The Keeper of the Crows

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  “No, no, no!” Salem shouted. His expression grew angry. He ran over to the crow, kicking at it. The bird vanished into the cornfield.

  “What’s the matter?” Jezebel asked, following him. She put her hand on his shoulder, and Salem turned to her, looking as if he had snapped out of a trance.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just so stupid! I took down the scarecrow earlier today to sew it back up and didn’t put it back!”

  “Relax,” she said, patting him on the back. “It was just a crow.” Together they walked back toward the white fence.

  “These crows are bad,” Salem replied. He stared into the forest. “Really bad. They’re not like normal crows.” Jezebel watched his troubled expression, confused. “That’s why I made all those scarecrows,” he said. “To keep them away. To keep them in the forest, where they belong.” Salem’s scarecrows were well-known sentinels around Gray Hollow ever since he started making them right before his parents died.

  “You don’t want to go into the forest?”

  Salem stopped, looking at her as if she was out of her mind. Jezebel could tell he was shocked. “No way! Even when we were kids I was scared of the forest. The forest is evil!”

  “What?” she said, laughing. “How can you say that?”

  “I can sense it,” he said. “It makes my head hurt. There’s something in there that talks to me the same way I can talk to the birds. It wants me to come into the woods. It always has, for as long as I can remember. But I’m never going to go. That’s why I built the scarecrows. Now I wish I hadn’t, though.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “The other kids tease me sometimes because of them, and because of the way I look.”

  She smiled in an attempt to lift his mood. “Everyone loves your scarecrows! Just the other day I heard Ray Adams talking about the difference one of them was making in his field. I even heard Mr. Durer has one on display in his store.”

  “I don’t like Mr. Durer,” Salem said. “He makes me feel uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sorry for mentioning him,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  Salem looked aghast, like she just suggested something horribly wrong.

  “Don’t be sorry. You’ve always been really nice to me. Just like my parents were.” He looked down. “When they used to tell me I was special, they didn’t mean it in a bad way. I miss them.”

  “At least your aunt still lives here,” Jezebel said.

  “Aunt Cornelia? She doesn’t like me because I’m not smart.”

  “Well, I think you’re great. I’m sure your parents would say the same thing if they were here right now.”

  The two continued walking in silence on the dusty road. Jezebel noticed that Salem kept looking back at the forest over his shoulder. She wondered if he really believed the things he told her. At that moment, Jezebel wished there was something she could do to make him feel better.

  On the other side of the fence, Jezebel saw another boy riding a tractor. He looked a little older than she was, but she had never seen him before.

  “Who is that, Salem?” she asked, pointing at the stranger. “I’ve never seen him at school before.”

  “He goes to Thistlewood. He and his dad moved here awhile ago. I think he plays basketball or something.”

  A butterfly floated in their path. Jezebel reached out to catch it, but it slipped away.

  “Don’t worry,” Salem said. “I can get it for you.” He stood perfectly still and intently watched the butterfly floating in the air. Jezebel was about to ask him what he was doing when Salem started whispering, but then the butterfly turned around in midair and began flying in their direction. Just before it reached them, the butterfly flew back into the sky. “Almost,” he said. “It’s hard to get things to move on their own. Things that aren’t alive are easier than animals.”

  He noticed her bewildered expression. “I shouldn’t have said that. You think I’m weird, don’t you?”

  “Maybe a little,” she replied. “But I like you anyway.” Salem beamed. A few seconds later, a loud voice bellowed from the other side of the field. “Well, that’s my dad,” Jezebel muttered. “Looks like I’ve got to go.”

  He looked at her with a pained expression. “I enjoyed seeing you again.”

  “Me, too. Who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other at school.”

  “Maybe,” Salem said, his voice betraying doubt. Jezebel waved as she walked back across the field.

  ***

  Salem stood still, watching sadly until Jezebel Woods finally disappeared from sight. He wondered what she would have said if he told her he could make the scarecrows come to life. She would never believe him.

