The Whispers of the Crows

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Connor hesitated. “I was in the woods . . .” His memory of the night before was a blur. Everything was still hazy. “I got lost.”

  Concern shone in his father’s eyes. “Well, you should probably take it easy today.” He sat down on the bed beside Connor and petted Bandit’s fur. The bed sagged from its occupants’ combined weight. “Old Bandit here hasn’t left your side since we put you to bed . . .” His voice trailed off. “Last night, you said something about the scarecrow. What did you mean?”

  In an instant, it all came rushing back to him. “It’s evil.” Connor grabbed his father’s arm. “The scarecrow. I think it wants to hurt us.”

  Russ sighed and looked away. “Connor, your uncle and I think maybe you should talk to someone about everything that’s been going on with you . . . since your mom died.”

  Connor frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “A doctor, or maybe a grief counselor? Someone who can help you deal with things better than we can.”

  He thinks there’s something wrong with me, Connor thought. Even that would be preferable to the truth. The scarecrow was alive. He’d seen it with his own two eyes. Everything that had happened since the day he discovered the scarecrow was beginning to make terrible sense.

  Megan noticed his somber expression. “What’s wrong?”

  Connor didn’t dare answer her.

  A growl emanated from his stomach, and Russ chuckled, defusing the sudden tension in the room. “I bet you could use some food. How about I whip up some of my world-famous pancakes? I might even throw some bacon on the side—as long as Buddy doesn’t get to it first. If you feel up to it, that is.”

  Connor relaxed again. “That sounds good.”

  Russ left to get breakfast going, taking Megan and Bandit with him, and Connor stayed behind to get dressed. He smiled at the picture of the family Megan had drawn and placed it on the nightstand at his bedside. The farm was peaceful and serene outside his window, without a trace of the scarecrow in sight. Maybe it only comes to life at night.

  He went into the closet for a fresh set of clothes. Fortunately, he had packed one spare pair of shoes in his backpack when they’d left Maryland. As he laced his sneakers, Connor’s gaze settled on the spot where he’d hidden Tommy Evers’s phone and the broken flashlight he’d recovered. If Tommy had gone inside the cornfield . . .

  Connor checked to make sure he was alone before retrieving the phone. He opened it and scrolled through Tommy’s text messages, looking for any clue about what he’d been up to. The phone’s beep caused Connor to involuntarily jump a little. The battery is low.

  “Breakfast is ready!” Russ called from below, startling him. Connor hastily tucked the phone back in its hiding place. A delicious aroma seeped in through the bedroom doorway, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

  The rest of the family was gathered around the kitchen table, where Russ dispensed plates stacked full of pancakes and bacon.

  “There you are.” Buddy kicked out a seat for him. “Feeling better?”

  Connor nodded slowly and joined the others at the table. “I guess so.” After applying liberal amounts of butter and syrup, he dug into the pancakes with reckless abandon. In between mouthfuls, he told them what had happened to Lucky, and Russ volunteered to retrieve the body out of the woods later in the day.

  Bandit sniffed at his hand, and Connor passed the blue heeler a piece of bacon underneath the table. The dog gratefully accepted the treat, but when Connor returned his attention to his plate, Bandit stopped wagging his tail and gazed into the next room, suddenly alert.

  “What is it, boy?” Connor asked.

  A knock came at the door, and Bandit let out a bark.

  Russ looked to Buddy. “I wonder who that could be.”

  Buddy shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t invite any guests.”

  The knock came again, louder than before. “I’m coming.” Russ pushed away from his seat, and Connor, curious to see what waited outside, followed.

  A stout man wearing a police uniform stood on the other side of the screen door. When Russ opened the door, Connor immediately recognized the officer from the night he’d discovered Jasper Blackwell’s body in the attic.

  “Hello again, Officer . . .” Russ hesitated.

  “Lynch.”

  “What brings you back here? Did you find anything more about Blackwell’s death?”

