He looked out of the window. The crows were uneasy tonight. They seemed nervous by some reason, jumping between the branches of the dead tree outside. They always gathered around his house, but today they seemed to be more.
He poured himself a drink from a whiskey bottle, picked up a book and sat down. Outside he heard the crows caw. They were usually silent at this hour. Every once in while he looked up towards the window, wondering what was wrong.
He heard a sound down stairs. He put the book down, rose his head. Listened. The cawing seemed stronger, as if it was coming from inside the house. He walked down, following the sound.
A window was open in the hallway. A crow was sitting there, watching him as if it wanted to tell him something. He moved closer.
He felt something cold on his throat. A sliding, burning sensation. Warm blood poured down on his shirt. On his pants. He fell to his knees. Holding a hand on the wound he looked up.
-Tom…? He said with a broken voice. He fell to the floor. outside he could hear the loud caws of the crows fade into a dark distance and disappear.
A shadow ran down the path. He disappeared into the shadows further down. After a while silence fell over the crows in the dead tree.