Chapter EIGHT
When he woke in the morning, Connor found himself staring into a set of large brown eyes.
Startled, he nearly tumbled off the sofa in a panic before realizing the eyes belonged to Bandit, who sat on his chest. The dog licked him across the forehead and jumped from the sofa.
“Good morning to you too.” Connor wiped the slobber from his forehead and sat up on the sofa.
The storm was over. Like a long-forgotten friend announcing their return, sunlight spilled into the parlor through every available facet. A precious few innocuous white clouds lingered in an otherwise clear sky. It was almost as if the rains had washed away everything from the previous day: storm clouds, terrifying discoveries, paralyzing fears . . .
It was just a dream, Connor happily told himself. He shook off the image of the scarecrow that lingered in his thoughts, yawned, and rubbed his neck, still tired. Sleeping on the sofa had left its mark.
Bandit let out a bark and ran into the kitchen before promptly circling back to check on him.
“OK, boy. I’m coming.” Connor let out another yawn and shuffled into the kitchen.
“Well, look who it is. Good morning, sleepyhead.” Buddy’s overalls were already stained with grass and sweat. He took a large chug of water from a plastic cup, and some spilled over the edge and trickled down his beard on its way to the tabletop.
Connor rubbed his eyes and made himself a bowl of cereal. “Where’s Megan?”
“Off running errands in town with your dad. He’d have taken you, too, but he wasn’t keen on waking you.” Buddy drained the rest of the drink. “I already did your chores for you—figured you could use the day off.”
“Thanks, Uncle Buddy.”
Buddy stood up and returned his baseball cap to his head. “Anyway, I’ve got my own share of work to do, so you’ve got the lay of the land today. Try to have some fun, kiddo. You’ve earned it.”
Connor finished his breakfast and hurried upstairs to change. His bedroom seemed less ominous in the daylight. The wardrobe had been returned to its original resting place in his absence, once again concealing the secret entrance to the attic. Someone—probably Buddy—had nailed the Blackwell painting of the barns on the wall opposite his bed.
Maybe everything will go back to normal soon. Then again, he wasn’t sure there was such a thing as normal anymore. His life had changed dramatically since his mother’s death, and he wondered if things would ever settle down again.
“Come on, boy,” he called to Bandit as he made his way down the stairs. The dog followed him outside, and together they set off to enjoy the day. He ran past the well, in the direction of the cornfield, challenging Bandit to catch him.
For the most part, the crows had left their perches on the farmhouse and returned to the forest. Signs of the storm lingered everywhere he looked. Torn from their branches by the winds, leaves littered the ground. Rain droplets clung to the trees and grass. The earth was moist and soft and full of puddles.
Connor stopped short at the cornfield’s edge. His eyes swept the ground, and his left eyelid twitched involuntarily. A trail of footprints in the mud led away from the cornfield. Connor stared at the footprints, the nightmarish image of the scarecrow still on his mind. A sudden thought occurred to him, unbidden: What if it wasn’t a dream?
A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind, and he jumped, startled.
“Whoa there.” Jezebel held her hands out in mock surrender. “You scare easy. We’ll have to do something about that.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you.” Connor looked her up and down suspiciously. “What are you doing here?” Bandit chased his tail a short space away.
“I thought I’d finally take a look at this place for myself. I’ve always been curious about it, but it was too scary when Old Man Blackwell was living here. I was also hoping I would run into you again.”
Connor smiled, having felt exactly the same way about her. “I’m glad.”
She followed his gaze to the footprints. “Is that what had you so spooked?”
“I wasn’t spooked.” Despite his best efforts, his tone wasn’t particularly convincing.
Jezebel put her hands on her hips. “Come on.”
“OK, maybe a little. I had this weird dream last night about the scarecrow we hung in the cornfield. Mr. Blackwell kept some drawings in the basement, and then I . . .” he trailed off, remembering what he’d discovered in the attic.
“You what?”
“I found his body. He was dead.”
Jezebel gasped, shock evident on her face. “That’s messed up.”
Connor nodded. “The police came to our house last night and took the body away.” Connor cast a wary gaze over the cornfield. “Last night, I dreamt the scarecrow came to life. Then I found these footprints in the mud.”
Jezebel laughed. When Connor blushed, she offered him a smile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a cornfield. It can’t hurt anyone. Your dad probably left those footprints.” She perked up, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “I know—let’s make a game of it.” She took a step toward the towering stalks. “We’ll play hide and seek between the rows.”
Connor ground his teeth together reluctantly. “I don’t know.” His mind flashed to the last game of hide and seek he’d played—and its grim conclusion. He shook the gruesome image from his head; he didn’t want Jezebel to decide he was lame and disappear again.
“Come on.” There was a hint of mischief in her eyes. “It’ll be fun. I’ll go first.” She took off running into the cornfield. “You better come catch me!”
“Wait!”
She was already gone. He sighed and took off after her with Bandit close behind. Connor splashed through puddles and mud. He saw only green everywhere he looked.
