The Whispers of the Crows

by Kyle Alexander Romines

The voice fell silent.

  Connor pushed back the corn and advanced deeper among the rows to search for the sound’s source. “Mom? Are you there?” His voice grew more urgent with each step. He was certain his mother was there somewhere, just out of reach. “Where are you?”

  The whispers threatened to fade away, and Connor abandoned any last vestige of cautiousness. He advanced farther into the cornfield, and the scarecrow slowly walked past him toward the farmhouse in the background.

  * * *

  A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.

  “Connor? Are you OK?”

  “Mom?” he said, half-asleep.

  “No,” replied the voice, and the hand withdrew. “It’s me—Uncle Buddy.”

  Buddy. Connor repeated the word inside his head. He felt like he was waking up from a dream. His mother’s voice seemed so far away now. The last thing I remember was standing in the cornfield. We were picking sweet corn.

  Connor looked around in apprehension at unfamiliar surroundings. “Where am I?”

  Buddy’s considerable girth shook with jovial laughter. “You’re in the barn, of course.” It was true. They were inside the largest of the barns, where the horses were kept. The air was heavy with the odor of hay. Connor’s shoes were covered in dust from the soft ground.

  Connor shook his head and tried to process this new information. “We were picking corn.” He looked to his uncle, pleading for answers with his eyes. “Weren’t we?”

  Buddy stopped laughing. “We already finished that, a couple hours ago. You left to finish your chores. Don’t you remember?”

  When Connor concentrated, he was dimly aware of performing all his regular tasks, but the recollection was hazy. “Yes.” The response was mechanical.

  Buddy watched him carefully. “Are you sure you’re all right?” His ordinarily sparkling eyes were worried.

  Connor nodded. “I’m fine.” He felt more confident with each word. “I just lost track of time, that’s all.”

  The smile returned to Buddy’s face, a welcome and reassuring sight. “Good. Come along now—we don’t want to miss it.”

  Confused, Connor pursued his uncle outside the barn. “Miss what?”

  Buddy chuckled. “You’ve got to stop daydreaming, kiddo. Your dad’s going to teach you guys how to ride.”

  That’s right, Connor thought. Megan’s been asking to go horseback riding since we got here.

  “I found him,” Buddy called out.

  Connor saw Megan and Bandit playing outside the farmhouse. Bandit ran over and licked Connor’s palm, but he hardly noticed. The change in scenery was jarring. The bed of the truck was filled to the brim with corn. Above, the sun had emerged from its seclusion, only now it was a dull orange. By his reckoning, nightfall was only a few hours away.

  “Where’d you get off to?” Russ asked, trailed by a black stallion whose halter was hooked to a lead rope.

  Connor shrugged. “I was just finishing up with my chores.” The answer seemed to satisfy his father, even if the words felt hollow.

  Lost in the magic of the moment, Megan stared wide-eyed in amazement at the stallion. “I love him! What’s his name?”

  Russ’s mouth spread into a true smile. To Connor, it looked like the kind of smile someone might give when afforded the opportunity to share one of his greatest passions with another person. “His name is Lucky.” Russ brushed the horse’s mane with his free hand. “It’s OK—you can pet him.”

  Megan grinned and ambled over to the stallion. Connor was afraid she might frighten the horse with her unbridled enthusiasm, but Lucky merely watched the field nonchalantly as Megan reached up on her tiptoes and stroked his belly.

  “Connor?” Russ asked, and Connor reluctantly stepped forward and laid his hand on the horse. Its sweaty, muscular frame moved up and down with each breath, and Connor quickly recoiled. Intimidated by the stallion’s size and build, he backed away. The animal was an unknown quantity, and to Connor, that made it dangerous. He couldn’t even imagine attempting to ride such a huge beast.

  “Do you ride, Uncle Buddy?” Megan asked.

  “I’m afraid not, little lady.”

  “He would if he could fit on a horse.” Russ aimed a wink at his brother.

