to see that Russ and his brother had put a lot of work into renovating the Blackwell Farm. The barns and sheds were freshly painted, and new lights shone brightly at the entrance to each.
Keith spat a wad of chewing tobacco into the grass as Tommy dropped the gas cans loudly on the ground at the edge of the cornfield, which seemed to swell in the dark of night.
Keith grabbed his son angrily and held a finger against his lips to quiet him. “You want to wake the whole family? If that little snot-nosed brat hadn’t already beaten you senseless, I’d teach you to keep quiet.” The remark earned him a pouty expression from his weak-willed son.
Keith shook his head in disgust and looked again toward the farmhouse. The lights remained off. Keith had no plans to reveal what they were up to, but he’d brought the Colt pistol inside his jacket pocket in case of a confrontation.
Rustling leaves murmured behind him, and Keith saw Tommy stiffen.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Keith stuffed his mouth with a generous helping from the dip can in his back pocket.
The gas cans at his feet forgotten, Tommy stared into the cornfield. “It sounded like there was something moving around out there.”
“Don’t get jumpy on me now, boy. Did you forget why we’re doing this?”
Tommy shook his head sullenly. “That little freak needs to pay for what he did to me—and his family too.”
Keith uttered an unsettling laugh. “Tonight, we’re going to teach them a little lesson. Then we’ll see if Stevens is so high and mighty after this place goes up in smoke.” He nodded toward the gas cans. “You start here. I’m going to douse the barn and let the horses loose.” With that, Tommy began pouring gasoline along the edge of the cornfield, and Keith trekked off toward the largest barn.
It was quiet inside the barn. The hay lent a musty smell to the air. The moon slipped behind the clouds and left the barn in near-total darkness. Keith set the canister on the ground and switched on his flashlight. He could no longer hear Tommy working outside. Instead, he felt a strange sense of isolation.
Something moved behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadowy figure at the front of the barn move from one side of the doorway to the other. Keith turned around and trained his light on the spot where the figure had been. The space was empty.
“Tommy, is that you?” Silence greeted his demand. “Who’s there?”
He felt movement again at his back. He spun around, and this time he found himself face-to-face with something plucked from a nightmare. A one-eyed scarecrow, its burlap surface illuminated in the flashlight’s glow, stood inches away. It was the taller of the two by several inches, its body thick and broad.
“What the—”
The creature struck him before he could get the words out. The impact took him by surprise and flung him off his feet. Keith landed on the ground, and the flashlight went rolling across the floor. The scarecrow approached without a word as Keith scrambled to regain his footing. He pulled his pistol and swung it around, but the scarecrow’s hand squeezed around the weapon, bending and deforming the cold metal while at the same time shattering the bones in Keith’s wrist.
When the scarecrow hit him in the throat, Keith’s vision blurred, and he tasted blood. It grabbed him by the collar and lifted him in the air. Mustering as much strength as he could, Keith punched the scarecrow in the side with his good hand. The blow did nothing, and the scarecrow hurled him across the barn. Keith crawled along the floor and searched for a weapon. Ahead, he spotted a weed clipper reflected in the overhead light at the barn’s entrance. The scarecrow’s shadow fell over him as it drew near, and Keith’s frightened breaths came out raw and ragged.
His hands closed around the weed clipper just as the scarecrow’s powerful hand grabbed his ankle, and Keith drove the weed clippers through the creature’s shoulder. The scarecrow glanced down at the weed clipper before effortlessly removing it. It leered over him, the clipper in its hand.
Keith tried to call out to Tommy. Heavy tears ran down his face as he tried desperately to scream, but his voice refused to obey.
The weed clipper flashed in the light again, and Keith fell silent.
* * *
Something’s wrong. Tommy stared at the barn’s shadowy entrance. Too much time had elapsed since his father disappeared inside. What’s keeping him? He waited impatiently, and when his father did not appear, he slid a hand-me-down cell phone out of his pocket to send his father a text.
No service. Tommy swore quietly and stuffed the phone back into his pocket.
He tiptoed to the barn. To his surprise, he found the building empty. “Dad? Where did you go?”
His gaze fell to the ground, where his father’s flashlight still shone. Tommy knelt on the dirt-covered floor and picked up the flashlight, a puzzled expression on his face. That’s weird. He switched off the light and returned to where he had been waiting outside.
The air grew cold as Tommy approached the cornfield. A crow cawed somewhere in the night. Then he heard something again rustling inside the cornfield, and he stood up straight in alert. He shivered, his nerves on edge.
