To Crow

By Cameron Hatheway

The rain had finally come to an end after several miserable days. The unrelenting winds had knocked down a branch on a power line at one point, severing the house from the outside world. Plunged into sudden darkness, my wife only sighed. We would need to start placing and lighting candles in every room.

I kept to the den, warmed by the fireplace as I read a biography of Dwight D. Eisenhower as he oversaw Operation Torch in Northern Africa. It was all a bit dense, but I was incredibly cozy in the little nest I had created for myself, accompanied by the white noise of the heavy rains outside.

We had gone to bed, now used to the noise of our house creaking from the winds, and awoke to a once again quiet world.

After coffee I decided to walk the grounds and survey the damage. Parts of the fields along the road were flooded, and the murky water went up to the shins of my work boots. A lot of the water would eventually evaporate, but a majority of it would just sit there and fester for a long time. I wasn’t looking forward to the digging of drainage ditches I had in my future.

As I approached the forest that ran along the back of my property, I noticed it appeared relatively unaffected by the rains, with only a few broken branches scattered about.

There was a natural opening and a path that led into the trees at the far end, and I had decided to investigate and see if I could spy any downed trees from the vantage point. We had gone through some of the reserve firewood during the storm, and I would be glad to have half the job done for me by nature herself if a tree had taken a tumble.

I approached the opening and something shiny in the mud had caught my eye. As I took another step forward to identify what it was, a crow suddenly landed right where I was looking, snapped it up with its beak, and flew down the muddy path and deep into the woods.

The whole interaction took but a second, and gave me quite the startle. Intrigued, I followed the flightpath of the crow deep into the woods, as much as my eyes would allow.

Through the density of the trees, I saw a glint of that same mysterious shiny object that had just been in the mud before me.

A caw followed, taunting me in the dark. I should have just turned around and returned home, thinking nothing else of it. But that caw, it nagged at me. I felt curiosity get the better of me as I was beckoned down the muddy path to get to the bottom of it.

I immediately felt the still coolness of the shady forest, especially having just come from where the warm rays of sunlight began to dry the aftermath of the past few days. Patches of sun were visible, scattered throughout the forest floor, but the darkness truly prevailed and prevented it from spreading any further.

The crow continued to caw at me, having the advantage of invisibility in this domain. But it was closer, I could tell. I tried my best to remain quiet in my approach, but after a few more feet down the path, I heard a flutter of wings and the caw caw caws that echoed deeper into the woods.

I continued to follow.

At first I thought my eyes were starting to see things, trickery of the dark. I glimpsed a large patch of light several yards ahead, its brightness stinging my eyes slightly. It was off the path, so I hesitated on how badly I wanted to continue with this folly.

I started towards it, slightly tripping in the underbrush.

The closer I came to the patch of light, that same intoxicating glint once again caught my eye. This time it emitted from a stump of a felled tree from quite some time ago, covered with moss and vines.

I eventually made my way into the clearing, illuminated from only the sun above. The moment I entered, the rest of the forest melted away in the pitch-black surrounding me. Perhaps it was just my eyes adjusting, but it felt like a piece of forest captured under a giant glass bubble.

A strong breeze picked up, creating a cacophony of branches and leaves crashing together. I could hear it make its way through the woods in waves. It soon settled, and with my senses now clear, I could now focus on the small shiny object that rested on the stump.

It was a crow, carved from a polished metal of some kind.

The small metal crow was only a few inches tall, and I held it between my finger and thumb as I inspected it. It looked old, from another era. I don’t know much about metal trinkets, but the design suggested that it was maybe a hundred years old for all I knew.

Suddenly, a loud CAW erupted behind my head, startling me so badly I dropped the metal crow as I attempted to duck from my unseen assailant. Carefully looking around, I saw nothing but the illuminated woods I inhabited.

All the white noise of the forest had ceased. Everything was still, as if some unseen entity had raised a hand to stop all sound. Before I had a moment to properly process this strange occurrence, my head began to ache.