  “Sadly true,” Buddy said.

  “Connor, you’re the oldest,” Russ said. “Would you like to go first?”

  “I think I’d rather watch.”

  “You’ll be OK,” Russ said. “I promise. I’ll be holding the lead rope every step of the way.”

  Connor suddenly had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach about the entire situation. He couldn’t help thinking something terrible was going to happen if he or anyone else climbed on the back of the horse. “I don’t want to.”

  Russ sighed. From the look of things, he tried not to show he was disappointed, but Connor could tell he had let his father down. “OK, Megan—how about you?”

  Her head bobbed up and down with excitement. “Thank you, Daddy!”

  Connor looked with alarm from his little sister to the enormous stallion. He wanted to warn her, to keep her safely on the ground. He knew he was probably just overreacting, like he always did. He was sure everyone already thought he was a coward. So, he kept his thoughts to himself while inwardly squirming the closer his sister drew to the horse. It was all he could do not to shut his eyes when Russ lifted her onto the animal’s back.

  To his surprise, nothing happened. Megan sat calmly in the saddle, beaming, as Russ looked on with pride.

  “When you’re older, you’ll put your feet in the stirrups, like this.” Next, Russ showed her how to hold the reins. “‘Giddy-up’ means ‘go faster.’ ‘Whoa’ means ‘slow down.’”

  Megan grinned at Connor, and he returned her smile. He felt a rush of relief. Maybe everything’s going to be fine after all.

  Russ led the horse down the trail from the farmhouse to the barn. Megan took the reins and lightly prodded the horse in the sides. “Faster, Lucky! Faster!”

  They’re getting too close to the cornfield. Connor turned his gaze to the rows of corn, where a man-sized shadow wavered in the pale light. Connor’s eyes widened with fear.

  Before he could react, a crow burst out of the cornfield directly in front of the stallion. The horse reared up in the air, nearly throwing Megan from the saddle, and the lead rope tore loose from Russ’s hands. Megan desperately held onto the saddle’s horn, the horse practically standing upright on two legs. With a fierce neigh, the black stallion hit the ground running, pointed directly for the cornfield.

  “No!” Connor screamed. He saw Megan’s grip on the horn loosen as she was violently flung from side to side on the saddle. Time seemed to slow as Megan fell through the air. She hit the ground with a thud, a trail of dust behind her as the horse vanished into the cornfield.

  Russ reached her first. Connor grabbed his father’s arm. “It was the scarecrow! I saw it in the cornfield!”

  Russ pulled free and shook his head in frustration. “Enough about the scarecrow! We don’t have time for this now.” He cradled Megan in his arms and rocked her back and forth. Connor had never seen his father look anything like this before. “Stay back, dog!” he shouted angrily when Bandit tried to poke his head in. “She’s unconscious.”

  “It looks like she’s breathing though, Russ,” Buddy said.

  Megan’s eyes fluttered open. “Where am I?” Her gaze darted about before her eyelids closed again.

  “Thank God.” Russ looked over at Buddy. “I need to take her to the hospital. Can you keep an eye on Connor for me?”

  “Whatever you need.”

  “I want to come too,” Connor insisted.

  Russ shook his head. “It’s OK. She’s going to be all right.”

  Powerless to do anything to help
, Connor watched as his father loaded Megan into the truck and pulled away.

  A crow’s caw sounded in the distance, and Connor turned his attention to the cornfield. Anger welled up inside him. Maybe there was something he could do.

  * * *

  The sun had burst into red flame by the time he made it to the center of the cornfield. The ladder had scratched against the earth as he’d pulled it behind him. It was too heavy to carry outright, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. His eyes fixed on the cross, he propped the ladder up and climbed to the top.

  Connor stared down the scarecrow. Its head hung inches away, inert. Its masked features seemed to taunt him.

  “I know it was you.” He reached into his pocket and took out the pocketknife. “I won’t let you hurt anyone else.”

