The Whispers of the Crows

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  It was quiet inside the silo—so quiet he could hear his heartbeat thumping faster and faster with each fleeting breath. He peered out the open doorway and sought a sign of his sister but backed away when several crows passed by. The scarecrow was somewhere nearby, he was sure of it.

  Connor stifled a cough. He hoped the sound wouldn’t carry beyond the silo’s metal walls, which were stained with rust and grime. The air was thick with the smell of methane and rot, a heaping mound of corn in the center of the silo half-spoiled, having been neglected by Jasper Blackwell. Dim light trickled inside from the entryway and the open access hatch at the silo’s peak. A stepladder built into the wall led to the top, where the blades of a mechanical sifter lay still.

  Connor stared at the ladder. I can’t go that way. The only way to go was up, which would leave him trapped at the top. He took a step back and nearly slipped on some corn scattered across the floor. A shadow fell across the path outside the towering silo, and Connor pressed himself against the wall. He listened to footsteps approaching. Something’s coming.

  Connor peeked outside and saw Megan hiding just inside the nearest barn, which sat across from the silo, separated by about forty yards. She pleaded with her eyes for him to join her. Connor heard the scarecrow nearby, and he held up a finger over his mouth to signal her to be as still and quiet as possible. He forced himself not to breathe and prayed the thing couldn’t hear him.

  Sniffing the air as if it could smell his fear, it moved around outside the silo. Connor waited for what felt like an eternity for it to move on before, at last, he could no longer hear it.

  Is it gone? Everything had fallen still, save for the beating of the crows’ wings and the whistling of the wind. Megan, still standing in the barn across from him, shook from head to toe. She needs me. Focused solely on reaching his terrified sister, he took in a deep breath, flung himself outside the silo, and ran full tilt.

  The crows’ cries rang out, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that they had spotted him. The flock circled above and plunged toward him, flying straight for the barn. Connor reached the barn first and pulled the sliding door closed just before they caught him. He flinched as he heard them slam into the sturdy wooden door, which rattled violently but held firm.

  “Connor?”

  He turned around and found Megan staring up at him.

  “I’m scared.” Her lip quivered, and it looked like she was about to cry.

  “It’s going to be OK.” Connor kissed her forehead and took her by the hand. “I won’t let anything hurt you. I promised, remember?” He held up his pinky finger. The wooden door stopped rattling, and the barn fell silent. Connor gently broke the dead silence with a whisper. “We need to be quiet. We have to find a place to hide in case it comes back.”

  He glanced around the musty barn and searched for somewhere they could get out of sight. They were inside one of the smaller barns, and most of the stalls, used primarily for storing tools rather than animals, were empty. He opened a latched door to reveal a dark room covered in cobwebs and wasps’ nests. Connor shook his head. If we hide here, we’ll be trapped if the scarecrow finds us. Before he could settle on a spot, the barn door inched open.

  Connor frantically gestured for Megan to follow him then helped her up the ladder that led to the hayloft. The door opened, and fading light spilled into the barn. Connor watched from the planks above, one hand clamped over his sister’s mouth to prevent her from screaming, as the scarecrow made its way inside. His skin crawled.

  The scarecrow walked the length of the barn and dragged its fingers along the walls as it looked for them. It stopped just below the hayloft and looked up. For a moment Connor was sure it could see them. Then it turned around and approached the row of tools hanging from the wall. Its hand brushed against a mallet and a saw before finally settling on a shovel, which it lifted from the wall. Connor didn’t want to know what it planned on doing with such a weapon.

  He took his eyes off the scarecrow and stroked his sister’s hair to comfort her. When he looked back seconds later, the scarecrow had disappeared.

  “Is it gone?” Megan whispered.

  “I don’t know.” Connor searched through the cracks, but the scarecrow was nowhere in sight. He glanced back toward the entrance, where the barn door was still open. This was their chance to get back to the house. “Come on. We have to get out of here before it comes back.”

