He lingered by the window until at last Buddy’s camouflage truck rolled out of the driveway and onto the gravel road. Then Connor hurriedly rummaged through his belongings for a fresh change of clothes. He hastily shed his dirty clothes, and the keys slid out of his pocket and rattled to the floor. He ignored the keys and snatched his pocketknife before making his way to the nightstand.
Connor dutifully grabbed his medication then hesitated. The white pill sat idly in his wavering hand, which closed around it in a fist. The pill would slow him, make him more vulnerable to the scarecrow, and that was something he could ill afford. He took it into the bathroom he shared with Megan, flushed it down the toilet, and watched a watery vortex carry it away. Connor ran downstairs, ate a quick breakfast of cold cereal, and left the house to go in search of Jezebel under cover of daylight.
It was a lonely walk to the forest. The clouds followed him through the windy field. He paused beside Bandit’s freshly dug grave. The dog’s loss weighed heavily on him, especially at that moment. With his family away, and Bandit gone, he felt truly alone on the farm for the first time. Connor mustered his resolve and waded into the forest while trying not to think about what happened the last time he had gone in search of Jezebel.
A chill indifferent to the sun’s presence beyond the trees hung over the forest. It’s going to be all right. He repeated the words over and over again inside his mind and ignored the sounds that came from deeper within the woods. Clouds passed over the sun and cast shadows on the fallen leaves. Everywhere, crows were scattered across the tree branches. There must have been over a hundred. Connor tried to avoid looking at the sinister birds. You’re OK. He inched forward step by step.
Running water murmured loudly at the foot of the hill. Jezebel’s house lay in a clearing across from the creek, far removed from the outside world. He climbed down the steep incline, using the trees to steady himself. Cold water seeped into his muddy sneakers as he splashed toward the weed-covered bank on the other side. He walked over stepping-stones when he could, but by the time he made it to the bank, his pant legs were soaked through to the knees.
Connor shivered and hauled himself over the bank. The field on the other side was in complete disarray. Tall grasses and weeds sprouted freely around empty barrels and rusted plows, as if the field had not been tended to in years. The wind picked up and wailed through the valley as he approached. The house, a modest one-story cottage, was in shambles. Vines tore at the walls on every side. Black shingles from the tattered roof had been left carelessly on the ground. Rotten wooden planks were scattered through what could only be called a yard in the loosest sense of the word.
Shuddering, Connor crept toward the house. “Hello?” He was answered only by the wind. Three pumpkins sat on the front porch like they’d been left there for him. The front door fell open when he knocked on it. He hesitated and crossed the threshold. “Jezebel?” Save the natural illumination that stole in through the foggy windows, there was no light inside. Connor tried turning on the light switch, but when it remained dead, he guessed the electricity was out. The house was cold, roughly the same temperature as the outdoors.
He took another step forward and searched for any sign of life. The remains of what looked like a kitchen had been picked clean. Only a couple of wooden chairs sat by what had probably once been a table. The carpet was frayed and stained and smelled strongly of mildew. The paint on the walls was peeled and faded. There was even a gaping hole in one. Connor reached toward the hole, drawn to it, when he noticed a framed photograph over the mantel.
He wiped off the dust-covered glass and stared at the black-and-white picture underneath. It was a photo of an old woman he had never seen before. Connor walked around the room and looked at each photo that had been left behind. Jezebel isn’t in any of these. The people in the photographs were all strangers. “This isn’t right.” The house seemed abandoned—dead. How could anyone live in such a place? I don’t understand. There’s no one here. He wondered if he had somehow stumbled upon the wrong house, but he was certain it was the same one Jezebel had pointed out only a few days prior.
Something moved within the wall behind him, and Connor fell back with a scream on his lips. A raccoon poked its head out of the hole. Spotting Connor, the critter scurried along the floor and out the open front door. Connor scrambled to his feet and ran outside as fast as his legs could carry him. He glanced back at the abandoned house one last time to look for someone who just wasn’t there.
The clouds slid away, and the sun cast its warmth over the lonely valley. What time is it? He noticed how high the sun had climbed. The others will be back any minute! Aware of the consequences he would face if his father arrived before he got back, he hurried home through the forest. Connor’s pants were still damp when he again made his way across the creek. Forlorn at having failed in his efforts to locate Jezebel, he scaled the hill and emerged from the forest.
Even when running, there was a considerable distance from the woods to the house. Connor slowed his pace as he noticed Buddy’s truck heading down the gravel road away from the farm, a trailer attached to the back. I’m too late. Not only had his family already returned, but they had also finished herding the cattle into the trailer—all without him.
Already out of breath, he broke into a sprint and closed the gap between the pasture and the farmhouse. Russ’s replacement truck sat in the driveway, and the others were already inside the house.
Connor, panting and red-cheeked, walked up to the porch and went inside to face the music.
His father waited for him inside, and he did not look pleased. “We need to talk. Where have you been? We needed your help, but you were nowhere to be found. Buddy is going to be late to the auction because of you!” Megan watched nervously from behind him. “Now, where were you?”
