The Whispers of the Crows

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Her bedroom door was shut. Connor gathered his courage and knocked. “Can I come in?” There was no answer. Hesitantly, he turned the doorknob and the door swung open. Megan was sitting on the bed, cross-legged, her face stained with tears. Connor walked over and sat beside her. He brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  “I didn’t mean to lose it.” Her voice was shaky. “I just forgot.”

  He offered a smile. “I know.”

  She looked at him nervously. “You’re not still mad at me?”

  “You mean more to me than anyone else in the whole world.” He hugged her close and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Megan.”

  She seemed to brighten at that. “Do you want to go play outside?”

  “Sure.”

  She jumped off the bed and raced out of the room, her footsteps bounding down the stairs. Connor paused on the upstairs landing and caught a glimpse of his sister as she dashed like a blur toward the parlor. He heard the front door open and hurried down after her.

  When he emerged from the farmhouse, Connor held a hand over his eyes to shield himself from the blazing light. “Megan?” His sister was gone.

  Bandit barked loudly in warning. Then Connor saw her. His throat went dry, and every muscle in his body stiffened. Megan stood a short space from the old well, her back to him. Mister Bear sat precariously atop the well. Megan took one step forward, and another, oblivious to her brother.

  “Megan!” Connor shouted.

  Russ, who had continued hauling the feed bags to the barn in their absence, stopped and took note. “Get away from there!”

  Megan didn’t appear to hear him either. She stretched out her hand for the stuffed bear, which swayed in the wind—tantalizingly out of reach—and stood on her tiptoes against the well’s stone surface.

  In what felt like slow motion, Connor made silent eye contact with his father, who was still unloading feed from the truck. Russ hurled the feedbags to the ground and broke into a run. So did Connor, but he knew he was too far away to reach her in time. Megan’s feet dangled in the air as she reached for the bear. It was only inches from her fingers when Russ grabbed her before she could fall over the side. The bear toppled backward and vanished into the darkness below.

  “I told you not to go near the well,” Russ said sternly. “You could have been seriously hurt—or worse.”

  “But Mister Bear!” Megan’s eyes were still on the well.

  Russ sighed. “I can fish him out for you, but you have to promise me you’ll keep away from the well.”

  She nodded somberly, as if she had only just realized what she was doing.

  “Are you OK?” Connor asked, and their attention turned to him.

  Russ’s brow knitted suspiciously. “Did you do this?”

  “What?” The suggestion took him aback.

  “You were angry with her about the tablet. Did you put the bear there to get back at her?”

  “No,” Connor protested. “I swear.”

  “It didn’t turn up there on its own.” Russ put his hands on his hips. “Someone put it there.”

  Before he could answer, Connor saw a hint of movement in the cornfield. Something was standing behind the rows, watching them.

  Was it the scarecrow? He pointed at the cornfield. “Did you see that? There’s something out there.”

  Russ didn’t even bother to look. “That’s enough, Connor. If you won’t admit to anything, I want you to go to the house and think about what you did until dinner. Megan could have been seriously injured. Is that what you wanted?”

  “No.” Connor continued staring at the cornfield. The figure had vanished.

  * * *

  Crows flocked overhead. The sun hung low as dusk approached from all sides, where shadows lurked on the periphery of a colorful horizon. Connor sat with Megan on the porch’s steps, watching the sunset while Buddy smoked a cigarette in a rocking chair, Bandit curled up at his feet.

  A pickup appeared on the road that led to the farmhouse. The truck’s wheels sprayed gravel behind it as the vehicle flew down the road.

  “I wonder who that could be at this time of night,” Buddy muttered.

  Connor stepped off the porch for a better look. To call the pickup past its prime would have been overly generous. Its paint was so faded it was impossible to tell the vehicle’s original color. There was a sizable dent in the fender from a wreck of undeterminable age, and a thick coat of rust marred the hood in its entirety. The truck swerved unevenly from one side of the road to the other and occasionally strayed into the field’s edge before overcorrecting. As the pickup drew closer to the farm, Connor discerned two figures inside.

  The truck pulled to a stop right in front of the farmhouse, followed by a cloud of dust. Connor’s eyes widened as he recognized the man who opened the door on the driver’s side: Keith Evers, Tommy’s father.

  “Get out of the car.” Keith angrily slammed the door. Tommy, his face swollen and bruised, emerged from the passenger’s side. Unable to meet Connor’s eyes, he kept his head down. “Is he the one?” When Keith pointed at Connor, Tommy nodded mutely, and his father shoved him forward.

  Keith marched toward the farmhouse with his gaze dead set on Connor, and Connor seized up in fear.

  Buddy rose from the rocking chair. “What’s all this about?”

  “Stay out of this, fat man.” Keith grabbed Connor by the arm and squeezed. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, in keeping with the smell of alcohol on his breath. “Did you do this to my son, boy?”

  “There’s no need for this kind of talk.” Buddy laid a hand on Keith’s shoulder.

  Keith punched Buddy in the face, then hit him in the gut. When Buddy doubled over in pain, Keith struck him in the face a second time. Buddy landed in the dirt, and blood poured from his nose.