  He started down the ladder and climbed slowly as he helped his sister along. When they neared the bottom, Megan stared into the shadows at his back, her mouth agape in terror. Connor spun around and saw the scarecrow looming behind him. It swung the shovel, which left a crack in the ladder as Connor ducked the blow. The scarecrow grabbed Connor’s leg that was still on the ladder and pried it off. Connor landed in a heap on the ground.

  “Go!” he shouted to Megan, who jumped from the ladder and landed a short distance away. She darted toward the open door.

  The scarecrow gazed down at Connor, its malevolent stitched mouth a mockery of a smile. He expected it to come for him. Instead, it followed Megan into the light, dragging the shovel behind itself.

  * * *

  The Owsley County Public Library was all but deserted by the time he arrived, though Russ was well aware of the late hour. He pulled to a screeching halt outside the building, ignored his haphazard parking job, and marched against the wind while cursing the limp that slowed him down. From the times posted on the door, it wasn’t long until closing.

  How many times had he passed by the library on the way to the Dollar General next door? Even when he was younger, Russ had never been much of a reader. If it wasn’t about farming, he wasn’t interested. He was unlike his son, who seemed to devour everything he could get his hands on. Russ remembered the amazement he felt at the sheer number of e-books he’d seen when he recovered Connor’s tablet. He supposed that was probably where the boy’s overactive imagination came from.

  It was quiet inside—which was not all that surprising, he supposed, for a library. The air was cool and smelled of that unmistakable woody, papery scent of books. He was almost immediately taken aback by the quality of the library, which appeared to be one of the nicest-looking buildings in town. Its outward appearance betrayed none of the small-town splendor hidden inside. The library, full of rows upon rows of books, was far more spacious than he’d imagined. There were desks with computer monitors set aside for public use, a separate room for activities, and reading areas with comfortable chairs. Connor would have loved it.

  “Wow.” When he thought of all the times Connor had begged him to take him to the library, Russ felt a pang of guilt. Maybe he should have done a better job trying to connect with his son’s interests, rather than making his son meet him on his own terms. He hobbled up to a floor mat that depicted a giant owl reading a book, in front of the librarian’s desk, which sat empty.

  He looked across the vast room but didn’t see anyone among all the rows of books—librarian or reader alike. “Hello?” There was no answer. He was alone in the spacious room, the other patrons having already left due to the impending closing or having stayed away altogether because of the weather. Russ sighed impatiently and noticed a call bell beside a flier on the desk. He rang the bell, and a few seconds later a librarian, her arms filled with a stack of books, appeared from the back room.

  “Can I help you?” The woman glanced over her shoulder at a clock hanging from the wall. “Just so you know, we’ll be closing soon.”

  “Sorry about that. I was hoping you could help me with something. It’s very important.”

  The woman set the books on the desk and nodded. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for information about Gray Hollow and a sheriff from there—a woman named Jezebel Woods.”

  “Woods . . .” A flicker of recognition flashed in her eyes. “I remember th
e story. There was some kind of freak tornado or something. Strange business, that was.”

  Russ leaned forward on his crutch. “I was hoping you knew how to access the newspaper articles from around the time she disappeared.”

  “Certainly. This way, sir.” The librarian led him to a computer desk and gestured for him to take a seat. Russ watched as she leaned over and typed several commands into the keyboard. “Hollow Happenings is the name of the local newspaper there. It should have what you’re looking for. Just type a key search word or phrase into the text box, like this.” She seemed to notice his unease with the computer and offered a quick demonstration. “If you need anything else, feel free to ask. I’ll just be tidying up in the back till we close in ten minutes.”

  “I think I can handle it. Thanks for your help.” He was already hunting and pecking on the keys as she walked away. Russ scanned the headlines, one after the next, and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

  Dozens Dead After Severe Storm—Sheriff Among the Missing. And before that, Local Family Found Dead in Home—Murder Suspected, along with Unidentified Body Discovered Near Alistair Farm.