Connor hung his head. “I went looking for Jezebel. She’s the only one who believes me.”
Russ paced from one end of the parlor to the other in a clear effort to restrain his anger. “Enough. There is no Jezebel.”
Connor’s jaw nearly dropped open in surprise. “What?”
“She doesn’t exist, Connor. Just admit it—you made her up.”
Connor shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve seen her yourself, when we were carving jack-o’-lanterns on the porch! And she was in the cornfield with me the day Tommy Evers attacked us!”
Russ’s face betrayed a mixture of sympathy and doubt. “I never saw anyone with you, Connor. If you remember, Tommy claimed you attacked him with a knife. He never said anything about anyone else being there.”
“No,” Connor muttered with a dawning sense of horror. “That’s not right. It can’t be.”
Russ gestured to the phone. “I called around. No one lives on the other side of the creek. That house has been abandoned for years. And no one has ever heard of a girl named Jezebel.”
Connor’s knees felt weak. His world was spinning. Russ was right about one thing—the house had been abandoned. But he knew he hadn’t made Jezebel up! He’d seen her, hadn’t he? Connor grabbed his head in his hands in hopes of relieving the sudden feeling of tension. He backed away, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but where he was standing at the moment.
Russ seemed to read his thoughts. “You’re not going anywhere.” Connor noticed his father was holding the set of keys he had left on the floor, as well as the cell phone he’d hidden in the closet. “Do you mind explaining these? When you didn’t come down, I went looking for you, but I found these instead. Whose phone is this, Connor? Because it looks an awful lot like it belongs to Tommy Evers to me. And where did you get these keys?”
“I found them in the cornfield.”
Russ grabbed him by the shoulders. “I need you to focus, Connor. What’s going on? I want to help you, but you have to tell me the truth.”
Before Connor could answer, the landline rang.
Russ sighed. “Stay right here.” He ambled over to the phone on his crutch and lifted the receiver from the wall. “Yes? Hello, Officer Lynch. Yes, I know her. She came over to the house for dinner last night.” All at once, the color drained from his face. “Missing? Like the Evers?” He paused and glanced from the keys in his hand to Connor. “I understand. I’ll be right over. Hopefully we can get this sorted out.” He set the phone back in the cradle and stared blankly ahead, as if stunned by a sudden turn of events.
“What is it?” Connor asked, worried.
“Liz has gone missing, just like Keith and Tommy Evers.”
Connor remembered the version of Liz in his dream. The meaning struck him at once: The keys belonged to her. She’s dead. “Oh no.”
Russ seemed not to have heard him. “I’m going to have to go down to the station to give a statement. I need you both to wait here until I get back.” He hobbled into the kitchen and returned with his new keys. “Connor, look after your sister. And for God’s sake, don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone. I think we’re going to have a lot to talk about when I get back.”
Connor stood there, shocked, as his father headed out the door. The screen door slamming shut startled him out of his trance, and he followed his father outside. “Wait!” he called from the porch. “You can’t leave us here alone!” But Russ was already on his way down the road.
“Connor?” Megan stood at the doorway, wearing a worried expression. “Is something wrong?”
He stared at the light-filled sky. It was still early afternoon, but with Buddy and Russ gone, he didn’t want to think about what would happen if darkness returned before they did. “Everything’s OK. We’re going to be fine.” After all, the scarecrow couldn’t come out during daylight—could it? Even so, he shut the front door and turned the lock, just to be sure. “Why don’t we play a game?” The suggestion prompted a great smile from his sister, but all the while he counted the seconds until his father’s return.
* * *
The Owsley County Sheriff’s Department sat squarely in downtown Booneville, a comfortable drive from the Blackwell Farm. The sky grew ominous in the rearview mirror as Russ pulled into the parking lot. Looks like a storm’s coming. He found an open spot for the rental truck, grabbed his crutch, and hobbled into the building.
“I’m Russ Stevens,” he said to an officer at the front desk. “I’m here to speak with Officer Lynch.”
Lynch appeared and waved him forward before the woman at the desk could offer a response. “We can talk in here.” He led Russ into an office and held the door for him. “It looks like you’ve had some trouble since we last met.” He gestured to the cast.
Russ eased himself into a chair and propped his crutch against the seat. “I was in an accident. Wrecked my truck.” He decided it was best to leave out the possibility of his son’s involvement in the accident. He didn’t want to get Connor in trouble with the police. Connor might be wrong about the scarecrow, but that doesn’t mean something strange isn’t going on around here. “Now, tell me about Liz. Is she all right? Has something happened to her?”
“I was hoping maybe you could tell me. You and Miss Hayes were close? You said you had dinner last night.”
Russ didn’t shirk away from the officer’s steely gaze. “Liz was my employer. She came to the house sometimes. We were . . . friendly.”
“Miss Hayes didn’t show up for work today, Mr. Stevens. She didn’t return any phone calls either. This makes the third potential missing person around your farm in the last week, given that we still haven’t found Keith or Tommy Evers. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.” There was something Lynch wasn’t telling him. He remembered the cell phone in Connor’s room. What if Connor had something to do with this? He was suddenly afraid for his son. “Odd things were happening long before my family got here—Jasper Blackwell, to start with.”