  When he blinked again, it was as if Jezebel had never been there at all. One second she was there, the next she was gone. Just like a dream. Sometimes Salem had a difficult time separating dreams from reality. What he saw in his dreams were visions of such intensity it took him awhile to differentiate between the two. Lately, many of his dreams were coming true, starting with the death of his parents.

  He tried not to think about that as he stood in the warm field. The sun was out, and nothing could hurt him in the light. The darkness was where the thing in the forest belonged, trapped inside the cave. Salem wanted to focus instead on the happy memory he just made with Jezebel Woods. Many of his happiest childhood memories were of the fun they used to have.

  Salem heard swearing over the fence. He turned around and watched the boy in the pasture next to his farm attempting to squeeze water out of an empty bottle. The boy was covered in sweat and looked very thirsty.

  ***

  “Hello, Jeffrey,” Salem said as he walked over to the fence. The boy looked up and noticed him for the first time.

  “My name is Jeff,” the boy said. “What do you want?”

  “You look thirsty,” Salem said.

  “What gave you that idea?” Jeffrey asked. He threw the empty water bottle on top of the tractor. Since his dad bought the farm in Gray Hollow, Jeffrey heard stories from his friends about the strangeness of the Alistair boy. Jeffrey now had some stories of his own. The tall teenager behaved like a child, often remaining completely motionless for hours at a time in the field. At other times, Jeffrey actually saw Salem talking to animals!

  “I was just wondering if you wanted a drink,” Salem said. “We have plenty of cold water in a faucet next to the barn.” The boy smiled.

  “Thanks,” Jeffrey said. For a moment, he wasn’t sure about crossing over to the Alistair Farm, but Salem seemed genuinely happy to help him out. He swung himself over the fence and followed Salem to the barn.

  “Who’s the chick?” he asked as Salem poured him a drink, noticing a cute girl and her father gathering hay nearby. “Your girlfriend or something?”

  “She’s my friend.” Salem blushed and handed Jeffrey the glass of water. The boy drank it all in seconds.

  “Thanks a lot, Salem.”

  “No problem,” Salem replied.

  Jeffrey turned and headed back to the tractor. Then he paused, looking back at the boy in the barn. Salem Alistair wasn’t what he expected. He was nice, even if he was a little strange.

  “Hey, Salem!” he called to the boy, who was already walking back to a large house in the distance.

  “Yes?” Salem asked.

  “If anyone rings your doorbell tomorrow night, don’t answer it.”

  “What do you mean?” Salem asked.

  Jeffrey didn’t answer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Salem opened his eyes and stared at the vast darkness on the other side of the window. Outside, the wind whistled against the exterior of the large house, as if offering a cryptic warning. Peeking out from under the covers, Salem could see nothing except for the infinite blackness. As his eyes adjusted to the night, he heard a quiet scraping somewhere below his room.

  Was something else inside the house? Salem slipped out of bed. He attempted to flip on the light switch, only to discover the pow
er was out. Careful to avoid being heard by a potential intruder, he eased the door open and crept into the hall.

  “Aunt Cornelia,” he whispered. He knocked on his aunt’s bedroom door. There was no answer, and Salem remembered that his aunt had departed from Gray Hollow that evening to visit with an old friend in Ohio. She would be gone for the weekend, leaving him alone to fend for himself.

  Lightning cracked outside the old house, covering the interior in a dim light. Startled, Salem turned and started down the stairs. He felt drawn by the sound that roused him from bed. In the back of his mind the boy could feel a familiar throbbing pain. Salem chose to ignore it and advanced down the winding staircase.

  A wet trail ran across the carpet underneath his feet. Unlike water, the puddle felt sticky. In the darkness, Salem could barely discern the red hue of blood on the white carpet. His skin began to crawl. The pain inside his head grew.