“Hello?” He squinted in the moonlight for a better look. A motionless figure stood partially concealed by the stalks just inside the first row of corn. “Dad?” He looked down and saw the outline of his father’s body at the cornfield’s edge. Suddenly, the body wa
s whisked away, pulled into the cornfield, and Tommy fell on his backside with a start. His gaze returned to the figure standing in the field. If it wasn’t his father, who was it?
Tommy switched on the flashlight. His hand shook as the light revealed what appeared to be a scarecrow frozen under the flashlight’s glow. “What on earth?” Without warning, the flashlight flickered and went out. The scarecrow rushed past the stalks, grabbed him by the leg, and dragged him into the cornfield. Tommy managed to kick himself free, fell into the next row, and landed on his face. The dying flashlight came back to life as he climbed to his feet, and Tommy hastily trained the beam from one area to the next and backed away step by step.
A hand reached out from the darkness behind him and snatched at his shoulder. Terrified, Tommy dropped the flashlight. He tore through the cornfield, mowing down cornstalks as he ran like his life depended on it—which, in his frenzy, he realized it did. Finally, just when he thought he would be lost forever inside an endless maze, he broke free into the night.
Tommy ran across the pasture and gasped for breath. His legs burned with each step, but he pushed himself forward. The forest lay ahead, just out of reach. As Tommy dared to hope, he looked back and saw the scarecrow close behind him. He stumbled past the tree line, lost his balance, and landed in a pile of dirt and dry leaves.
The scarecrow’s shadow loomed over him. It stood at the forest’s border, watching him, its terrifying features fully revealed in the moonlight. Tommy trembled and braced himself.
Nothing happened. Confused, Tommy looked up. The scarecrow remained fixed in place. Unable to look away, Tommy crawled backward in the dirt until his back collided with a tree. Its stitched button eye fixed on him, but the scarecrow made no move to pursue. It was as if something was keeping it from entering the forest.
Tommy scrambled to his feet and extended his middle finger to the scarecrow. “What’s the matter?” he taunted. “I’m right here.”
The scarecrow cocked its head from one side to the other. The wind picked up, carrying the sound of voices through the trees, and birds’ cries rang out in answer.
Tommy’s blood ran cold. Black crows emerged from the trees and flocked directly toward him. Pecking and tearing at his clothes and skin, the birds enveloped him in a cloud. Tommy pushed forward blindly with a shriek and ran downhill.
Without warning, the swarm lifted. Moonlight gleamed off a cliff in front of him. Tommy tried to stop, but it was too late. His momentum carried him over the edge. He fell through the night, flailing about until he hit the bottom, where a branch impaled him. Tommy coughed up blood and slumped forward after a prolonged gasp for one last breath.
* * *
The farm was quiet. Not a sound could be heard for miles. The wind died away, and the moon slipped behind the clouds once more, plunging the farmhouse into darkness. Everyone inside slept peacefully, save for the boy tossing and turning in his sleep.
The two jack-o’-lanterns sat lifelessly on the porch. Their menacing expressions were obscured in the night until two embers sparked deep within the pumpkins, and the lanterns began to glow.
Chapter ELEVEN
He woke with a shiver.
It was a cold morning. A chill had seeped inside the thin walls of the upstairs bedroom where Connor lay facedown on his bed, atop sheets, blankets, and covers spread messily about. He groaned and mustered the will to move. When he finally managed to roll over, his entire body ached from the effort. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired in his life.
Did I have another nightmare? For the first time, he found himself unable to recall the details of his dreams.
He lingered there for what felt like ages, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and stared at the ceiling.
“Connor!” Russ’s voice carried through the house.
“I’m coming.” The words came out too softly to pass beyond the room. Connor lunged forward and swung his feet over the bed. He felt the icy floor even through his socks.
That’s odd. Connor looked down at the socks. He didn’t remember wearing them to bed. Stranger still, the soles were stained almost black from dirt and grime.
His father’s voice bellowed from the foot of the staircase again, and with a yawn, Connor bolted out of bed.
“Coming!” His movements seemed slowed, halting—as if he were still inside a dream. He shook his head forcefully to rouse himself and threw on some clothes before hurrying down the stairs.
His father was waiting for him. “There you are. We’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Connor suppressed another yawn, and Russ raised an eyebrow. “Have you been asleep this whole time?”
Connor nodded guiltily.
Russ looked astounded. “Connor, it’s almost one in the afternoon.”
