Megan jumped off the bed. “Do you like it?”
“I guess. It’ll take some getting used to. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I wish Mom was here.”
“So do I.” Connor wrapped his arms around her. “We’re going to be OK here. I won’t let anything happen to you, Megan. I promise.”
She held out her pinky finger. “Pinky swear?”
He locked her pinky in his. “Pinky swear.”
After a few minutes of investigating the upstairs, their father’s voice boomed from below. “Kids, get down here! Dinner’s ready!”
‘Dinner’ turned out to be a meal of partially burned hamburgers and lukewarm baked beans. Connor devoured the food without complaint. Megan was pickier, although that suited Buddy just fine since he added her leftover hamburger to the pair waiting on his plate. Russ hardly spoke, and when he did his comments were addressed to Buddy and about the farm. Buddy remained lively and engaging, willingly answering each of Megan’s many questions about the animals on the farm.
When dinner was over, Connor and his sister carried their plates to the sink. Buddy stepped out to smoke on the porch, leaving them alone with their father. A hush came over the kitchen until finally Russ broke the silence.
“The weekend is coming up, so there’s no rush to get anything done tomorrow. Buddy and I are still getting the feel of this place, but you’re welcome to come along if you want to see the farm. I’m afraid there’s not much in the way of entertainment here.”
“I want to see the horses!” Megan exclaimed, prompting a slight chuckle.
“What about school?” Connor couldn’t remember if he’d spotted one when they passed through Booneville earlier.
“On Monday I’ll go down to the school and see about signing you two up for classes.” Avoiding their eyes, Russ lowered his gaze and focused on the table. “I know this is a big change for both of you. It is for me, too. I’m sure your mother’s death has been hard on you . . .” He trailed off for a prolonged interval. Finally, the dull thud of Buddy’s boots followed the screen door swinging shut. Russ slid back his chair and stood. “You’d best get ready for bed. We’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow.”
On his way out of the room, Connor passed Buddy, who smelled strongly of tobacco smoke. His uncle tucked a cigarette lighter into his back pocket and shot Connor a high-five. “See you in the morning, kiddo.”
Connor waited for his sister, but Megan paused expectantly next to their father, as if waiting for something. Connor knew at once what she was after: a hug. It was a bedtime tradition simply not to be ignored, new house or not.
“Is something wrong?” Russ asked, obviously unaware.
Megan shook her head and hugged his waist. “Goodnight.” She gave another hug to Uncle Buddy before hurrying after Connor, and they marched up the creaky staircase side-by-side.
Connor helped Megan brush her teeth and get ready for bed. It was a role their mother always played before, but Connor had been doing it since her death. Besides, their father hadn’t exactly volunteered to take over the job.
Connor tied off the bottom of Megan’s braid and looked at her in the mirror. “You look like Mom.” Maybe mentioning their mother would keep her nearby.
Megan grinned at him widely, revealing several missing baby teeth covered by toothpaste. Connor laughed and took in his own reflection, noticing that his hair had already started getting longer and curlier in the time since their mother’s death. Other than that, he looked the same as always—only he didn’t feel the same. Not inside, anyway.
Megan dropped her toothbrush into the cup on the sink and returned to the hallway, lingering at the top of the stairs. “Isn’t Daddy going to tuck us in?”
The hallway below remained empty. “I don’t think so.” Connor took his sister’s hand, led her back to her room, and helped her into bed. “Goodnight, Megan.” He kissed her on the forehead the same way their mother used to, placed Megan’s stuffed bear beside her, and pulled the sheets around her.
“Night,” she mumbled, already half-asleep.
Connor watched her for a minute longer. When he stood to leave, he heard footsteps on the stairs. By the time he quietly shut her bedroom door and glanced up and down the hallway, there was no one around.
His room was quiet. The fan was still turning above his bed, the burnt-out bulb swinging lifelessly, just as he’d left it. Connor kicked off his sneakers and rifled through his backpack for his nightlight.
Then he remembered that it had stopped working the night his mother died. He had slept with the closet light on every night since then, except his new room didn’t have a closet light in it.
Air hissed through a rust-stained vent on the ceiling, and Connor found himself shivering. Already his mind began playing tricks on him. If his imagination was able to transform his old bedroom, which he knew so well, into a world of hidden horrors, he didn’t want to think about what fears might be unleashed in such a foreign and unfamiliar environment. Connor hesitated. It was easy to share his fears with his mother. She was always understanding and compassionate. What would his father say if he knew his son was afraid of the dark?
Surely I can make it through one night. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Then he remembered his fall through the darkness and the terrifying face that hid in the shadows. The scarecrow was fixed in his mind’s eye, waiting in the barn. Waiting for him.
I can’t. Connor returned to the hallway and crept down the stairs until he heard his father’s voice.
“A ruptured esophageal ulcer. That’s what the doctors called it, anyway. She bled to death on the floor, right there in the house.”
“My God,” he heard Buddy say. “That’s awful.”
