The Whispers of the Crows by Kyle Alexander Romines

Author:Kyle Alexander Romines [Romines, Kyle Alexander]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hellbender Books
Published: 2020-06-20T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter THIRTEEN

Shadows danced under the dying light, a promise of shapeless horrors to come.

The sun had vanished. A lifeless gray horizon hung in its place. Shaking from head to foot, Connor scurried to his feet. He dashed in one direction, then another, unsure which path led out of the woods. No matter where he turned, everything looked the same—a never-ending web of trees as far as he could see.

He broke into a run and searched desperately for a way out. With each step he took, the sky grew darker still. Connor let out a low whimper as night closed in around him like a burial shroud at a lonely grave. He had never been so afraid in his entire life.

The last vestiges of light faded from the sky. He moved about blindly and waited for his eyes to adjust to the night. Dry leaves crackled somewhere in the all-encompassing blackness, and Connor spun around, suddenly aware that he wasn’t alone. He inched backward, away from the sound, and toppled over something behind him.

As he landed in a heap of leaves on the ground, Connor brushed against something cold and still. He squinted, barely able to see his hand in front of his face. He touched the mass beside him and felt something hairy, wet, and sticky. Faint moonlight stretched through the trees, and when Connor drew back his hands, he saw they were covered in blood. His eyes swelled in inescapable terror as he stared at Lucky’s corpse.

Connor scrambled back against the mud and gazed into the horse’s lifeless eyes. Wings rustled above, where crows lined the branches of the lurking trees. One by one they rose from their perches to swarm the sky. Connor’s screams echoed through the night, and the birds flew straight toward him.

He forced himself to his feet and dashed through the forest with the crows at his back. The forest’s border loomed uphill, just visible in the pale moonlight. Branches and briars tore at his skin and clothing as he climbed, but he kept going, driven by panic. Finally free of the woods, Connor stumbled past the trees and into the field. Mustering the will to look back, he glanced over his shoulder with the hope that the crows had abandoned their pursuit.

Instead, the swarm rose above the trees like a whirling tornado. They swooped down and pecked and nipped at him with beaks and claws. The cornfield, an enticing refuge against the crows’ attack, rustled a short distance away. Connor threw himself into the cornfield before the birds could envelop him. Expecting the birds to follow after him, he ran deeper, but the crows had disappeared.

Connor felt a chill. The night air was cool. Finally afforded the opportunity to get his bearings, Connor slowed his pace. His hair was damp with sweat, and his legs burned from the unexpected burst of activity. He pushed through the cornstalks to find a way out, and then he realized the crows had chased him right into the cornfield’s heart.

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