  The boy froze halfway down the staircase. Two shadowy figures huddled just inside the frame of the front door. An involuntary scream escaped his lips. Then the lighting flashed again, revealing the faces belonging to the shadows.

  His parents were standing at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Mom? Dad?” Salem said. He almost shouted the words as he started running down the stairs.

  “Salem,” his mother whispered. “Come.”

  Salem stopped. The sound didn’t match his mother’s voice.

  “Yes, son,” his father added. “Come to us.”

  Salem knew something was wrong. He remained motionless, unable to move in any direction. Again lightning exploded downward from the sky.

  Salem stared at his parents in horror. His mother’s face was cut down the middle, her bloodied arms twisted and broken. Salem tore his gaze away and looked at his father. Large shards of glass protruded from Joshua Alistair’s body, which was covered in gaping wounds pouring blood.

  “We’ve missed you, Salem. Won’t you come to us?”

  They watched him intently. Neither was blinking. Both Alistairs had pale, translucent skin that was flaking off in front of him. The figures were rotting corpses.

  Salem knew he was in one of his dreams, but he was powerless to wake from it. In fact, the realization made the boy more afraid than ever.

  Joshua Alistair inhaled sharply, as if he could smell Salem’s fear. “Why won’t you come to us, son? You’re breaking your mother’s heart.”

  “What are you?” Salem whispered. Everything went deathly quiet.

  “That’s not important,” Joshua said. “Everything can be just like it was.”

  “Better,” his mother added. “We always knew how special you were. With our help, you can do things you’ve never even dreamed of. We can teach you, help you.”

  The two moved slowly, their decaying bodies inching forward. Salem started backing up the stairs, aware there was no line of retreat.

  “We can show you, if you would like,” they said in unison. “Come into the forest. You know the way.”

  “Never!” Salem shouted. “I’ll never go into the woods! You can’t have me!”

  His parents’ faces contorted in anger. For a moment, Salem was afraid they were going to race after him, but then the front door exploded open. The two wraiths were pulled into the black recesses of the night.

  “Why won’t you just leave me alone,” Salem pleaded, practically immobile on the staircase. The surroundings seemed to vanish around him, leaving him alone again.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “You,” the voice answered, and his mind was gripped with agony.

  ***

  When he woke, it was already morning. He put his hand to his heart, expecting to hear it racing furiously. Instead, there was nothing unusual about the ordinary rhythmic beating. Salem got out of bed. He realized he would have to get ready quickly if he was going to make it to the school bus from the gravel road.

  Salem knew the nightmare was not an ordinary dream. It was one of the visions sent from the thing in the forest. The darkness used his parents against him, as if it knew that he told Jezzie how much he missed them.

  The boy also knew the darkness was always watching him, and that it was getting desperate. He could feel it whenever his head started hurting. It called him special. Salem wished he was smarter, so he could better control what he was capable of. He just wasn’t bright enough to understand it. Salem felt like someone who had a great singing voice but could never remember the words to a song.

  Most of the time, Salem never wanted to be like the other kids. Despite the thing in the forest, he was happy. The animals were always nice to him, and he loved living on the big farm. Other times, he wished he could just be normal. He felt that way at school. Salem hated school. He didn’t have any friends except Jezzie. Most of the teachers didn’t understand him, so they were mean to him too.

  Just because his grades weren’t good it didn’t mean he was not intelligent. Salem was simply smart in other ways. How many of his teachers could nurse an injured kitten back to health? Salem wanted to yell. He wanted to shout out and say that he wasn’t an idiot, but no one ever listened to him. When he was at school, Salem missed his parents a lot. He found it strange that his mom and dad could be related to Aunt Cornelia, with whom they shared so little in common.

  When he left the bedroom and ran down the stairs, Salem hesitated slightly at the staircase when he remembered his dream. Then he smiled at the sunbeams pouring into the house and allowed himself a sigh of relief. Walking into the kitchen, he grabbed a box of cereal from the pantry and silverware from the drawer. Although his aunt was a severe woman, Salem found himself missing her while he ate his cereal alone. Having grown used to her presence, he found the lack of it surprisingly unappealing.