It started as a low throb in the back of my skull, but quickly gained momentum as I found myself grimacing in pain as I held my head in my hands. I grunted in frustration that the headache was only getting worse with no rhyme or reason as to how it was even possible. It felt as if a balloon of pain was inflating within my brain, and was growing so big that it was about to break forth from my skull.

My eyes teared-up as I squeezed them closed with all my might, trying to focus and will the headache to go away. I fell to my knees, unable to take much more, and let out a harrowing, primal scream.

I’m not sure how much time had passed when I regained consciousness. All I remember  was being trapped under a large blanket, with the sounds of the forest once again audible. Birds chirping far away, the consistent play of the winds through the branches once more.

I felt my way around the blanket for an opening, and found a giant hole I could fit through. When I emerged, everything was so much taller than I remembered. It was the same patch of lit forest, but more of it somehow.

When I saw the stump with the vines towering over me, it took me several seconds to process in my groggy state what I was looking at. It was the same stump as before, but now massive. In fact, the rest of the surrounding trees were also much taller, completely disappearing overhead.

I lifted my hand to my head to give it a rub, and was shocked to see a giant black wing approaching my face.

My black wing.

I cawed in surprise, and quickly cawed again in surprise of the first caw.

I didn’t know how, but I had somehow transformed into a crow.

The shine of the small metal crow on the ground to my left caught my eye, now calling to me like a fiery beacon. I almost forgot all my problems and simply had to hold it in my beak. It compelled me so.

I hopped over, away from the pile of blankets that I realized were the clothes I had been wearing, and picked-up the much larger metal crow in my beak, giving it a few test chomps. I happily cawed with my prized possession.

My victory was short lived however, when I heard the flapping of wings overhead. I tilted my head upward to identify the source, and saw another crow fly over and land at the top of the stump, looking down on me. If this bastard wanted my treasure, he would have to come and take it from me.

When the interloper cawed at me, it still sounded like a caw, but I now understood it. I don’t know how I could, but their caw meant, “Sorry.”

Sorry for what?

Behind me, sticks snapped from approaching feet. I instinctively wanted to fly, but couldn’t. Something was keeping me tethered to the ground. 

I looked on in horror as a giant emerged from the darkness of the surrounding woods, cloaked in a cape of shadows and moss. Upon their head lay a crown of antlers, with long wet black hair spewing forth, covering their face.

They came to a stop mere feet from where I crouched, towering over me.

Whispers of gibberish manifested in the air surrounding me, causing me to caw in alarm. They then infiltrated my mind and grew louder, causing me to flap my wings in distress. I cowered in both fear and submission, wanting to finally wake from this ongoing nightmare.

The giant held up a hand and flicked their thin ivory fingers, as if shooing away a fly. The whispers ceased. I could feel the heart in my tiny crow chest beating to the point of an attack, not being able to fully comprehend what was happening.

Both of their arms slipped from the cavernous cloak, long and as white as alabaster, and they gently removed the black hair from their face, revealing a woman’s face of great beauty. Her eyes were a striking emerald, and she rested her gaze upon me, as if contemplating what to do next with me.

“Hello, little one. It’s nice of you to join us.” I detected an accent of some kind, from what country I could not say.

The crow on the stump cawed several times, and I understood them to be giving the 'all clear.’ Soon after, more caws squawked in reply surrounding us, and from the darkness more crows soon emerged, flying in the sunlit portion of the sky overhead in a circle. I counted maybe a dozen.

As soon as they landed on the ground around me and on the stump with the other, the woman in the antler crown leaned forward, arm outreached toward me. I cawed once more with fear, still unable to take flight.

Just as her hand was about to engulf my skull and no doubt put me out of my misery, she gently removed the metal crow from my beak. I completely forgot I still had it!

“Thank you, my pet,” she said.

She stood back up and held the small metal crow up to her shoulder. A second later, another crow, one much bigger than the others with a scarred dead gray eye, swooped onto her shoulder and retrieved the piece with it’s beak before flying off again.

“I am the Mistress of these woods,” she said, her voice amplified with a little bass in the undertones. “You serve me now, and will do what I say. Disobey me, and your life will be a short one.”