  “That’s actually not why I’m here.” A crow cawed behind Lynch, and he cast a glance at his police cruiser, where the bird had perched. “I was hoping I could take a few minutes of your time to ask you some questions.”

  “Of course. How can I help?”

  Lynch took a quick look at a notepad in his hands and promptly tucked it away. “Do you happen to know Keith Evers? Or his son, Tommy?”

  Connor’s heart skipped a beat.

  Clearly confused, Russ frowned. “Yeah, I know them. They were trespassing on the land last week—poaching. The kid almost shot my dog. What’s all this about?”

  “Tommy hasn’t been showing up at school. No one at home returned our calls, so we paid a visit to the house to check on them. It’s starting to look like they might have gone missing. No one in town’s heard from either of them. You’re the closest neighbor, so I was hoping maybe you knew something about it.” Lynch studied Russ with a cautious eye. “This trespassing incident—was that the last time you had contact with the Evers?”

  Russ shook his head. “Tommy came back to the farm and attacked my son.”

  Suddenly, Lynch’s eyes were on Connor. “Is that true, boy?”

  Connor nodded. His throat was too dry to speak. All he could think about was the cell phone hidden away in his closet.

  “What happened?” Lynch asked.

  Russ answered for him. “Keith paid us another visit not long after that. He was drunk. He threatened Connor and assaulted my brother. I scared him away, and that’s the last I’ve seen of either of them.”

  Lynch raised an eyebrow. “How exactly did you scare Mr. Evers away?”

  Russ hesitated. “I fired my shotgun near him—not to hurt him, just to send him packing.”

  “You didn’t think to report this to the police? This is the type of thing we’re paid to handle.”

  “No. I dealt with it on my own. Like I said, he was drunk.”

  The two men stared at each other for a small interval before, at last, the officer nodded and took a step back. “Those are all the questions I have for now, Mr. Stevens. I’ll be in touch.” The crow flew away as he returned to his car.

  Connor watched the police cruiser disappear into the distance, absolutely certain of two things: Something horrible had happened to Keith and Tommy Evers, and the scarecrow was somehow involved.

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  As Russ had said, the days were growing shorter.

  Each day, darkness lingered earlier in the morning, and dusk descended earlier every evening. The sun seemed to emerge less and less. The weather grew colder, and then there were the crows—more of them each day. Little by little, the farm began to resemble the world of his nightmares.

  Connor headed outside, eager to complete his chores early so that he would have time to look around and be back indoors long before dark. The scarecrow couldn’t hurt him during the daytime, or at least he hoped so. Still, it made him feel safer to have Bandit by his side. When he entered the barn to feed the horses, the blue heeler sat guarding the entrance and refused to let Connor far from his sight.

  Connor scaled the ladder to the loft and hurled a stack of hay squares over the edge. The hay hit the earthen floor with a soft thud. Connor climbed back down, scooped up the squares one by one, and walked toward the horses’ stalls. The first horse reared up and neighed loudly when Connor approached. He took a step back and nearly bumped into
one of many fuel drums beside the tractor. He pitched the first square over the side rather than risk sticking his hands into the stall. The next horse rammed itself against the door to its stall, rattling the wooden frame.

  The horses are jittery today. Even with Bandit keeping watch, Connor looked over his shoulder to make sure he was alone before hurrying along to each of the remaining stalls. When he was finished, he went over to the hose and turned on the sprayer, but no water came out. He walked to the faucet behind the barn to see what was the matter.

  The wind picked up outside the barn, and Connor pulled his sleeves down over his hand as he fiddled with the cold metal faucet. He gave it an upward tug, and water flowed once more through the faucet and caused the lengthy hose to wriggle about on the ground like a snake shedding its skin. The hose’s adapter was slightly askew, so he unscrewed it to put it on properly. Bright-red water gushed from the faucet. Startled, Connor withdrew his hands. They were covered in blood.

