The Crows Fable

A short children's story for my nephew.

“I've got you now Mr Smith. You will tell me your secrets or you will die.” Tom poked the laser gun menacingly at his captured enemy. “Tell me how your men plan to invade the republic. Where are they going to enter the city and plant the bomb?” Tom prodded Mr Smith with a large stick that he clasped in his other hand. Mr Smith cawed in agitation and returned to pecking at the netting that had tangled around his foot.

Mr Smith was a large crow with a single white feather on his left wing who had unfortunately gotten himself caught in some rubbish just as Tom had escaped into the graveyard.

Tom had been left with his grandparents for the school holidays whilst his parents were away working. He would much preferred to have looked after himself at home, being 8 he argued boisterously that he was grown up enough to do so. His parents didn't agree and had forced him to stay with his grandparents for another dull summer.

On this day he’d escaped via the back wall of his grandparents garden into the next door graveyard looking for any adventure to alleviate his boredom. Today’s game was based on the adventures of Captain Zeal, a new Superhero that had been enthusiastically embraced by its young and imaginative audience. Tom had an official Captain Zeal laser gun obtained after much insistence that he absolutely had to have it, his parents always gave in in the end, and he was on a mission to hunt and question any of the Zigties, enemies of the republic, that had wandered into the city.

 

“That’s right, pull all you want. You’re not getting away this time.”

The crow squawked and flapped its wings as it endured another prod from Tom’s gun.

“You shouldn't do that” a deep voice intervened.

Tom swung round to see a gangly giant of a man leaning on a spade peering at him. An ankle length dusty grey coat hung from his bony shoulders, the collar hidden by long, straggly silver hair that framed sharp weather beaten features and flint grey eyes.

“Hmmm?” The man shifted and turned his head as if to get a better view.

“Who are you?” demanded Tom

“I'm the gravedigger, and you boy shouldn't be playing here”

Tom puffed out his chest and rose up as tall as he could. “I am not a boy, I am Captain Zeal and I am hunting down the enemies of the Republic. Mr Smith is planning on planting a bomb and he will tell me his secrets, and you are getting in the way. Are you a rebel too?” Tom prodded the crow once again to prove his point.

The gravedigger raised a caterpillar like eyebrow “Well Captain Steal...”

“Zeal.  I'm Captain Zeal. What’s wrong with you, don’t you know anything?” Tom interrupted indignantly.

“Hmm, yes. Well Captain Zeal, you will have to hunt down your enemies in another place…”

Tom had turned back to the crow and shot him with the laser gun interrupting the gravedigger with a flash of red LEDs and synthetic space noises, and more flapping wings from Mr Smith.

“… and you shouldn't do that.” finished the gravedigger with a raised voice.

“Why shouldn't I? It’s only a dirty old bird. My Granddad says they are like pigeons, they’re rats of the sky.”

The gravedigger stood up from leaning on the shovel. His full height seemed to block out the sun. “That crow is not a ‘dirty old bird’ as you call it, nor can it be compared to a rat. A crow is a very clever bird and you shouldn't upset it”

“It has trapped itself in some rubbish on the floor. Only an animal that can fly would be stupid enough to get trapped by something on the ground.” said Tom putting his hands on his hips and leaning towards the gravedigger.

The gravedigger furrowed his eyebrows and drew his thin grey lips in a straight line. “Do you know what they call a group of crows?” he asked in a low husky voice as if sharing a great secret.

“No I don’t and I don’t care either, they are dirty old rat birds” snapped Tom.

Before the gravedigger could reply a loud caw and the clapping of wings notified them of Mr Smith’s break for freedom.

Tom scowled and stamped his foot. “Now look what you've done, he’s escaped and I won’t know where the bomb is planted. You must be on their side. I am going to have to find another agent to interrogate. You and the Zigties will not destroy the city.”

 

He didn't wait for a reply but marched straight to the far side of the graveyard where a wood had grown over the older residents. ‘Stupid man’ he grumbled to himself swatting at weeds and bushes with his stick. If he had kept his stupid, crooked nose out he would have gotten the location of the bomb from Mr Smith and he would now be at the feast celebrating his victory, instead he had to start again.