“That can’t be.” Connor stared at his father in disbelief. I’ve never slept that late before. Ever.
Russ’s brow furrowed. “Have you been sleeping all right? No more nightmares?”
Connor hesitated. “I . . . can’t remember.” The effort spent trying to recall the lost details only served to further drain him of energy.
Russ stroked his chin, as if troubled by a hidden thought. “Well, you’ve got plenty of chores left to do—but first, we need your help in the cornfield.”
“The cornfield?” Connor perked up anxiously.
“It’s time to start picking the sweet corn before the field starts to dry up. We’re off to a late start with all the repairs we’ve had to make, so your help will be much appreciated.”
“OK,” Connor said, though he wanted nothing more to do with the cornfield, or the scarecrow within.
“Do you need some breakfast first?”
Connor shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” He staggered outside after his father and hoped Russ wouldn’t pick up on his sluggish gait. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t a sensation he was accustomed to. In Maryland, he had always been the early riser in his family, refreshed after a full night’s sleep. Yet on the farm, he found himself more exhausted by the day.
They approached Megan and Buddy, who stood with Bandit at the cornfield’s edge beside Buddy’s beaten-down camouflage truck. The truck’s lowered tailgate waited to be filled with freshly picked corn. The wind batted at Connor’s clothes, and he rubbed his hands together for warmth.
If it was truly one o’clock in the afternoon, it was impossible to tell by looking around. A gray pallor had settled over the sky, which had been all but abandoned by the somber, muted sun. It was a bleak picture, painted as if all the life had been bled from the farm. The scene reminded him of the paintings Jasper Blackwell had left in the cellar.
Russ eyed the sky. “The days are growing shorter. Night will come earlier as it gets colder.”
“We have a lot of work to finish before then,” Buddy said.
“Best get to it then.”
“We’re going to pick corn.” Megan offered Connor a huge smile. “Then Daddy’s going to teach us how to ride horses!”
“Only after all the chores are done,” Russ reminded her.
They passed out buckets among themselves, and Buddy demonstrated the proper way to pick the corn from each stalk before dropping an ear into Megan’s outstretched bucket with a wink. Connor watched as his sister curiously turned over the corn, which was wrapped in a cocoon of green leaves slightly browned at the top.
“Uncle Buddy, how do you know it’s ready if you can’t see inside?”
“Easy. You can’t pick corn until it’s in the ‘milk stage.’”
“Milk stage?” Connor plucked another ear and added it to his own bucket.
Buddy peeled back the leaves and popped one of the kernels with his finger. A milky fluid oozed out. “See that? If it was watery, the corn wouldn’t be ready to eat. And if it’s all dried out, it’s too late.”
&nbs
p; Connor reached for another ear, and dry leaves crumbled under his fingers. To his shock, when he pulled his hand back, the ear was withered and blackened, the kernels shrunken and indented. White worms crawled along the ear, inching toward his fingers. Connor dropped the vegetable with a start.
“Is something wrong?” Russ’s bucket was already a quarter full.
When Connor looked again, the ear was green and ordinary. “It was . . . I don’t . . .”
Before he could finish his answer, a crow’s caw shattered the quiet moment.
“Look.” Megan pointed to where the crow settled on the truck.
There were crows everywhere. Lining the power lines above, perched alongside the fence, and—as always—strung out across the farmhouse. To Connor, the fat crow astride the truck looked almost the size of a raven.
The smile faded from Buddy’s face. “Have you ever seen this many crows in one place?”
Russ dumped a full bucket onto the back of the truck. “I can’t say that I have. At least they’ve stayed out of the cornfield. The scarecrow has done its job.”
Buddy shook his head. “There’s something mighty peculiar about it if you ask me.”
Connor barely heard them. He was too busy listening to the whispers. His eyes grew heavy, and the earthy scent of the cornfield filled the air. The stalks swayed under the breeze, ceaselessly undulating in an almost hypnotic motion. Something was approaching from within the maze. Connor tried to shout to his family, to warn them. Suddenly, he could no longer see any of them nearby. He was alone.
Stalks parted ahead, and Connor glimpsed the scarecrow walking toward him. Again, he tried to cry out, but then he heard another voice coming from the cornfield, above the whispers.
“Connor,” the voice said softly. It was calling him.
Connor narrowed his eyes. There was something familiar about the voice. He ignored the scarecrow and strained against the wind to better listen.
“Connor,” the voice said again. “I’m here.” This time, he recognized the voice.
“Mom?”
The Whispers of the Crows Page 9