“I’m waiting,” he heard her tease from somewhere nearby. Connor followed her voice and moved farther into the vast ocean of corn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move behind the cornstalks, and he brushed the stalks aside and stumbled into the next row.
There was nothing there. “Hello? Jezebel?” No answer came. Connor looked around. Bandit, too, seemed to have gone missing. He turned in a circle and scanned for Jezebel. In the distance, he could see the tip of the scarecrow’s hat above the cornstalks. He took comfort in the knowledge that the thing was still where it belonged.
Connor stood there listening to the stillness around him. Without warning, a black crow, its wings beating against the wind, emerged. Connor slipped in the mud and nearly lost his balance. The crow landed in the soil a few feet away and stared up at him. Its black eyes fixed on him, unmoving.
Jezebel leapt out at him from the next row, a grin on her face. “Got you!”
Only slightly on edge, Connor laughed too. “You’ve got a funny way of playing hide and seek.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Having fun yet?”
He nodded, still watching the crow. “They’re so creepy.”
Jezebel shook her head. “Crows are very special birds. Did you know they’re one of the few species that can recognize individual human faces? They can actually remember you.”
Connor frowned, recalling how he had watched the crows feeding on the dead calf a few days prior. There was something disturbing about the idea that the birds might know who he was.
“Crows even have their own language.” Jezebel approached the bird, whose black eyes transferred to her. “They can talk to each other.”
Connor’s brow furrowed. “What do they say?”
“Who knows?” Jezebel watched the crow flutter away then looked back at Connor. “So, where did you move here from?”
The abrupt change in topic caught him off guard. “Uh, Maryland.”
“That’s a long way from Kentucky. How’d you end up living
in Jasper Blackwell’s haunted house?”
Connor stared at the ground. “My dad took us in after our mom died.”
Her smile faded. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Connor forced himself to meet her eyes. He hadn’t spoken about his mother’s death to anyone. Doing so seemed to make it permanent, somehow even more irreversible. But it felt good to share his feelings with someone else. “I saw her die. Everything changed after that. Dad dragged us out here to the farm. Everyone is trying to make it work, but it’s not easy.” He shook his head and looked away again. “Sometimes I feel like none of this is real—like it’s all a dream I can’t wake up from.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “You must miss her a lot.”
“I loved her so much. I’d give anything to have her back.”
Jezebel stared at him with a gaze so deep he thought he might lose himself in her green eyes. “Anything?”
He nodded.
Her playful smile returned, and she slapped him on the back. “Come on.” She ran deeper into the cornfield. “Catch me if you can!”
Connor hesitated and cast a glance over his shoulder. The farm seemed to shrink in the background, diminished by the distance. He swallowed hard and took off in Jezebel’s direction. She loomed ahead, barely visible as they passed from one row to the next. Connor tore through the stalks as fast as he could, but with each second she put more distance between them until at last she vanished altogether.
He gathered his strength, and in a last burst of energy came crashing into the clearing in the cornfield’s heart—where the scarecrow waited. Jezebel stood in the cross’s shadow, where yet another crow had perched at the end of one of the scarecrow’s arms. Jezebel was completely still. All the color had drained from her face, replaced by an expression of fear. Connor’s first instinct was to suspect the scarecrow, but Jezebel was facing away from it, her attention on something else nearby.
A tall, lanky teenager with a menacing look stood a few feet from her. Connor recognized him as Tommy Evers, one of the two poachers Russ had kicked off the property only a few days ago.
When Tommy’s eyes met Connor’s, a cruel smile appeared on the older boy’s face.
“What are you doing here?” Every alarm bell in Connor’s head rang at once. He had seen the expression Tommy wore before—on those who had bullied him in school.
“I’ve been watching you.” Tommy dug his heel in the mud and kept his gaze on Connor, even as Jezebel remained paralyzed beside him. “Waiting for a chance to get you alone.”
“What do you want?” Connor tucked his trembling hands behind his back so that Tommy wouldn’t see his fear. Bullies could smell weakness, he knew. They were like sharks that way.
Tommy’s clenched fist shook with rage. “Your dad humiliated my pa. Pa got so drunk he almost broke my arm. I bet your dad won’t think he’s such a big shot once he sees what I’m going to do to you.”
“Stay back,” Jezebel warned. “Leave him alone!”
Tommy ignored her and advanced toward them. “You’re going to wish you’d never set foot on this land.”
Connor took a step back. Tommy’s grin widened, and the bully hit Connor in the face. The blow sent him sprawling in the mud, and the pocketknife Russ had given him fell out of his pocket.
“Connor!” Jezebel ran to his side. “Are you OK?”
“What do we have here?” Tommy knelt in the dirt and picked up the knife. “Did your dad give this to you?” He flipped out the switchblade, which shimmered in the sunlight. “Now we’re really going to have some fun.”
Before Tommy could rise from his crouched position, a low growl emanated from the corn, and Bandit emerged from the stalks with a loud bark. The blue heeler bit Tommy’s leg, and he fell on his back and dropped the knife. Tommy heaved Bandit off, scrambled to his feet, and kicked the dog. Bandit whimpered and recoiled in pain.