  He let out a yelp and Bandit came running. When Connor looked at the faucet again, the water was crystal clear once more, and the blood was gone from his hands. He stared at the rushing water for several seconds, his pulse pounding, before turning off the faucet. What if this is all in my head? What if I really am losing my mind?

  Clouds covered the sky to obscure the sun, and the wind howled around him. The air grew unnaturally cold, so much that he could see his breath. Connor watched crows swarm over the forest. He was about to reach for the hose when he caught a glimpse of someone behind him. The figure slipped inside the barn before he could get a good look. Connor dropped the hose and followed quietly.

  The figure stood with his back turned, partially obscured by the shadows. It was Tommy Evers, or at least it looked like him. “Tommy?” The figure kept walking as if he hadn’t heard him. Connor picked up his pace as Tommy disappeared down the path. He seemed to glide across the earth, his skin pale and translucent.

  “Tommy!” Connor called loudly as the figure stood at the old barn at the end of the trail. Tommy turned his head and offered a crooked smile. There was a large hole in the back of Tommy’s bloodstained shirt. Then Tommy vanished inside the barn, and by the time Connor reached him, the figure was gone.

  “What happened to you?” Connor called out. He didn’t dare go in just yet; he hadn’t set foot inside the tattered barn since the day he discovered the scarecrow inside it. He waited for Bandit to catch up to him before crossing the threshold. Pale light poked in through the occasional missing plank or hole in the walls, but the barn was otherwise dark. An unpleasant odor drifted through the barn—the smell of rot. Connor’s gaze fell on the open door nearby, and the busted lock that lay in the dirt.

  Blackwell knew the scarecrow was evil. That’s why he locked it away.

  Something was inscribed on the door—something he hadn’t noticed before. Connor reached out, touched the dust-covered door, and cleared away the dirt.

  ‘Beware the Keeper of the Crows,’ the words read.

  “Keeper,” Connor muttered aloud. So that’s what it means. It was a warning.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Connor turned around to see Jezebel standing at the entrance. A pumpkin sat in the dust beside her. “Where were you yesterday? I looked everywhere, but you never showed.”

  Jezebel folded her arms across her chest. “I could say the same thing to you. By the time I left my house, you were nowhere to be found.”

  “I had a bad fall in the forest. When I woke up, it was dark.”

  “Are you OK?”

  Connor shook his head. “Jezebel, the scarecrow is alive.” She started to interrupt, but he held up a hand to cut her off. “It attacked me in the cornfield on my way back from the forest. I think it killed Keith and Tommy Evers too. I know this sounds crazy, but it’s true.” He looked into her eyes and searched for a reaction. “You have to believe me. Everyone else thinks I’m making it up.”

  “It’s OK. I believe you.”

  Connor’s mouth nearly fell open in surprise. “You do?”

  “I heard that Tommy and his dad went missing. Between what happened to Mr. Blackwell and everything happening with your family, something’s definitely going on around here.”

  Connor felt a flood of relief knowing that he wasn’t alone.

  “I tell you what—why don’t we carve up this pumpkin, and you can tell me the whole story?”

  “OK.” Connor sat beside her in the grass outside the barn and started from the beginning.

  “So, when did you come looking for me?” she asked as he began hollowing out the pumpkin.

  “I found a message etched into the wall behind the wallpaper in my bedroom. I think it was Mr. Blackwell’s room before mine.”

  Jezebel looked at him curiously. “What did the message say?”

  “It was a word I’ve never seen before: ‘Baal.’ I wanted to look it up, but we don’t have Internet service on the farm.” He stopped.

  Clearly taken aback, Jezebel stared back at him.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I know what it means.” She paused a moment before continuing. “Haven’t you ever read the Bible? Baal was a powerful demon in the Old Testament. The Canaanites believed he was a god of fertility and made sacrifices to him. They thought he would make their crops grow.”

  “A demon.” Connor carved a set of teeth into the pumpkin. Jasper Blackwell had etched the name of an ancient demon into his bedroom wall, but why? Was Baal the Keeper of the Crows?