A chorus of caws erupted in celebration, welcoming me to the murder. I had no say in the matter, but knew if I didn’t play along, she would make good on her threat. I had no guarantee that I would ever see my wife again, but didn’t want to lose sight of that glimmer of possibility.

The Mistress raised her hands to indicate silence, and once the crows had settled, she gave marching orders.

“I demand the playthings of children. In order to strengthen the bond and will them to me. It has been a year since the last summoning of the babes, and memories of those who live near have since faded. Now is the time to commence once more.”

The crows cawed that they understood, hopping and flapping with excitement as they awaited her cue.

“Now, GO!”

The sunlight darkened temporarily as the murder flew upwards into the opening of the treetops. I suddenly realized I was flying with them, natural instincts taking hold. 

From my new point of view, the entire county below me was instantly recognizable. We were flying over the woods behind my house, which stretched for miles in patches, bordered by rural homes, farms, and small towns. The main vein of the forest zig-zagged across the entire state and no doubt into neighboring ones as well. 

I spied the familiar roads that I used to take, embedded into the land like muddy creek beds. With my new vision, everything was now crystal clear and allowed me to see beyond my once normal human sight.

The rest of the murder spread out and went their separate ways. I thought I would be on my own to figure out the next steps, but I quickly realized I was being followed by the larger one with the scarred eye. He flew up beside me and cawed. I understood that he was going to tell me the history of the Mistress, and how he was the oldest crow in her service.

He was 43 years old when he was first turned by her, and has been in her service for the past 39 years. The Mistress herself is over 300 years old from what he has gathered through bits and pieces since serving. Of all the crows in her murder throughout the years, he has served the longest.

The Mistress preferred having a murder of no more than a dozen crows. Any more and it took a toll on her to try and wrangle them all through her magics. Whenever one of her crows dies, whether from birds of prey, disease, or man, she then brings forth the silver talisman to capture another. No crow has ever died from old age. The crow I replaced was recently killed by a hawk, the most common killer apparently. A hawk is what gave him the scar on his eye. Had he been a second slower, it would have crushed his entire head in its talon.

I asked if I could ever see my wife again and he chortled. I could see my wife any time, but it would be pointless since I couldn’t talk to her. He had a wife and family once, but has since forgotten what they look like, or where they used to reside. He didn’t even remember his own name, it had been too long. 

Besides, the Mistress apparently never settles in one place for long, and we’ll be traveling to our next destination after tonight’s full moon. After the sacrifice.

The Mistress doesn’t always sacrifice children. Sometimes she keeps one on as an apprentice, but the last time that happened was many decades ago. He remembered the last apprentice was shot and killed, caught in the act of trying to kidnap a child. She had chosen her victim poorly.

Through sacrifice once, sometimes twice a year, the Mistress is able to retain her youthful looks and radiant skin, as well as extended life. Where she originally came from, he does not know. She spoke of her passing over the great sea only once, and it was not a pleasant memory for her. Ever since she has kept to the woods, a coven of one.

I eventually found myself on my own, scanning below for signs of children. Many scattered houses and temporary lakes and ponds from the rains, but not so much evidence of children. Teenagers, yes, but the younger the victim, the easier it would be for her to overwhelm and extinguish the fight.

Eventually I spied a tricycle out in front of a small one story house. The faded white paint was still vibrant enough to catch my eye, and a magnificent tree grew out front, keeping part of the house in constant shade. I landed on one of the branches and meticulously cocked my head at all angles, scanning for additional signs that a child lived here.

As luck would have it, the front door soon opened and a woman in jeans and flannel emerged, holding the hand of a small girl. The girl was pretty, with her brown hair held up by an elastic hair tie, her purple top with a cartoon flower on it, and yellow rubber rain boots. The mother led her over to the tricycle and the little girl quickly hopped on and started pedaling.

The little girl mainly pedaled around in circles on the muddy ground, laughing as she went. The mother watched her for a few minutes, then went to tend her garden and try and figure out how to drain some of the excess water from the planters. I felt that this was my opportunity to attempt something. What that something was, I still didn’t know.

