A Murder of Crows

The bird's wings had done it. They had shattered the stony silence of the house. The sound they inflicted on the air as they flew into the night caused Ethda's skin to blossom goose flesh.

"This is too much!" she said to the emptiness around her. "I can't take it anymore!"

She stood shivering before realizing that hours had passed in a blink.

"How is this possible? All I wanted was peace. Was that too much to ask for?"

She circled the room as she spoke, hoping to conjure someone or something which would either agree or disagree with her. But there was no answer. Only the sound of bird wings bludgeoning the darkling sky.

She looked at her hands, empty now of all embellishment. Her wedding ring was mysteriously gone, along with all the trinkets of motherhood which she'd so proudly worn.

"When did my hands become so old? The skin looks like paper. If I rubbed them together they would tear."

She let them drop to her sides and against the smoothness of her black velvet gown. It felt wonderful. The only wonderful thing she'd felt in a long time. It was comforting and soft; peaceful and black as the night.

She thought she heard footsteps upstairs, and again her skin bore the fruitage of her fear until she remembered that she was alone.

"I truly am a fool!" she said, rubbing her hands against her shivering arms. She looked around hesitantly. "A bit old to be afraid of the dark, yet here I am, as frightened as a school girl."

She tried to force herself to laugh, but an odd sound came from her throat. A sound she'd never made before, but one which was familiar.

The birds had heard it too and responded as instinct ordained. Once again, silence was overtaken by sound. Something had been broken.

The room once completely black, had been invaded. Fingers of moonlight stretched across the floor. They were waiting, as if they anticipated something which could be grabbed and taken back with them into the night.

She slipped on what felt like a rug where she knew no rug had been before. Then she slipped on something else, a child's shoe. She reached down to touch it, but jerked back after feeling something sticky, feathery and warm.

"What is this?" she said, straightening up and getting a glimpse of something red on her fingertips in the moonlight. "Answer me! What is this? What's going on?"

But no answer came. Nothing came, only the sound of bird's wings that were now no longer outside, but in.