  “Uncle Buddy!” Connor shouted as Keith turned his attention toward him and grabbed him by the hair. Megan screamed at his back.

  A gunshot echoed through the night, and Keith released his grip. Russ stood on the porch, holding a shotgun. Smoke rose from the barrel, which was pointed at the sky. “Step away from my son.”

  Keith backed away a few steps. “Look at what your boy did to my kid. He threatened him with a knife.”

  “I didn’t do it!” Connor protested. “It was Jezebel!”

  “I’m only going to say this once,” Russ told Keith. “Get off this property—and don’t ever come back.”

  “You think you’re better than us?” Keith staggered slightly. When he took another step toward Connor, Russ pointed the shotgun at the man’s feet and fired. The shell kicked up dirt mere inches away from Keith’s boots.

  “The next time there won’t be a warning,” Russ said. “And I won’t be aiming for your feet.”

  “You’ll be sorry.” With that, Keith spat on the ground and pushed Tommy back to the truck. The pickup departed with the same reckless abandon with which it had arrived.

  Russ set down the gun and helped Buddy to his feet. “You OK, big guy?”

  “I’ll live. I’ll probably have one heck of a shiner tomorrow though.”

  Sobbing, Connor threw himself into his father’s arms. “Thank you. You saved me.”

  Russ clutched him tightly. “You’re my family. We take care of each other.”

  They stayed like that for a long time.

  * * *

  Long after all the excitement faded, Connor stood at the base of the stairs, looking up. Even with the lights turned on, the hallway at the end of the staircase possessed a disquieting quality. He hesitated and put one foot on the first stair, then another. Ahead, his bedroom, cast in the darkness of the encroaching night, waited.

  The walk to his room seemed to last an eternity. He crossed the threshold, the unlit nigh
tlight in his outstretched hand to ward against evil, as if he expected something terrible to happen. When greeted by nothing more than peaceful silence, Connor plugged the nightlight into the wall and allowed himself to relax.

  He hadn’t slept inside the room since discovering Jasper Blackwell’s body in the attic above. Connor found himself wondering to whom the bedroom belonged before he moved in. Was it where Blackwell had slept? Maybe, he decided, he was better off not knowing.

  His gaze fell on the wardrobe. If he hadn’t already discovered it for himself, he might never have believed there was a hidden doorway on the other side. Connor turned away and tried not to focus on the memory of the corpse he’d seen swinging at the end of a rope.

  Anxious for sleep, he changed into his pajamas and settled into bed. Hopefully, a new day would bring with it a fresh start. He was just about to close his eyes when he caught sight of the portrait hanging opposite his bed. The Blackwell painting of the farm, the one he’d unearthed in the cellar.

  The painting hung directly above the nightlight, which peeled back the surrounding shadows and cast a somber glow toward the portrait. Connor stared at the painting, which so hauntingly depicted the view outside his window. Every stroke appeared to have been rendered in perfect reality, from the dirt trail to each barn and silo.

  But, something about the portrait troubled him. There was something out of place, a lone detail that didn’t belong. He hadn’t noticed it when he first discovered the painting, but in the dim light he could make out a shape standing in the darkness in front of one of the barns. Connor leaned forward in bed in an attempt to discern the blurry shape that seemed almost smudged into the painting.

  A horrific thought occurred to him, and Connor turned around and peered outside his window into the unending night. He stared at the barn, depicted so clearly in the painting. A tall figure stood under the lamplight, watching the farmhouse—watching him. The shadows obscured its features, but Connor could make out the familiar threadbare coat and pointy hat.

  It was the scarecrow.

  The lamp over the barn flickered, and when the light returned, the scarecrow was gone, as if it had never been there at all.

  Chapter TEN

  Connor sat on the front porch and listened for the whispers.

  Buddy’s tractor bellowed in the background, somewhere in the field beyond. Bandit, sporadically wagging his tail to ward away the occasional fly, lay a short space away. From his vantage point on the steps, Connor stared at the outline of the barn where he’d first encountered the scarecrow that had since haunted his thoughts.

  I wasn’t imagining things. He pictured the darkened figure he had seen watching him from the barn the night before. Was I?

  Connor yawned. His eyelids seemed to grow heavier with each second. He’d barely had the energy to complete his chores, and he had all but collapsed on the porch after he was finished. Connor couldn’t remember a time when he felt so tired. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind.

  “I hope it’s OK if I bother you.”

  Connor’s eyes snapped open. Jezebel stood in front of him with an apologetic look. Curiously, she carried two pumpkins in her arms, which she laid on the ground at his feet like a peace offering.

  “You scare too easily, kid.” She spoke without a trace of the impish grin he’d come to know.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Jezebel averted her eyes and kicked at the dirt below the porch. “I wanted to see you again. You ran away yesterday before we had a chance to talk.” She extended her hand, and his pocketknife lay in the flat of her palm.

  Connor ignored the gesture. “You really freaked me out yesterday.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Do you want your knife back or not?”

  Connor reluctantly accepted the pocketknife. “Jezebel, you said you were going to kill him!”

  She laughed. “I didn’t actually mean it, Connor! Do I look like a murderer to you?” When she saw that he was still upset, Jezebel lowered her head. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to get him to leave you alone.”