I hadn’t even taken anything yet, but felt miserable as I watched this giggly young girl play on her tricycle, not a care in the world. And yet, something rooted deep inside me prevented me from flying off and pretending I wasn’t presented this opportunity. It must be the Mistress tethering me to the tree. I had a suspicion that she could see what I could, and that’s why I was rooted to this spot.

“Ow!” screamed the little girl after she fell off her tricycle, one of the back wheels having sunk into the mud on a tight turn. Soon after she began to cry, and her mother quickly jogged over to comfort her. She sat on the damp ground with her daughter, coddling her and stroking her head as she tried to relieve the pain. The girl kept pointing to her elbow, and the mother kissed it multiple times to let the love seep in and fix the hurt. She then led the child back inside to clean up, away from the scene of the accident.

I was somewhat relieved that nothing came of it, that I wouldn’t have to act. As I was about to count my blessings and head-off to continue my search, her voice entered my mind in whispers.

“The hair tie,” she instructed.

Sure enough, right beside the overturned tricycle on the ground was the little girl’s hair tie. It even glinted in the sunlight. Begrudgingly, I swooped over to collect it.

It was a small, purple hair tie with a small metal band that connected the two pieces of elastic. I pecked at it, got a good grip, then felt as if an invisible seatbelt that had been snug around my entire body was suddenly unlatched, and I took flight back into the sky. I soared over the house, the soaked fields, and the rest of the scattered buildings, my destination unknown.

While it was unknown to me, it was not to the Mistress, whose unseen hand guided me in the direction of the woods, and where she was currently residing. The closer I came to my inevitable landing, the more powerful her presence felt.

I dodged and weaved through the trees and branches, going deeper with each flap of my wings. The sunlight was slowly dying the deeper I went, and yet my eyesight remained sharp as ever. I could detect movement of squirrels and chipmunks above and below, scurrying about as I approached my final destination.

When I swooped into the clearing, I was taken aback by my bizarre surroundings. Stone slabs of varying sizes lay scattered about on the ground, with two larger ones standing upright opposite of each other. It resembled some kind of twisted graveyard, with its tombstones placed in odd configurations and overlapping themselves. Moss covered each slab as if acne, some more dense with it than others.

Half of the murder had already returned, perched all around on the different stones, each holding a toy or accessory of some kind from their successful hunts. The scarred eye one announced my arrival to the Mistress, but she already was aware.

The Mistress had her back turned to us as she busily mixed something in a bowl on a raised stone in front of her. Her crown of antlers swayed back and forth as she hummed to herself, focusing on the task at hand. I nervously waited with the others on a stone, the girl’s hair tie placed in front of me.

By the time the remainder of the crows returned, the woods had grown noticeably darker. Around the giant slab of stone in the center, the Mistress had lit a dozen long stemmed red candles, perhaps created by her own hand, that produced an eerie glow and provided just enough light for her ceremony.

As I got a better look at her from candlelight, I became momentarily spooked when I realized she had painted her face with sigils and squiggles in what appeared to be blood. But who's blood?

Looking over at the raised stone she was mixing in front of earlier, I spied a clay bowl half-filled with crimson liquid, a bloody curved knife, another bowl that appeared to be filled with herbs, and the remains of a hare that had been gutted, it’s intestine leaking out from its body cavity.

One by one the murder began to caw, and instinctively I joined. The Mistress reveled in it, swaying back and forth as our cacophony of caws filled the forest. Her whispers grew louder, and soon she was chanting in a tongue that was alien to me.

“O magna Mater, benedic mihi vita infinita! Da mihi vires ut tibi servire possim! Sine me esse praeco tuus, potentis!” 

Her chants broke through the caws, overtaking us with an intensity that could be felt deep within. Her blood-soaked arms reached to the sky, and her eyes had rolled into the back of her head. She gave one final shout of her spell and the rest of us fell silent.

It was as if the entire woods had come to a standstill. The only thing that broke the silence was her panting as she caught her breath.

“Bring forth the offerings,” she commanded of us. We each flew to the great slab and tossed our trinkets into the middle. A marble, a silver jack, a ribbon, a plastic army man, a clown keychain, a brass jingle bell, half of a green crayon, and my purple hair tie.