Wind spread through the cornfield, and whispers echoed from within. Connor hardly noticed as he looked from Bandit to Tommy and remembered all the encounters with bullies who had tormented him. He thought of all the times he had been frozen with fear, unable to do anything, even when his mother lay dying.
With a feral cry, Connor lunged from his spot in the mud and tackled Tommy, catching him off guard. Rage consumed him as the whispers grew louder. Connor hit the bully again and again under the watchful gaze of the scarecrow. Blood inked Connor’s bony knuckles, and he stamped his reddened fists over and over again across Tommy’s face.
Bandit barked loudly and snapped Connor out of his trance. He looked down at his bloodstained hands, then at Tommy, whose face was already swollen and bruised. He released his grip on Tommy and stumbled back, terrified. The scarecrow loomed above, its stitched smile seemingly approving.
“I’m sorry,” Connor started to say as Tommy moaned in pain. “I didn’t mean—”
Jezebel held up a hand, cutting him short. She towered over Tommy, the pocketknife in her other hand. Her face was an expressionless mask, and her blond hair flowed gently in the breeze.
“What are you doing?” Connor demanded.
Jezebel didn’t appear to hear him. She grabbed Tommy by the shirt collar and held the knife up to his face. “If you ever come back here again, we’ll kill you.”
Tommy scrambled to his feet and fled from the cornfield.
What have I done? Connor wondered in horror.
Chapter NINE
Blood streamed from his hands into the sink.
The water took on a red hue as it rushed down the drain. Connor caught a hint of his reflection in the mirror. His hands were shaking, and he looked unhinged. He turned off the faucet, stared at his wet hands, and searched for any remaining trace of Tommy’s blood.
Both hands had been scrubbed as clean as the day he was born. His fingertips had pruned from their time held under the stream. Even his fingernails were free of the cornfield’s muddy grime. So why did he still feel the need to continue washing them?
A soft sound came from outside the bathroom, and Bandit poked his head through the doorway. Connor hastily rubbed his damp hands against his t-shirt. “Are you OK, boy?” He knelt and looked the dog over.
As if to answer his question, Bandit’s head moved up and down in a facsimile of a nod. When the dog licked his face, Connor only halfheartedly attempted to stop him.
“You saved me.” He stroked Bandit’s fur and hugged the dog tightly against his chest. “I guess we saved each other.”
At first, Connor worried Tommy had seriously injured Bandit. Connor had run away from the scene in a panic, leaving Jezebel behind. The blue heeler initially limped behind but was running again by the time they reached the farmhouse. Still, Bandit appeared shaken. Then again, so was Connor.
He caught himself stealing another glance at his hands, perhaps unconsciously, to check for blood.
I don’t understand what came over me. One second, he was cowering in fear. The next, he was completely consumed by a brutal, unrelenting rage. It was as if, somehow, he wasn’t really there at all, and someone else was there in his place. The entire experience felt surreal—a blur.
A trail of dust rose outside the parlor windows, where Russ’s truck appeared, bounding down the gravel road. Connor wiped his nose with his hand and climbed to his feet. Bandit followed him outside the screen door, where Megan waved to them through the passenger window as the truck pulled to a stop. Connor put on what he thought was a convincing smile and waved back at her while trying to put the unpleasant memory of Tommy in the past.
Bags filled with feed were stacked across the back of the truck. Russ stepped out and helped Megan out of the passenger seat before heaving two of the heavy-looking bags over his shoulder.
“Connor! Connor!” Megan ran to him and laughed when Bandit licked her fingers. “Daddy took me to the fe
ed mill. Then we got root beers, and he let me play on the tablet while he went to the bank!”
Connor’s posture went rigid. “You took my tablet?”
“Daddy said I could borrow it.”
“Where is it?” Connor looked her up and down. She didn’t have it with her. He ran to the truck and flung the door open, but he didn’t see the tablet anywhere inside.
“Connor? What’s wrong?”
He grabbed his sister by the shoulders and shook her. “My tablet! What did you do with it?”
“I don’t know. I—I can’t remember.”
“What’s going on?” Russ demanded.
Connor released his hold on her. “All our pictures of Mom are on that tablet.” He pointed angrily at Megan. “How could you be so stupid?”
There was a slight pause before Megan’s eyes overflowed with tears. She ran away, sobbing. Connor could still hear her crying as she disappeared inside the house, leaving Mister Bear behind. The screen door slammed shut behind her.
“What’s gotten into you today?” Russ asked.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.” I would never hurt her, he reaffirmed to himself. Connor’s face burned with shame. He stared at the front door and wondered what had just taken place.
“You should probably apologize. It might make things better.”
He nodded and went after his sister. The loss of the tablet still stung him. What if it was gone for good? All the pictures of their mother—all the memories—erased forever, with one careless mistake. Connor understood his sister hadn’t meant to misplace the tablet, but that didn’t make it any easier.
The Whispers of the Crows Page 7