Tom trudged through bushes and past trees, following a dirt path that was winding deeper into the wood.  He swatted at samplings and kicked at roots, all the time moaning until he came upon a clearing where an ancient tree had fallen and lay like a sleeping giant. He climbed upon its trunk and yelled to his wooded audience “Mr Smith, you have not escaped me for long. I will find you or my names not Captain Zeal.” He finished with a flurry of a salute as he had seen his hero do so many times on the TV, and imagined the Republics cheers swelling up around him.

A rustling amongst the long grass next to the trunk made him jump and lose his footing. Arms flailing, he landed in a heap on the ground, breaking the top of his laser gun in the process. Tom squealed words that would have met with angry disapproval if any of his grandparents had been present.   

He rubbed at his shoulder and kicked the shattered gun that lay at his feet; worthless cheap plastic he thought. Why did his parents always buy him such rubbish? The grass moved again, swaying as an unseen thing pushed through towards him. Tom stepped back and slowly reached down to pick up his stick and then held it above his head, gripping the roughness and tensing his body, ready to attack the beast that was hunting him. He kept his eyes transfixed on the shuddering leaves as the thing came closer, ever closer.

“Caw, Caw” the terrible ebony beast rushed out ruffling its feathers. 

“Arrgh” Tom stumbled back landing on his bum in the mud once again.

The crow pecked at its feathers and then curiously regarded the crumbled lump of limbs before him.

Ah, another one of the Zigties, Tom thought, this one wouldn't get away thinking it had gotten the best of Captain Zeal. This one didn't realise that his fear was just a ruse in order to gain its confidence so he could capture him.

Tom slowly crouched down and tried to keep as quiet as possible so not to disturb the bird. Than with a roar he suddenly sprang forward, arms wide, to capture his foe. The crow flew up in to a nearby branch and gave a chortle as he looked first with one marble black eye and then the other at his attempted capturer that now lay face down below him.

Tom peeled himself off the dirt and sneered at his escaped enemy who was dancing across the branch mockingly. “You may have gotten away this time, but I will get you! No one makes a fool of Tom Goldfinch!” he swore vengefully at the bird. Picking up his broken laser gun and stick, he stomped off from the clearing with his chin in the air.

 

The wood became darker as the tree branches laced together above, shielding the earth below from the warming rays of the sun. Little grew in this shade, where green fertility once laid, gnarled, tentacle roots now broke through in loops creating valleys and hills amongst the towering pillars of trunks.

Tom jumped up and ran down these new obstacles, lost in his battle with Zigtie rebels that were hiding in the gloom; shouting battle cries and firing off his damaged gun which echoed loudly as he went.

He reeled round as a piercing eerie whistle interrupted his artillery attack. “Hello?” he looked all around him, trying to see around the trees for the source. He couldn't see anything and after several minutes of silence he shrugged; “must have been the wind” he muttered to himself and went back to hunting his enemy.

A few moments later the sharp whistle came again causing Tom to spin with his gun pointed in front of him; “Hello? Hello?” he repeated louder, his voice answering in echo. He quietly walked backwards, eyes searching quickly, trying to peer into the shadows for anything hidden. “Is there any one there?”

“Caw, caw”

Tom’s head snapped to the source a little above him and saw a bird partially hidden in the shadows of the trees canopy. It couldn't be? He thought. The bird hopped down into the meagre light, bobbed his head at him and repeated its weird and haunting whistle.

“You? So you’re feeling brave for having escaped and now you’re spying on me?” he challenged

A slapping of jet wings announced a companion joining his enemy.  The two crows clicked and whistled as if chatting to each other and then sat in silence watching him.

“So you have a friend now? Another rebel to report back on your spying.”

Silent obsidian stares came from the tree.

Their stillness made his back shiver. “Go on, get out of here.” He jumped, flapping his arms, making as much noise as possible, trying to disturb them from their roost. The silent stares remained unmoved. ‘Stupid rat birds’ he spat and jogged hurriedly away into the gloom.

 

His game now forgotten, he wondered briskly through the woods searching for the path back to the graveyard. From behind he heard familiar movement and fluttering following him. No longer able to resist he peaked over his shoulder and saw the two pairs of dark glass eyes were still watching him. ‘These are different birds, they are not the same ones, birds don’t follow people.’ he thought quickly as the skin prickled on his neck.