  “Hey there,” he said to the scarecrow perched on the couch. After his experience with Jezzie in the cornfield, he had quickly returned to the old house and finished patching up the scarecrow. Sewing was hard for him to learn, but Salem’s mother had showed him how. While his parents laughed the first time he told them he wanted to build a scarecrow, they both later said they were proud of how talented he was.

  He winked at the scarecrow, delighting in its gruesome features. This was definitely the scariest one yet. It even gave him the shivers, and he crafted it! Aunt Cornelia, of course, detested having the straw figure in the house.

  “Salem, you had best move that thing before you go to bed,” his aunt had ordered before she departed the night before. Unfortunately, he waited too long and it had grown dark before he could move it outside.

  “I’ll take you back to the field today,” he said, waving a hand at the scarecrow. The figure’s arm, which had been propped against the couch, swung down next to its side as if moved by an unseen force. Salem giggled and accidently spilled his cereal all over the table. He cleaned up the mess and snatched up the scarecrow.

  Salem raced outside and located the long wooden pole where he left it next to the barn. After wading past the stalks of corn, he planted the scarecrow in the heart of the cornfield. There were no crows anywhere around. Maybe the thing in the woods had given up, but Salem knew that was probably wishful thinking. He returned to the gravel road and waited patiently for the school bus.

  Today was Halloween, he remembered as he walked down the road. Since he didn’t like going out after dark, Salem didn’t celebrate the holiday—although he did like seeing many of his creations prominently displayed in yards on his way to school. In his opinion, most scarecrows were silly-looking, oddly-shaped things with funny smiles on their faces. How was that supposed to scare away crows?

  Ahead, the school bus pulled up to the edge of the road. Although Gray Hollow boasted a small population, the town covered a relatively large amount of land, which made timing an issue for the six public school busses. Shivering from the cold, Salem stepped onto the bus when the mechanical doors opened.

  “Hello, Salem,” said the bus driver.

  “Hi, Mr. Hartman!” Salem re
plied. He took a seat near the front of the bus. Mr. Hartman was once a friend of Salem’s parents and always looked after him on the bus. This was often a daunting task on the crowded vehicle.

  “Hey, Salem,” an older boy said, pointing at his feet. “Your shoe’s untied!”

  Instinctively, Salem looked down. He was wearing his brown Redwing boots from the farm. They didn’t have any strings, which was probably why the other boy immediately started laughing. Mr. Hartman gave the boy a reproachful stare, and the agitator fell silent.

  “Look at that,” Mr. Hartman said a few minutes later. “I’ve never seen so many scarecrows outside at once! I think you’ve become a celebrity, Salem.”

  Salem laughed. Mr. Hartman was actually right, in a way. A lot of people Salem didn’t know seemed well-acquainted with him. He understood that his parents’ wealth and subsequent deaths were big news in the small town. Some people liked to tell stories that his house was haunted. Although there were lots of rumors about him, Salem tried not to care what other people said.

  When the bus doors opened again, he waited for all the others to leave before making his way to the exit. He said goodbye to Mr. Hartman, bent down to exit the bus, and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the school. Salem’s height made him instantly recognizable among the cluster of students walking into school. He was halfway into the school building when he dropped his books. As he stooped down to pick them up, he stumbled into the person in front of him.

  “Watch where you’re going, Scarecrow,” a boy named Keith snapped.

  “You tell him, Keith,” came a voice from behind him. Rick Pepper, walking in from the student parking lot, stood at the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Salem stuttered. He tried to move out of the way. Gary Davis blocked his path.

  “Why so frightened, ugly?” Keith sneered. He flashed a set of white teeth. “Today’s your day of the year, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Rick said, stepping closer. “I saw your scarecrows propped up all over town. You must be pretty messed up in the head to have dreamed those things up.”