  Starting with the first nail, he cut the thing down and dragged it through the field, all the way back to the farmhouse. Connor heaved the scarecrow into the dumpster, among the rest of the plentiful garbage produced in a day in the life of a farm. Then he slammed the door shut and walked away.

  Good riddance.

  Russ called from the hospital a few hours later to let them know that Megan had sustained a concussion. Connor and Buddy both listened on the other end of the landline as Russ told them the doctors had explained that everything was going to be all right. They would remain at the hospital overnight and return home the next day.

  Connor went to bed with a smile on his face. It was over.

  * * *

  When he woke the next day, the morning light was shining brightly once more. Whistling as he tended to each task, Connor went about his chores. After he was finished, he returned to the cornfield to retrieve the ladder he’d left behind the night before.

  As he neared his destination, Connor caught a glimpse of something behind the rows, and the smile faded from his face. He rushed to the heart of the cornfield and breathlessly brushed the stalks aside.

  The scarecrow was where it always was, looking back at him from the cross.

  Chapter TWELVE

  He ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

  In his panic, the cornfield became an inescapable maze. Unable to catch his breath, Connor stumbled blindly through row after row. It was as if fear had swallowed his lungs. No matter where he turned, cornstalks sprouted up around him to prevent his escape. He was lost—trapped inside the field where, somewhere, the scarecrow lurked.

  Connor glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed and tripped over something on the ground. Unable to slow his momentum, he landed face-first in the dirt, with the insects and other creeping things. Behind him, the stalks swayed where he had trampled through them. He stared at the space, waiting for something to come staggering after him.

  One second slipped into the next, and when nothing approached, Connor’s breathing eased. The pasture beyond the cornfield was visible from his spot on the ground. The sight prompted a surge of relief. He pushed himself up, his palms against the dirt, and his hand grazed the object he’d tripped over.

  It was a flashlight. Connor’s brow creased in bewilderment. What was a flashlight doing in the cornfield? The flashlight rattled inside when he turned it over in his hands. The device was broken, evidenced by the shattered glass lens. From the look of things, someone had stepped on it and left it behind. A set of footprints a short distance away in the damp soil led outside the cornfield. Following the footprints with his eyes, Connor climbed to his feet, pushed the stalks out of his way, and walked into the pasture. The trail ended just outside the cornfield, but the prints pointed in the forest’s direction.

  He regarded the flashlight again. Who had been inside the cornfield, and why had they left the flashlight behind? Connor wasn’t certain that he wanted to know the answer, but he couldn’t shake the feeling it was somehow connected to the scarecrow.

  Maybe it belongs to Dad or Uncle Buddy, he thought, though he couldn’t think of a reason why either man would be there at night. The flashlight rattled in his hands as he approached the forest. What if it belonged to Jasper Blackwell? He shook his head in dismissal of the idea. The footprints were too recent.

  The wind died away at the forest’s border. An unnerving silence hung about the forest, aside from periodic moans and groans from the trees. Connor knelt at the entrance to the forest and searched for a sign of whoever had passed that way before. A twig snapped somewhere within, and Connor spun around, startled.

  “Hello? Is someone there?” He waited on an answer that never came. Even without the wind at his back, the air grew colder the farther he advanced inside the woods. Despite the leaves’ unceasing flight from the branches above, enough remained for the trees to blot out the sun.

  He was just about to turn back when he noticed the blood. A trail of blood mingled with the dark earth in a place where dry leaves had been scattered carelessly about. What is this? A new set of footprints trailed off a short distance away, leading downhill. I can see the toes. Whoever came this way hadn’t been wearing shoes.

  When he reached the trail’s end, Connor glanced back at the forest’s border. Maybe it was his imagination, but it almost looked as if someone had been dragged out of the woods along the forest floor—someone who was bleeding. He took a step back, unnerved by this new discovery, and something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. A fragment of sunlight escaping through the treetops glinted off an object that lay partially concealed by the mud and leaves.