Lynch nodded in agreement. “But, for the record, you didn’t happen to have an altercation with Miss Hayes last night, did you? Something that would explain those healing cuts and bruises.”
“Wait—you don’t think I had something to do with this, do you?” Russ asked, taken aback.
“Just answer the question.”
“No,” Russ said firmly. “I told you, I was in an accident.”
“Like Miss Hayes?” Lynch watched him carefully.
“What do you mean?” Russ asked, confused.
“We found her car abandoned off-road, maybe two miles or so from your house. No body though, and her keys were gone.”
“Her keys . . .” Russ trailed off as he recalled the keys he’d found in Connor’s room. This was far worse than he’d ever suspected.
Lynch seemed not to notice his change in expression. “Mmm. I’ll ask you again—did you have anything to do with Miss Hayes’ disappearance?”
“No. I was home all night. My brother can vouch for me.”
“In that case, I take it you wouldn’t mind if we took another look around your property? We can get a warrant, if you want.”
Russ shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.” He looked up suddenly. “Officer . . . you haven’t heard anything about a Jezebel Woods living around these parts, have you?”
Lynch was obviously startled by the question. “Jezebel Woods? Where’d you get that name?”
Russ leaned forward. Clearly, the name meant something to Lynch. “There’s this girl my son claims to have met. He says that’s her name.”
“There’s no girl living around here by that name, not that I know of.”
“But you’ve heard the name before?”
“Yeah. Hard to forget a story like that.”
“Who was she?”
“Jezebel Woods was a sheriff in Gray Hollow. She disappeared around a couple years ago, presumed dead. Word at the time was that she was looking into a twenty-year-old missing persons case, a kid named Salem Alistair. It was all over the papers.”
“Alistair?” The name written in the scarecrow’s hat echoed in his mind, and Russ’s eyes widened in surprise. “I have to go.” He reached for his crutch.
“I’m not finished talking to you yet,” Lynch said, but Russ was already halfway out the door.
“Officer, if I’m not under arrest, then I’m leaving.” He limped out the door before Lynch could say another word.
* * *
The hours passed by slowly as afternoon bled into evening, and still their father had not returned. Connor peered beyond the window and searched for Russ’s truck. Where is he? He should have been back by now.
Outside, clouds continued to gather across the sky to cast their shade on the house below. The light faded as the sun became a muted orange. There were crows everywhere: The birds lined the fence posts, loomed in the barn lofts, and littered the farmhouse. Connor shut the blinds, turned back to his sister, and tried not to betray a building sense of foreboding.
“Where’s Daddy?” Megan played with her stuffed bear on the floor. “I’m hungry.”
Connor forced a smile. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Why don’t I make us some popcorn as a snack?”
“OK.”
Connor left her to go into the kitchen. A crow glowered at him on the other side of the kitchen window, but Connor ignored the bird and placed a bag of popcorn into the microwave. He pressed the start button while listening to his sister playing in the next room. As the kernels began to pop, he heard a sound coming from outside the house, just above the noise of the popcorn. Connor paused the microwave and listened intently.
The whispers had returned. He ran into the next room and yelled for his sister, but she was gone. An icy breeze poured inside through the front door, which had been left open. Connor rushed out the door and onto the porch, where the whispers g
rew louder.
Megan stood with her back to him, dragging the stuffed bear behind her as she walked toward the cornfield. He called to her, but she continued forward, undeterred, like she hadn’t heard him. It was as if she was caught in a dream. And under the reddening sun, the scarecrow waited at the edge of the cornfield, its arms open wide to greet her.
Chapter NINETEEN
The scarecrow reached for Megan and extended a menacing gloved hand.
Spellbound, she held out her hand and waited for it to take her. Connor reached her just before their hands touched and tackled his sister to the ground, away from the scarecrow. Suddenly, the whispers ceased.
“Connor?” Megan mumbled, as if waking from a dream. “What’s going on?”
“We have to go.” He scrambled to his feet and pulled her off the ground. “Now.” He squeezed her hand for good measure and cast a look at the scarecrow, which drew itself up and emitted a terrible shriek. The edges of its burlap face contorted in rage. Megan screamed when she saw the monstrous creature for the first time with conscious eyes, and she and Connor ran toward the house.
They ground to a halt a few feet from the front porch. The horde of crows that lined the farmhouse cried out with one voice and rose into the air to form a swarm so thick it nearly blotted out the red-hued sun. One by one, the birds descended and flew straight at the children caught in the front yard. Connor pivoted, dragging Megan along, but the scarecrow approached from behind. They were trapped between the scarecrow on one side and the crows on the other.
“This way.” Connor hurried before the birds converged on them. He ushered her down the path that led to the barns, but the crows changed direction, flocked behind them, and enveloped them in a dark cloud. “Megan!” Connor felt his grip on his sister’s hand loosen, and her hand slid out of his. The swarm parted, and he took cover inside an unused corn silo before they could return.
The Whispers of the Crows Page 16