The Mistress carefully felt each item, letting them speak to her. She muttered to herself as the rest of us observed. From what I could tell from the others, this was all part of the same ritual she has been performing for decades.

She reached inside her cloak and brought out a handful of tiny organs from the sliced-open hare, and juggled them between her cupped hands as if they were dice. After a few shuffles, she opened her hands and let the entrails fall amongst the trinkets.

“Hmm,” she mused.

The Mistress then made her way back over to the raised stone and took a pinch of the herbs and scattered them in the bowl of remaining blood, mixing with her long finger. She brought the bowl back to the main stone slab, soaked her fingers in the concoction, and flicked multiple times at the organs and offerings.

“Hmm, yes!” she proclaimed. “This will do nicely.”

The murder cawed in excitement and relief that we fulfilled our assignment.

“And now, we wait,” she concluded, and sat down in front of her handiwork to meditate and wait. I would soon realize we were waiting for the magics to work, and for an offering to appear to us in our dark corner of the woods.

I secretly hoped it wouldn’t be the owner of the hair tie that would be the chosen one.

Hours had passed, and the sounds of the forest had erupted in a symphony of thousands of crickets. We crows had since roosted in the branches surrounding the stones, but the Mistress lay still in the same position, waiting.

Even the candles were reduced to nubs at this point, on the verge of extinguishing. Once they did, we would be surrounded by complete darkness, only illuminated by the full moon. Not that I was worried of such an outcome, because while I was scared of the Mistress, I knew that everything else in the forest was as well. There was a small comfort knowing she would protect us as long as we were in her vicinity.

As the last candle finally went out, a rustling was heard not too far away. Someone was approaching the site. I cocked my head looking for the source, letting our a nervous caw in case the others hadn’t heard it. They had, but they knew what was about to happen next and kept silent.

From the overgrowth emerged a boy, with messy brown hair and light blue pajamas. He looked as if he had been walking through the woods for quite some time. I breathed a sigh of relief for a moment that it wasn’t the girl, before remembering that the Mistress’ ritual was still going to proceed regardless.

He caught his breath and marveled at the assortment of stones, until his eyes rested on the crouched figure of the Mistress in the center, her back to him.

“Who are you?” asked the boy.

The Mistress slowly stood and faced him, looking sinister in the darkness with her pointy crown and white skin that appeared to glow in the moonlight.

“Hello Henry,” she replied.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Why, your little toy solider told me,” she explained, holding up the plastic army man now splattered with bits blood.

“Why am I here? I woke up, and felt like I had to walk to here or else something bad was going to happen.”

The Mistress slowly approached him, engulfed by her cloak and looking large and intimidating in the dark.

“Everything will be okay, now that you’re here. I actually need your help with something, do you think you could help me?” she asked. Henry looked nervous, but his legs wouldn’t let him back away or turn and run. He was in her grasp now.

“I-I’m scared. What do you want with me?”

The Mistress bent down in front of him, now looking at him at eye-level.

“Oh Henry, there’s no reason to be scared. I just need your help with one little thing,” she explained. “You see, if I don’t get help every so often, I start to lose my youth. I simply cannot allow myself to grow old, for if I do, I’ll eventually die.”

“Doesn’t everyone eventually die?” Henry asked.

“Yes, but not me. I’ve figured out a secret way to keep living, even after everyone else has perished. Would you like to know how I do it?”

Henry nervously rocked side to side, knowing he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. “Okay,” he said.

The Mistress slowly stood and took his hand in hers. She then walked him over to the main stone slab, now covered in moss, trinkets, and splatters of dried blood that shimmered in the moonlight.

“I was taught, long, long ago by my mother, how to make a recipe, of sorts. But not everyone can make this recipe, oh no. Only a selected few know it. For the ingredients are hard to find, and not everyone knows the words.”

The Mistress and Henry were in front of me from my vantage point in the branches above, Henry looking down at the items on the slab, and the Mistress looming over him, her long white fingers now resting on his shoulders.

“I don’t know how to cook, if that’s what you’re wanting me for,” Henry confessed. The Mistress just smiled.