A creaking and rustling of branches to his right declared the settling of a further three crows, each turning their heads this way and that, shifting to get a closer look at him silently. He felt his heart start to flutter as he looked back at his dark, disturbing audience. “Go away” he cried and headed with stumbling feet in the opposite direction.

Swishing of boughs and feathery beating swirled behind him, spurring his unbalanced legs to speed up, whilst constantly searching with rapid twitching eyes for a way out, keeping the sounds behind.

The noise grew louder in his ears and was joined by barks and cries. Tom tentatively looked back and moaned; many more crows had gathered and lined almost every direction, flapping, hopping, and bobbing their heads, all scrutinising him.

Suddenly the world became a spinning confusion as he tripped and tumbled down a bank. His descent stopped with a crack of the head and an explosion of white hot pain as he collided with an unseen, unmoving object.  He groaned and gingerly got up using the barrier as support whilst he waited for the world to stop whirling. He reached around the back of his head and felt in his thick chestnut hair, wincing. It felt warm and sticky. He examined blankly his fingers that now glistened scarlet in the gloom and as it started to tremble at the sight of the blood he quickly wiped it off on the back of his trousers and turned his attention to the object that had halted his journey so painfully. It was a large, grey stone object that had started to crumble and was covered in lichen. His brows furrowed as he noticed that there was something carved in to it. He pulled his sleeve down over his hand and wiped at the stone, removing what dirt he could, revealing the letters: Rest in Peace, it was a grave stone.

 

Looking round he noticed with a whimper that he’d fallen into a clearing of stones and crumbling mausoleums jutting out of the ground like rotting black bones of a long dead terrible beast; a decaying and forgotten city of the dead standing silently in the gloom. His mouth trembled as he tried to claw himself back up the bank away from the imposing necropolis, struggling to dig his fingers and toes for purchase in the shifting earth.

A single eerie whistle froze his panicked failings. He held still, holding his breath, not daring to look or believe what he had heard.

After several moments of silence he forced himself to glance around. The clearing had become darker as a blanket of feathers, eyes, and large beaks had laid itself across every one of the interweaved branches. A thousand obsidian statues peered into his soul.

Screaming he pushed away from the bank and sped in amongst the graves looking in all directions for a place to hide or a way to escape, but no part of the clearing was free of an ebony sentry.  He wiped at his eyes, shaking, big globs of tears had started to coat his cheeks as he snivelled, and then squeezed them tightly shut whilst covering them with his hands. He wished with all his might that the birds would disappear and leave him alone, praying that this was all just a nightmare and that he would be woken up safe by the sound of his Grandmas call and the intoxicating aroma of bacon as it climbed its way up the stairs from the old fashioned stove below.

His prayers were interrupted with a start by a shuffling and scratching sound just in front of him. He held his breath as he peeked through his trembling fingers. A crow had settled on top of a gravestone just in front of him and clicked his sharp pointed beak. He quickly closed his fingers, “Go away” he moaned pleadingly with a trembling voice, “Leave me alone”. Hearing a flapping he felt a surge of relief in the hopes that the bird had gone away as asked, and so he lowered his hands and opened his eyes. Ice pierced his heart, the crow hadn’t gone away instead a second had joined him on a neighbouring headstone; a pair of jet gargoyles glared at him menacingly.

Tom’s knees gave way and he grabbed a nearby statue to stop from falling. It was an angel that had been weathered and crumbled away leaving only half a face with a taunting, twisted smile, all trace of its comforting angelic peace lost in time. 

He stumbled, desperately reaching out to stones for support as he tried to escape, his vision blurred with tears. More crows flew down to perch on graves forcing him to change direction, corralling him deeper with a tightening circle. Others now gave chase from the air, black missiles diving and darting at his head, pecking his hands and arms as he tried to protect it, springing forth hundreds of welts and crimson cuts. He screamed in fear and pain as he ran hunched over, trying to make himself as small as possible.