  According to the articles, the sheriff had been looking into a series of murders that occurred in Gray Hollow sometime before her disappearance. Although there was nothing in the news stories about a scarecrow, he did see a familiar name. There it is again, he thought while glancing over the name ‘Alistair.’

  He typed ‘S. Alistair,’ and to his surprise, dozens of articles popped up. They went back decades. Most of the stories were some variation of the title Local Boy Still Missing. Russ clicked on one of the earliest articles, and his hand started to shake as he scrolled down the body of text.

  Police are still seeking any information about the disappearance of local resident Salem Alistair. He was first reported missing by his aunt and has not been seen since Halloween.

  Unable to connect the dots, Russ frowned. What was he missing? Frustrated, he returned to the more recent articles about Jezebel Woods and read them again. The news stories were written by the same reporter, a man named Thomas Brooks. Russ browsed the Internet, pulled up the newspaper’s contact information, and dialed the number into the phone next to the computer.

  Please pick up, he thought as the phone continued to ring, aware that most businesses had already started to close for the day. Miraculously, a woman picked up.

  “You’ve reached Hollow Happenings. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to speak with Thomas Brooks.”

  “Is this something that can wait till tomorrow? We’re about to close.”

  “It’s important,” Russ pleaded. “It’s about Salem Alistair.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for an extended period, and just when he was about to hang up, Russ heard a man’s voice. “This is Thomas Brooks. Can I ask who I’m speaking with?”

  “My name is Russ Stevens. I’m a farmer in Booneville. You have to tell me what you know about Jezebel Woods’s disappearance.”

  “It’s all there in the paper,” Thomas replied. “Listen, I don’t want to waste your time, but I’m really not sure how I can help. What makes you think I know what happened to her?”

  “Just hear me out,” Russ said. “My son thinks he’s been seeing her.”

  “Jezebel is gone. Whoever he’s been seeing, it isn’t her.”

  Russ gripped the phone tightly. “You have to help me to understand what’s going on. Strange things have been happening since he found the scarecrow.”

  “What did you say?” Thomas’s voice was almost a whisper.

  “The scarecrow he found in the barn. It was like it had been left there for someone to find. My son thinks . . . he thinks it’s alive.”

  Thomas was quiet for a few seconds. “I thought all the scarecrows had been destroyed.”

  “There’s more than one of them?”

  “There were.” Thomas’s voice sounded urgent. “I’ll try to help, but you have to tell me exactly what’s happened.”

  Russ went over the story as quickly as he could. “I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with Salem Alistair’s disappearance?”

  “A demon lived in a cave in the woods of Gray Hollow. It used Salem to build an army of scarecrows and bring them to life. They would have destroyed the entire town, if not for Jezebel.”

  “A—a demon? Army of scarecrows . . . and this woman, what did she do? What happened to her?”

  “I told you,” Thomas said. “She’s gone.”

  Connor was telling the truth, Russ realized, terrified. “So, it is alive.”

  “You need to listen to me,” Thomas said. “Your family is in danger. You have to get them away from the farm—now. This thing won’t stop until all of you are dead.”

  Russ left the phone dangling from the hook.

  Chapter TWENTY

  He was alone.

  Connor lay on the barn floor, too afraid to move for fear the scarecrow would return. His side hurt where he had landed on it, and his clothes were covered in dirt and hay. Other than that, he was unharmed. Curiously, the scarecrow had the opportunity to kill him but had passed him by, choosing instead to go after Megan.

  From his spot atop the dirt, Connor peered outside the barn door, where sunset approached. Crows watched from the shadows of the loft but remained perched, as if he was beneath their notice. He wanted nothing more than to play dead, to curl up in a ball and pray the danger would wane. There was only one thing stopping him: His little sister was out there on her own, stalked by a monster. I’m coming. He desperately wished she could hear his promise. He took a deep breath, then, summoning all the courage he could muster, Connor rose from the cold earth.