  Connor reached down and swept the leaves away to expose a blue flip phone. The scratched metal surface felt cool to the touch. It was an old phone, obviously outdated, but like the footprints, it appeared to have been recently left behind. He started to open the phone when he heard a noise coming from deeper in the forest. Connor tucked the dirt-covered phone inside his back pocket and felt for the pocketknife beside it. The sound grew louder as he drew near, and he soon recognized the noise. It was the buzzing of flies—hundreds of flies.

  Connor released his hold on the pocketknife. A massive black form lay motionless on the forest floor, larger even than the dead calf he’d discovered with his father. His eyes swept over the corpse before widening with recognition. The body belonged to Lucky, the black stallion who had run into the cornfield when Megan had her accident.

  Buddy had gone looking for Lucky the night before, though night arrived without success in that endeavor. Now it was too late. Was this the body that had been dragged through the forest? It appeared much too big, in Connor’s estimation. Who—or what—could have dragged a dead horse all this way? Flies swarmed over the fresh carcass, which had not yet started to smell. But Connor’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

  Trees stretched over the dead horse on either side, forming a gateway of sorts around which maroon leaves fell like droplets of blood. In the trees, dozens of crows watched him from above. He had never seen so many in one place before. The flashlight shook in his hands. He stood planted in the dirt and quivered in fear.

  Almost in perfect unison, the crows turned their heads to stare at a clearing in the opposite direction. A valley, hardly visible through layers of branches and leaves, lay downhill. Connor squinted, barely able to discern a small cottage nestled in an open field across from the creek.

  “What have you got there?” a voice asked, and the crows took to the sky. Connor jumped at the sound, lost his balance, and tumbled downhill. Below, a ledge ended in a sharp drop. His feet inches from the cliff’s edge, he managed to steady himself on a tree. He searched for the source of the voice and saw Jezebel walking in his direction.

  “Hi.” He nodded at the cottage as she came to stand beside him. “Is that where you live?”

  “More or less. So, what’s that you’re holding?”

  Connor held out the flashlight. “I found this in the cornfield.”

  Jezebel laughed. “It looks bro
ken to me.” She looked him up and down, and he hastily brushed the dirt from his shirt. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

  Connor looked away. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “Try me.”

  He paced under the shade of the trees and passed the flashlight between his hands. “Something weird is going on. I think . . . I think there’s something wrong with the scarecrow.”

  Jezebel looked confused. “The scarecrow?”

  “You know—the one in our cornfield?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  He sighed and stopped pacing. “I think it’s cursed or something. Bad things have been happening since I found it.”

  “Like what?” Concern was evident in her green eyes.

  “Let me show you.” He led her to the horse’s remains.

  “Ew, gross!” She waved her hand in the air to keep the flies away.

  “Last night, my sister was riding this horse when a crow flew out of nowhere and startled it. She lost her grip on the saddle and got hurt. Dad had to take her to the hospital.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jezebel pried her gaze away from the horse. “Is she OK?”

  “Yeah—for now. But look what happened to the horse. Something did this to it. Come on.” He retraced his steps to the place where he’d found the footprints.

  “Is that blood?” Jezebel asked when she saw the trail leading to the forest’s edge. “Connor, what’s going on? What does this have to do with a scarecrow?”

  “I’m not sure. But Mr. Blackwell knew something about it. He locked it away in the old barn before he died, and he did drawings of it that he left behind in the house. Maybe he meant them to be warnings or something. Yesterday, I took the scarecrow down and threw it away, and today when I went back it was hanging up again.” They walked to the edge of the tree line and stared at the cornfield.

  “You can’t tell your dad about this.”

  Connor looked at her in alarm. “What? Why not?”

  “You’re right. It does sound crazy. I’m sorry.” She held up her hands in mild protest. “Maybe someone’s playing a prank on you or something. I wouldn’t put it past Tommy Evers to pull something like this.”