“Not to worry, I don’t need your help with that. I’ve done this recipe hundreds of times, and have it fully memorized by now. The tricky part is always the ingredients. You see, I can’t get these types of ingredients at the market. They don’t have it in stock. I must resort on my helpers to bring the ingredients to me.” She then tossed his plastic army man back on the stone with the other trinkets.

“Helpers?” asked Henry.

Something overtook me, and I heard myself let out a loud caw. Henry’s head snapped up to look at me in the branches above, and I saw the Mistress suddenly holding the large curved knife that had been resting on the raised stone from earlier, its blade glinting in the moonlight.

To my horror she quickly brought the knife around his now exposed neck and sliced deep into it. Horror and disbelief emerged in Henry’s eyes as blood sprayed out of the gash and flowed down his neck, soaking the top of his pajamas. He didn’t even attempt to stop it with his hands, but lamely fell forward and onto the stone slab.

Henry was dead. His short life now concluded.

The trees once erupted in caws, as we all flew down to the surrounding stones to admire the Mistress’ handiwork. I was the only one not celebrating. I had just witnessed a murder, and felt like I might have a heart-attack from being an accessory to it.

Henry continued to bleed out onto the trinkets, and the blood appeared to race down the stone at a gradual pace. The slab must have been on a slight incline, for the Mistress took the bowl that had been half filled with blood and herbs, and placed it on the ground in front of the stone. Moments later Henry’s blood began to heavily drip into the bowl, slowly filling it back up to the brim.

The Mistress took the bloody bowl and held it up to the moonlight, an offering to and unseen being.

“Gratias tibi ago, Mater omnipotens. In aeternum tua sum.”

She steadily gulped its contents, with blood spilling out the sides of her mouth and dribbling down her chin and neck. After she was done, she tossed the bowl aside and let out a scream into the night air. The murder joined her in the celebrations, as she disrobed from her cloak and danced naked in the moonlight, her body half alabaster and half crimson.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take an eternity of witnessing such savagery. I would not allow myself to eventually become numb to such rituals like the rest of the murder had. I decided this would be my best opportunity to flee. As the Mistress danced and her crows encircled her, I joined the circling for a few laps, then quickly shot up into the night sky.

My wings beat against the wind as hard as they could, bringing me higher and higher into the inky blackness. With no trees to shade from the moon’s intensity, it was now overwhelming to look at directly, making it hard to make out my surroundings. My biggest concern was that I was being followed, or that the Mistress would be invading my mind at any moment to turn me around and force me back.

So far, neither of those things had happened. I was starting to believe I was in the clear, everyone still distracted from the sacrifice below. I would aim to continue flying as fast as possible, putting as much distance between myself and the Mistress before she sensed my betrayal.

As I was deep into planning my next steps, I hadn’t noticed the moon growing dim behind me. A shadow overtook me, and before I had a chance for evasive maneuvers, something slammed into me, followed by searing pain overtaking my every sense.

A crushing sensation of giant knifes stabbing into my body took my breath away, constricting my last remaining moments. I could barely open my eye to view my attacker, but when the blur subsided and I gained enough clarity for just a second, I saw two enormous eyes staring down at me.

I was in the paralyzing clutches of a great owl.

I had been so focused on the murder below that I had completely neglected the possible death that had awaited me above.

The owl slowly went out of focus again and I knew the end was near. I thought about my wife one last time, sorry that she would never know what happened to me. I prayed to God that although I hadn’t been a believer in quite some time, that he would still offer me some kind of salvation once I had officially passed.

One voice did enter my thoughts before the end, and it was that of the Mistress.

“You fool. What have you done? You could have lived for a hundred years. Now you are doomed. We could have gone great things together. I pity you.”

I wasn’t sure if she could hear my thoughts, but I decided to answer her anyway.

“I would rather die than continue serving you. Serving you for a hundred years is a fate worse than death. My final wish is that you will one day suffer for all your cruelty.”

She must have heard me, because the last thing I heard was her cackling as the owl’s wings steadily beat against the sky, and the moon faded to black.