  A peaceful scene awaited him outside the barn. “Megan?” He looked around and saw neither his sister nor the thing that hunted her. If not for the fact that a living scarecrow was on the prowl somewhere nearby, it might appear to be a rustic country evening on the farm, just like any other picturesque sunset. Connor knew the beauty was a lie, concealing something far more sinister. Aware of the observing eyes of scores of crows stretched across all the rooftops above, he advanced cautiously down the trail. Megan didn’t appear to be hiding in any of the neighboring barns, or if she was, she was so well hidden the scarecrow hadn’t found her either.

  Where’s Dad? He tried to suppress a growing sense of unease. Russ told him that family looked out for each other, but when they finally, truly needed their father, he was nowhere to be found. Russ had never believed Connor, not from the start. Connor stopped where he stood, overwhelmed by a terrifying realization:

  We’re on our own.

  One of the crows cawed from a utility pole nearby. Connor turned to look at it and finally caught a glimpse of his sister. Lying flat behind one of the hay bales, Megan was just off the trail with her face pressed against the grass. When he started toward her the crows cried louder, and he heard another noise above the evening breeze: the hair-raising sound of the shovel scraping along the dirt. Connor raced to his sister’s side as the scarecrow approached.

  “It’s OK. I’m here,” he said quietly as she rolled to her back.

  “Where do we go?”

  His mind raced furiously to find a way out. The scarecrow barred their path to the house. The crows would chase them down if they tried to make it to the woods. And he didn’t dare lead his sister into the cornfield. His gaze fell on the spot where the green tractor sat in the field, and a new idea occurred to him.

  “Do you see the tractor? If Buddy left the keys in it, maybe we can drive it out of here.” The enormous tractor was built like a tank, complete with a cab boasting thick glass windows at the top that would surely keep out the crows. Even the scarecrow couldn’t penetrate such defenses.

  The sound of the shovel stopped, and Megan
lowered her voice. “Do you think we can reach it?”

  Connor nodded. “I think so.” He darted behind the next bale. The wind shifted, and he heard boots crushing dry leaves. He peeked his head out from behind the bale and saw the scarecrow walking in their direction. Connor froze, and his breath stuck in his chest. He and Megan were separated, on either side of the scarecrow, unable to reach out without alerting it to their presence. He could only watch helplessly, unable to do anything as the scarecrow searched for them. The moment it walked past Megan, Connor dashed to her side and took her by the hand. He led her to another bale, and another, with the scarecrow continuing its hunt close behind. All the while they moved closer to the tractor, which loomed just out of reach.

  When they crept toward the next bale, a twig broke underneath Megan’s foot. Connor pulled her back behind the previous bale and waited there, listening for the scarecrow. Suddenly, the shovel burst through the hay just between their heads. Megan screamed, and Connor looked up and saw the scarecrow on the other side of the bale.

  “Run!” he shouted as the scarecrow thrust its hand through the hay to grab at them. They broke into a sprint for the tractor, but the crows overhead swooped down and drove them back toward the farmhouse. Megan stumbled, and Connor stopped to help her up. “This way.” They ran along the cornfield as the scarecrow drew near and brandished the shovel as a weapon. We’re not going to make it. The scarecrow was closing the distance between them too quickly.

  His eyes fell on the gate where the horses were penned up, and he let go of his sister’s hand. “Go on without me!” he said, but she stopped as he released his grip, as if unwilling to go any farther alone. “Go!” he shouted one last time and unhooked the latch.

  The horses reared up and stampeded out of the pen, straight into the scarecrow’s path. One of the horses kicked the fence on its way out, and Connor tumbled backward and hit his head on the ground. He watched from the flat of his back as the horses trampled the scarecrow, leaving it in a cloud of dust.