Connor stopped still. They were talking about his mother. From his position on the staircase, he could just make out the images of Russ and Buddy, still seated at the kitchen table.
“The doctors said she must have been sick for some time,” Russ muttered. “She never liked to complain, not even when we were together.”
“Those poor kids.”
“You should have seen us on the road.” Russ lifted a dark-tinted bottle to his lips. “What do I have to say to a couple of kids? I don’t know anything about being a parent.”
“Maybe they don’t need you to say anything. Maybe they just need you to be there for them right now. You are their father, after all.”
Russ took another drink from the bottle. “There was no one else to take them. That’s why they’re here. Now I have to watch out for them and get this place running again.”
Connor flinched at the words, and the step he was standing on groaned under his feet.
Russ and Buddy looked up and spotted him.
“Connor? What are you doing down here?” Buddy said.
Having been seen, Connor walked to the bottom of the staircase and came to stand in the kitchen.
“How long have you been standing there?” Russ asked.
Connor refused to meet his father’s eyes. “I forgot my nightlight.”
“Your what?”
“It’s dark in my room.”
Russ looked at Buddy, who only shrugged. “Does Megan use a nightlight?” From his tone, it sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation.
Connor shook his head.
“Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for that kind of thing?” Russ asked with a laugh that smacked of derision.
Connor’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he fled from the kitchen.
“You should go after him,” he heard Buddy suggest as he ran up the stairs. But his father did not come. Connor shut his door—leaving it open enough to allow light inside—and collapsed on the bed.
He doesn’t want us, he thought, remembering his father’s words. He wiped his ey
es, sat up, and gazed out his window into the night. “I wish Mom was here.” He meant the words with all his heart.
His gaze fell on the unpainted barn that sat apart from the others. The barn seemed to grow larger, swelling like a heart pumping blood as he watched. And for a moment, he thought he heard the whisper again.
Connor flung himself down on the bed, facing away from the window. He shut his eyes and waited for sleep.
* * *
Sleep did not come easy. Connor tossed and turned, unable to find comfort. His pillow was too lumpy, his bed too stiff. Everywhere he turned he saw something monstrous in the dark, incomprehensible terrors that wanted to claim him. It was not the dark that scared him—not really—it was the things in the dark he feared. Connor pulled the covers over his head as if to shield himself against the nameless horrors.
When sleep finally came for him, it was not the friend he had imagined. In his nightmares, the scarecrow waited.
It slumbered in the darkness, where he’d left it inside the forgotten room, locked away no more. It had slept there inside the barn, under the watchful eyes of the crows, for so long.
But now it felt his fear. And in the blackness, a single finger moved.
Chapter FOUR
The cornfield seemed to go on forever without end.
Emerald cornstalks stretched toward the sky, one after another, as if reaching for the sun. The stalks cast their shadows over the narrow spaces where one row met the next. Ragged leaves, anchored by roots that disappeared under the earth, swayed in the gentle breeze.
Connor wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Even with the breeze, the atmosphere inside the cornfield was stifling. The air felt thicker somehow—heavier—an environment set apart from the world beyond. He stood side by side with Megan in the heart of the cornfield and watched their father and uncle at work while keeping his distance.
Buddy slung the scarecrow over his shoulder. “For being made of straw, this thing sure is heavy.” He dumped it in the dirt and squatted next to Russ, who held a hammer in one hand and a nail clenched between his teeth.
“Let’s just hope it gets the job done.” Russ warily eyed a group of crows perched nearby.
There was a temporary silence in the cornfield before the hammer drowned out the wind cascading off the rows of corn. Russ hoisted a wooden cross and planted it in the ground. Connor’s gaze wandered to the scarecrow. Its lone button eye seemed to follow him as he shifted uncomfortably in place. The scarecrow was no less terrifying under the full light of day than when he had found it. Connor shuddered, wishing they’d left the thing inside the barn, in the darkness where it belonged. No one else appeared to notice. Megan was busy attempting to keep her stuffed bear from Bandit, who seemed to believe they were playing a game of tug-of-war. Buddy helped Russ hang the scarecrow, and with twisted brown rope, they bound its arms to the cross.
After they finished, Russ stepped back to inspect his handiwork, and a half-smile spread over his face. “Those crows won’t be bothering us once they get a look at you.”
When Bandit released his hold on Mister Bear and growled at the scarecrow, Connor—grateful he wasn’t the only one wary of the menacing figure—petted the dog.
“All right,” Buddy said. “Now that we have that out of the way, I believe we promised these kids we’d show them the farm.”
Russ agreed. “Come on, kids. We’ve got a lot to do today.”
As they made their way back through the rows, Connor couldn’t resist looking back at the scarecrow one last time. For a moment, he thought he saw the hint of a smile on its stitched lips. Then he turned and hurried along the path after the others.
* * *
The hours passed quickly. Connor soon realized that the farm was bigger than he had ever imagined. There was always something else to discover, a new adventure waiting at every turn. Russ showed them how to feed and water the animals, from the horses in the barn to the chickens in their coops. True to his word, there was even a goat in the pasture waiting to be watered. Buddy let them take turns driving the tractor through the field. With Bandit’s help, they corralled the cows so the neglected fence could be mended.