  “There.” Jezebel watched as he put the last touches on the jack-o’-lantern and turned it so she could see the whole thing. “It’s finished.” She looked up with a wide grin, as if they had been discussing a different subject entirely. “You’re getting better.”

  He started to respond when suddenly the air grew cold again. A chill raced down his back. “Look.” Keith and Tommy Evers stood together at the edge of the cornfield and watched them under the stalks’ shade. Before Connor could say another word, the pair retreated inside the rows and vanished from sight.

  “Come on.” Jezebel bolted from her spot and pursued them.

  “Wait!” Connor shouted. “Don’t go into the cornfield! It’s not safe!” Jezebel ignored him, and soon she, too, had disappeared. Paralyzed by fear, Connor looked from the farmhouse to the cornfield. I can’t let her go in there alone, he thought, and he chased after her. “Jezebel?” She was nowhere in sight. He was alone again, with only the whispers for company. Connor felt his eyes growing heavy.

  No. He fought with each step to hold onto consciousness. Not now. He staggered forward and fell to his knees. The last thing he remembered was staring at the scarecrow’s boots before he slumped over and landed on the cold earth.

  * * *

  He heard Bandit barking. When Connor opened his eyes, the world had changed. Jarred by the sudden difference in his surroundings, he looked around. Everything felt sluggish, as if he’d just stirred from a waking dream. He was on his feet once again. His left hand was stained in something that looked like black soot. He stood in the pasture, facing the fence, which was lined with crows. Bandit approached and growled at the crows. The birds took to the sky in a cacophony of caws, and everything slid into focus.

  “What is it, boy?”

  Bandit stared after the birds, which flocked across the cloudy sky.

  Connor let out a soft moan. What happened? The last thing I remember, I was in the cornfield. He paused. “Jezebel.” He ran through the field, shouting her name, but there was no answer. After several minutes with no success, he gave up and started on the path home.

  He met his father outside the front door.

  “Where have you been?” Russ asked. “I needed your help earlier.”

  “I . . .” he trailed off.

  Russ looked disappointed. �
�You’ve been wandering off again, haven’t you? Connor, you have to start being more careful, especially after last night.”

  Connor felt a surge of anger rise within him. “What do you care? Leave me alone.” He tried to push past his father, but Russ gently grabbed his arm.

  “I’m going to town to get some supplies. Why not tag along?” Russ offered a forced smile likely meant to defuse the situation. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

  The words came to Connor’s lips instantly, unbidden. “You’re what’s wrong. This place is what’s wrong. I wish we’d never come here.” Russ reluctantly released his grip, and as Connor returned to the house, it occurred to him that the jack-o’-lantern he’d just carved was already sitting on the front porch—only he couldn’t remember putting it there.

  He watched Russ through the blinds covering the parlor window. His father seemed to stare at the ground for a long time before loading the truck and firing up the engine. Connor felt a stab of guilt as the pickup drove away, gathering momentum as it sped along the gravel road. He hadn’t meant to hurt his father’s feelings. Why did I say those things?

  He hadn’t meant to attack Tommy Evers in the cornfield, or shout at Megan for losing his tablet either. Connor backed away from the window with a sigh of regret. Although things had started out roughly between him and his father, they had steadily improved during his time on the farm, and Connor believed Russ had come to truly care for them.

  Again he noticed the black soot stain across his left hand. Connor frowned as he recalled what had happened the last time he lost track of time. He made his way to the bathroom and scrubbed his hands clean. When he was finished, Connor turned off the faucet, dried his hands, and looked into the mirror—only to see the scarecrow staring back at him.

  He spun around, expecting to see the scarecrow standing in the middle of the hallway outside the bathroom. Instead, his sister watched him with a smile on her face.

  “Hi, Connor. Do you want to play?”

  Connor let out a deep breath and nodded. “Sure.” He glanced back at the mirror one last time to make sure his eyes had been playing tricks on him.