This story is connected to yesterday’s post Empty Funeral. They can be read individually and in any order.
He opened the hatch and threw the garbage bag into the container. He looked up on the old house on the end of the road. It was dark. No light in the window on the second floor. Not anymore. No longer would his disgusting neighbour be staring at him when he came home. Now the crows were. They had been for days.
Walking up towards his house, he looked over his shoulder. He had left the front gate open. He was sure he had closed it.
He turned and walked back down. He couldn’t leave it open, there were so much strange things going on these days. Horrible people. People like him.
Closing the gate he took a glance at the house again. The crows were gone. For the first time in years there were no crows in the big, dying tree in the yard.
He turned around. There were crows on his roof. On his trees. Tens. Hundreds. Watching him. Judging him.
He slammed the door shut. Lent his back on it for a moment. With shaking hands he wiped the sweat of his forehead. He walked into the kitchen. The window was open. He could hear loud caws from outside. More crows gathering.
They know. They know what I have done.
He closed the window, sat down in his chair for a while. Tried to relax, but he couldn’t. In the window he could see the crows jumping from branch to branch in unrest.
Just like the other day.
He walked up the steep, narrow stairway towards the attic door where his bedroom was. Maybe he could get some sleep, he was exhausted. The steps creaked under his heavy steps. He grabbed the doorknob. Opened the door.
Crows. Crows everywhere. Sitting on his chair. On his closet. On his mirror and desk. Waiting for him.
He took a step back. Grabbed the door. The crows flew at him. He stumbled. Fell rolling down the stairs. Hitting the steps hard. He heard a loud snapping sound in his neck.
He lay on the floor unable to move. His back hurt. He couldn’t feel his legs. Crows where gathering, landing on his furniture, on the stairs above him. Waiting for him to die.