It was hard work, but Connor enjoyed every moment. He soon forgot all about the scarecrow and his terrifying fall in the dark barn. There was a magical quality to the farm, something elusive unlike anything he’d known before. It was exactly what he needed to distract himself from his mother’s loss, which was never far from his thoughts.
The breeze died down, and the sun seemed to swell in size as noon approached. Connor reluctantly found himself paired with his father, helping to mount new light fixtures to each of the barns. The sound of Russ’s electric drill was lost as the tractor, carrying hay on a front-end loader, approached from the field. Connor looked enviously at the tractor, where Megan and Buddy were clearly enjoying themselves.
“That’s the last one,” Russ said from the ladder. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Connor didn’t know how to answer, so he kept his mouth shut. Other than asking for tools, Russ had hardly said two words to him since they started working, so it felt like an odd thing for him to say.
When the tractor stopped abruptly, Russ climbed down the ladder and returned the electric drill to his toolkit. “It looks like Buddy and Megan are finished. I reckon we should get some lunch. You’ve worked hard today.”
“OK.”
His father paused. He looked uncomfortable, as if unsure what to say. “I’m sorry if I upset you last night.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small pocketknife. “My father gave me this when I was about your age.” Russ handed the pocketknife to Connor. “I want you to have it.”
Connor opened the pocketknife and traced the edge of the blade with his finger. It was still sharp.
“That’s a tool, not a toy. Treat it with respect.” Russ’s tone softened. “I figure if you’re going to be helping out around here, you might as well look the part.”
“Thank you.” Connor folded the knife back in place and tucked it into his back pocket. Together, they followed the dusty trail toward Buddy’s camouflage truck, where Buddy and Megan drank water from a five-gallon water jug on the tailgate. Bandit ran happily between them and lapped up the falling water.
“It’s a hot one today, brother.” Buddy rung the sweat from his drenched ball cap and leaned against the tailgate, causing it to dip slightly and groan under his weight. Connor tried not to laugh.
Megan jumped up and down. “Connor! Buddy showed me how to use the loader. We put hay in the loft for the horses.”
“She’s a little young to be operating heavy machinery, isn’t she?” Russ asked warily.
“It was fine,” Buddy answered with a good-natured grin. “I kept my hand over hers the whole time.”
Connor’s stomach growled abruptly.
“I think this one’s ready for some lunch,” Buddy said. “Come to think of it, I could use a speck of food myself.”
Russ wiped the dirt off his hands. “We finished most of the chores for today. Why don’t we call it an afternoon? I’ve got a meeting at the café in half an hour to go over the plans for the farm. When I come back, we’ll sit down and go over the list of things we need to get done this week.”
Buddy’s face lit up. “Say, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we all go with you?”
Russ looked surprised. His eyes swept over Connor and Megan, and he shook his head. “I’m meeting someone from the bank. It would probably be too boring for them.”
Buddy laughed. “They’ll be fine. Don’t you remember when we were kids and Dad would take us for a frosty root beer after a long day of work on the farm?” He grinned at Connor. “I’d say they deserve to celebrate their first real day here. How about it, kids? Does root beer sound good? They make a killer ham sandwich at the café.”
; Connor nodded along enthusiastically. The thought of a cold root beer sounded too good to be true. He and Megan stared at their father expectantly and waited for an answer.
Russ shrugged. “Sure. I guess it won’t hurt anything for them to be there.”
A short time later, they started on the road into town, huddled tightly together in Russ’s white pickup. To have a seatbelt, Megan was comically sandwiched between Russ and Buddy, the latter taking up a disproportionate share of the front seat. Bandit sprawled across the truck bed, his tongue flapping in the wind. Connor, thankful for the opportunity to relax, sat on Uncle Buddy’s right, closest to the window. The day’s chores had taken more out of him than he thought. Impressed at the vastness of the forest, he rested his head against the seat and watched the trees go by.
More farms appeared as the truck drew nearer to town. Some were little more than fenced-in areas with small barns or sheds. Others sported a single horse or cow occasionally roaming the front yard like a pet. When they passed a mother pushing a child on a tire swing, Connor felt a pang of loss. He shifted in his seat and turned his eyes ahead to the main road that ran through town.
Booneville appeared even sleepier with the weekend approaching, if such a thing were possible. They met a few cars on the lonely road—mainly trucks—but for the most part, the town was abandoned, the very image of a ghost town. Closed businesses and churches cast watchful gazes across empty streets, like sentinels peering over the edge of the world.
Connor pointed to an isolated building on a hill above. “Is that a library?” He hadn’t noticed it on their first trip through town.
“It looks like it,” Buddy said.
Connor grinned. He hadn’t expected the small town might have a library, and to find one of such size was an unanticipated boon. “Can we go? After your meeting?”
The Whispers of the Crows Page 3