  “Well it worked. Maybe a little too well.”

  For the first time since their encounter with Tommy in the cornfield, Jezebel smiled her signature smile. “Mind if I join you?” She gestured to the porch.

  “Be my guest.”

  She settled beside him on the porch, mere inches away. “You looked like you were about to take a nap.”

  “I was feeling a little worn out, but I feel better now.” Connor raised an eyebrow at his own words. In fact, he no longer felt remotely tired. “Tommy’s dad came to the house last night.”

  Her mouth opened in surprise. “No way.”

  “He was upset about what we did to Tommy. I don’t know what he would have done if my father hadn’t scared him away with a gun.”

  Jezebel’s expression was serious. “Be careful of the Evers, Connor. Tommy and his dad are dangerous people.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I can’t have anything happen to you.”

  “You shouldn’t worry. I don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon.” Connor nodded at the pumpkins she’d left on the ground. “What did you bring those for?”

  Jezebel grinned. “Carving, of course!”

  He cracked an unsure smile as she lifted the pumpkins onto the porch. “What?”

  “Being a city boy and all, I bet you’ve never carved a jack-o’-lantern before—have you?”

  “Nope.”

  Jezebel held out her hand, and Connor passed her the pocketknife. “It’s a holiday tradition in these parts. Now that fall has arrived, Halloween will be here before you know it.”

  “Halloween is still weeks away.” Connor watched her with fascination.

  “You want to be ready, don’t you?” Jezebel put her hands around one of the pumpkins and spun it, making a circular motion with her finger above the stem. “You cut the top off like so, then you scoop out all the flesh from the inside. Then the fun part: You carve a monstrous face into the pumpkin and put a candle inside.”

  “It sounds kind of spooky to me.”

  “Jack-o’-lanterns have been around for hundreds of years. It was believed they could ward off, or even trap, the spirits of the dead. People would leave them outside their doorsteps to keep the evil spirits away. Now they just do it for decoration.”

  “You sure know an awful lot about this stuff.”

  Jezebel shrugged, plunged the knife into the pumpkin, and sawed off the top before scooping out the seeds and orange-colored gunk inside. As he watched, transfixed, she carved eyes into the pumpkin, then a nose, followed lastly by a mouth, all in incredible detail. When Jezebel was finished, she lowered the top back over the pumpkin and cleaned the knife with her shirt.

  “Wow.” Connor was impressed.

  She handed him the blade. “Here. You try.”

  Connor hesitated with the knife in his hand, but Jezebel shot him a wink, and he went to work. The blade slipped inside the pumpkin’s tough, orange exterior with surprising ease. He steadied the pumpkin with his free hand, removed the top, and thrust his hand inside. The pumpkin’s mushy innards felt cool and wet to his touch.

  “This is fun.” Connor took his time with the design while Jezebel watched quietly. He felt free to unwind and busied himself with his task, all his worries forgotten.

  Lost in the craft, he barely heard the screen door open and shut behind him, or his father’s boots against the porch.

  “What have you got there?” Russ said curiously.

  “Jezebel is teaching me how to carve jack-o’-lanterns.” He showed off his handiwork.

  Russ’s face acquired a strange expression. “When you’re finished, I hope you wouldn’t mind lending me a hand with the fence.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Co
nnor answered and promptly resumed work on a malevolent eye.

  * * *

  That night, they all gathered together in the parlor after dinner. The farmhouse, a lonely glimmer of light across the unending expanse of black countryside, glowed brightly in the darkening night. A peaceful hush had fallen over the farm, broken only by the revelry inside the house.

  Connor sat on a comfortable oversized armchair and watched as Bandit chased a laughing Megan around the sofa and tried to snatch the stuffed animal clutched in her grasp.

  Russ, carrying a tray with bowls and spoons, approached from the kitchen. “I picked up a little treat when I was in town.” He passed out bowls filled with ice cream. “If y’all are anything like your mother, I bet you can hold your ice cream.”

  Megan settled on the sofa, and when Bandit jumped beside her, she playfully turned to one side to keep her dessert out of the dog’s reach. Connor peered into the bowl of shimmering pink ice cream sprinkled with strawberry chunks and salivated in anticipation. He eagerly lifted the first spoonful to his lips.

  Russ chuckled. “This is for you too.” He handed Connor the missing tablet. “I went back to track it down for you. I hope you don’t mind, but I scrolled through some of the pictures, and now I think I understand why it means so much to you.”

  Connor set his ice cream aside without a second thought and accepted the tablet from his father. He cradled the device reverently in his arms.

  “Thanks, Dad.” It dawned on him that he’d never called Russ ‘Dad’ to his face until that moment. Now that he had, it seemed only natural.

  The use of the word clearly registered on his father’s face. “You’re welcome, son.” Russ tousled Connor’s hair and sat down beside Megan before helping himself to his own bowl of ice cream. “I know this hasn’t been the easiest transition for you both. I haven’t been the best parent in the world, but I’m going to try my best to make it up to you.”

  “Will you teach me how to ride horses?” Megan asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you promise?” She held out her pinky.