So Says The Crow
“Murderer!”
John made a quick slash with his knife. A moment later the crow's head thumped to the ground closely followed by its body. He had been wanting to do that for weeks, ever since he had met the talking abomination. Killing it hadn't felt as good as he had imagined it would.
John retreated back to the shadows and re-gripped his knife in anticipation of Chris returning. It had already been ten minutes since he had entered his room, what could he be doing in there? While he waited John returned to mulling over the last few weeks.
Twenty-three days ago John's brother was hit by a car and killed. The two had always been close and John was devastated. The funeral was held a few days later. John was standing in a corner of the funeral home watching people pay their respects and trying not to breathe through his nose. He stiffened as a man walked in the door and up to the casket. The man must have thought nobody was watching him, because a small grin spread across his face. He stood there looking down at John's dead brother for a good minute, the whole while looking as if he might burst out laughing at any moment. Clenching fists and grinding teeth, John watched this man enjoying himself. John knew who this man was. His name was Chris. Chris was the driver of the car that took his brother's life. John closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, allowing a deceptively calm demeanor to overtake him. Chris had no idea who he was, and John wanted to keep it that way for a while. He opened his eyes and made his way to intercept Chris as he left the casket.
Over the next two weeks John spent every moment working his way into Chris's life. It only took a few days for Chris to invite him to his house for the first time. Chris's house was rather average aside from one major oddity, his pet bird. Chris had a crow who's tongue had been clipped when it was young, which allowed it to talk, or rather, to scream words at people. Chris loved this bird to the extent that it had free reign over the house. The bird seemed to find it amusing to follow John around screaming “Murderer!” over and over and over. Chris always laughed and said the bird watched too much TV, but that didn't stop the feeling of ice cold water dripping down John's spine every time the bird said it.
In those two weeks John and Chris had gotten as close as any two friends could in such a short time, and John was over more nights than not. That was his plan after all. Befriend the man who ran down his brother so that he could get close enough to take his revenge.
John looked at the two pieces of bird on the ground and felt that all too familiar feeling of icy water dripping down his back as the word “Murderer” rang in his ears.
After another five minutes John's impatience got the best of him. If Chris wasn't going to come back out then he was going to go in, he couldn't handle waiting any longer. He reached for the knob. Never before had his body experienced so much adrenaline. The door swung open noiselessly on obviously well oiled hinges. John raised the knife in a grip suited for stabbing.
The crinkle of plastic reached John's ears as he took his first step into the musty smelling room. The only light came from two small desk lamps in the either of the far corners. He took another crinkly step into the room as he tried to process what he was seeing. All of the walls and surfaces were covered with pictures and documents. The hand holding the knife lowered a bit as he took a newspaper clipping off the desk right next to the door. It was the article about his brother. The article that called his death an accident. The very same article that he read every night to remind him why he was doing this.
John looked up from the thin newsprint and saw a picture of himself staring back at him from the wall across from him. To the right of that picture was one of his sister, and to the left, a picture of his brother. John's hand slowly lowered all the way to his side as he stood there staring at the thick red “X” scribbled across the photo of his brother. Emptiness and confusion were engulfing the last of his thoughts as he felt cold, thin metal enter his back and puncture his right lung. Instinctively he swung around, raising his knife, only to be met with an explosion of stars across his field of view.
John opened his eyes to see a plastic covered boot kick his knife under a desk. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and his probing tongue informed him that a few of his teeth were loose.
“What is wrong with you?” John managed to ask through his swollen mouth as he tried to pick himself up off the floor. Chris was now leaning against the desk in the far corner, playing with the blood on his knife with a gloved finger.
“You know, you just might live long enough to find out John.”
Chis let John lift himself out of the puddle of blood that was starting to form. He only made it as far as his hands and knees, where he sat contemplating if he could manage standing. Everything was spinning.
“You know, you made it way too easy. I thought it was going to take me a long time to get close enough to you without it seeming forced or weird, but then you decided to come to me! And here I thought you would be more of a challenge than your brother!”
John stared at the floor, watching a stream of his own blood flow down a crease in the plastic.
“I can't believe you didn't even notice me following you,” Chris continued. “I thought for sure you had spotted me that one night in your bushes. But nope! I wonder if your sister is going to be this easy.”
The pain in his back and face vanished as John wrung his hands into fists and clamped his jaw down on loose teeth.
“Why?” John asked as he lifted his head and locked eyes with Chris.
Chris threw his head back mockingly and laughed, “Why? Why what John? Why you? Why your brother? Why your sister? You see, that is the fun part for me! There is no why! Your family isn't special, far from it. It makes it so much better when there isn't a reason!” Chris was almost yelling as he reached that last word.
John stared at Chris with an unequaled hatred, and Chris replied with an all too happy-looking smile.
In a calm voice Chris said, “You killed my bird John. I was going to make this somewhat quick for your sake, since you've been a good sport until now, but now I am going to have a little fun with it.”
John pulled himself to his feet as Chris pushed himself off the desk. The smile never fully left Chris's face even as it became more rigid and he took a step toward John.
John swayed as Chris took another step. Before John's brain could process what was unfolding before him, Chris had taken his second step, right into the stream of John's blood. His foot slid out from under him fast enough to send him airborne and spray John with drops of his own blood. Chris fell backwards and his neck caught the edge of the desk with the full force of his fall. He was dead before he hit the ground.
John stood there swaying, not quite comprehending what had just happened. He had pictured all of this going differently. He had planned this outcome, but he thought it would feel, for lack of a better word, better. Instead, he just felt empty...empty and confused.
John stood there a while longer staring Chris. After a minute he coughed and little red flecks appeared on Chris's pale face. John put his hand to his mouth and it came away red. For some reason his red fingers were mesmerizing. Without looking away from them he turned and walked out the door, dragging his hollow body with him.
John couldn't help taking one last look at the bird as he passed. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared into its foggy eyes as he realized...it had been trying to warn him all along. His ears began to ring...
“Murderer!”
This short story was written for the Elegant Literature contest #19. The final draft was completed on 30 April 2023.