A crunching snap and lighting bolt of intense pain as his ankle broke brought him crashing to the ground with a high pitched yelp.  Desperately sobbing he now dragged his body across the ground, rocks and roots digging in to him painfully whilst the crow’s surrounding him, barking and screeching in torment. He pulled himself towards a gravestone and twisted so that he sat up against it and put his head in his hands, blocking everything out, sobbing, terrified, and stinging from the thousands of lacerations that bloodied his arms and face.

 

Silence.

 

He slowly raised his head, his ragged breath the only thing audible in the oppressive stillness. They were still there, all around him, hideous feathered demons perfectly silent and still. He gazed around, not daring to move in case they attacked again. He flinched as a dark shaped moved in the corner of his eye and jumped on to his broken ankle making him scream. Sharp pin pricks dug through his trousers as the crow hopped up his leg getting closer. He pressed himself against the grave, turning his head away, struggling uselessly to escape the closing bird. It was now on his belly, staring straight in his eyes, pinning him with fear, the only sound between them for several moments was Tom’s whimpering. The crow slowly leaned forward, bringing his flint like beak close to his face and whistled.

 

 

The scream travelled on the wind to the gravedigger who was preparing the grave of a new resident due that day. He uncurled his tall frame from his work and lent against the shovel looking in the direction of the woods.

‘Hmmm, if only he had listened’ he muttered ‘he would have learnt that a group of crows was called a murder, wouldn’t he?’ he twisted his head to address the large crow that sat on his shoulder, a single white feather on its left wing. ‘Caw’ it answered with a bob of its head.

 

 

Reviews

[Mikayla_Stagg]

I liked it. it was well written and i can tell you put a great amount of work into it. Keep up the great work. Just be careful of dragging out sentences longer then they need to be.

[eallen]

Compelling and well written where your use of imagery and metaphor is on point to convey the sense menace that pervades the story. The major critique I have is more on the level of proof reading/copy editing: Far too many comma splices. (Every writers’ curse.) A minor critique has to do with being more precise and less ambiguous. In your second to last paragraph you say “The scream . . .”. Why not just say “Tom’s scream,” unless the reader is not to take that Tom is screaming. And if that is the case, that leaves the obvious question of who/what is?

[Eliza Jones]

Wow! what a great piece! It's rather creepy, and just suspenseful enough to keep a reader hooked. I found your choice amazing for what the story was, and reminded me a bit of edgar allen poe. A very well done story.

[Jayne Anne]

This was very Edgar Allan Poe-ish, and I don't really enjoy that style of writing much. My only critique was the descriptions seemed overly wordy at times. However, my overall impression is that it was a well-formed story from beginning to end.

[Claire Chitty]

Thank you for the feedback. I had been reading a lot of Poe at the time, and he is one of my influences, so in a way I am glad that it came across as a similar style. You mention that it is overly wordy in places. Would you be able to pick out some example areas that you feel that it is please?

[Jayne Anne]

Yes, I can be more specific, I apologize I was not more specific and therefore helpful. I would check the piece for any unessecarily long sentences, as the meaning can get a little lost when a sentence runs on for too long. For instance, the sentence where you write: "Tom had an official Captain Zeal laser gun obtained after much insistence that he absolutely had to have it, his parents always gave in in the end, and he was on a mission to hunt and question any of the Zigties, enemies of the republic, that had wandered into the city." This could be broken up to make it more readable. The same goes for this sentence, " Little grew in this shade, where green fertility once laid, gnarled, tentacle roots now broke through in loops creating valleys and hills amongst the towering pillars of trunks."

There are places where the wording is slighlty unclear, "A creaking and rustling of branches to his right declared the settling of a further three crows, each turning their heads this way and that, shifting to get a closer look at him silently." Did you mean further or something more like "3 more crows?" I also strive to keep my style strong and clear without an extra word or flabby phrase that doesn't heighten and add to the piece. I think it could basically just use a little bit of tightening and editing word choice and sentences to help it read smoothly.

[Claire Chitty]

Thanks, this is much appreciated. I will have a read through again soon and look to apply your feedback.

[Aarea]

Ooh, creepy! I liked it, it was very interesting. Nice word choice, you did really good here!

[Claire Chitty]

Thank you for your feedback. I'm glad you liked it.