Keene Brian - A Gathering of Crows

“But nobody answered when you knocked,” Greg whispered. “Where are you going now?”

“To tap on one of those basement windows. Maybe we can get his attention that way.”

They hurried along behind him. Gus continued furiously wiping at his mouth and nose, his expression one of horrified disgust.

“Jesus,” Greg whispered. “Jesus fucking Christ, what a mess this whole thing is.”

“You reckon it was death rays?” Gus asked.

“What?”

“All the bodies. What do you think it was that turned them into ash? I mean, it couldn’t have been fire. I smell smoke, but that’s from somewhere across town. If somebody had burned the bodies, we’d see little fires all over town. We’d smell gasoline and stuff. So what do you think did it? There’s no bones, no jewelry or bits of clothing left behind. What could do that to a person?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“I’m just saying, it’s mighty odd. Thought maybe you’d have one of your theories.”

“Will you two be quiet?” Paul handed Gus his rifle. Then he got down on his hands and knees and peeked through the window.

“What do you see?” Gus asked. “Is Axel down there? Is he okay?”

“He’s down there, and he’s got company. Can’t see for sure, because of the light, but I think that’s Jean Sullivan and her little boy down there with him.”

“Well, let them know we’re up here.”

Paul reached forward and rapped on the glass, eliciting frightened screams from inside the house.

“It’s us,” he called. “Paul Crowley and the Pheasant Brothers! Open up, Axel.”

After a moment, Paul stood up and brushed grass clippings from his hands and knees.

“He coming up?” Greg whispered.

“Yeah. At least, I think so. He motioned toward the stairs.”

They crept back around to the front of the house, arriving just as the front door creaked open.

“You bunch of idiots,” Axel said. “You darn near gave me a heart attack. And I think little Bobby Sullivan might have just peed himself. What were you thinking?”

“We were thinking about you,” Paul said as Axel let them into the house. “How you holding up, oldtimer?”

Axel shut the door behind them and locked it. “We’re scared and we don’t know what’s going on. Any news?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied, “but none of it is any good.”

“Come down to the basement and tell us about it. It’s safe there, if a little chilly. Damn kerosene heater is on the fritz, just like everything else tonight.”

Paul hesitated. “We can’t stay, Axel. We saw your light and thought to check on you. Maybe you should blow out the candles, by the way. You can see them from the street. But like I said, we can’t stay. We’re going for help.”

“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey down there. Don’t usually drink it myself, but I might be so inclined if you boys would do a shot with me.”

Gus grinned. “I reckon we can stay for a little bit, at least. Right, Paul?”

Sighing, Paul shrugged and followed the others down into the basement. He thought, not for the first time, of his dogs and hoped that they were okay.

Joel Winkler sat cross-legged in his big, plush recliner and looked around his darkened living room. It seemed so different, so strange, without the lights on. Joel always had at least one light on twenty-four hours a day, even if it was just the small night-light in the bathroom next to the master bedroom. He didn’t like stumbling around in the dark.

The lights had been just one of the things Richard liked to complain about.

He missed Richard. Not a day went by that Joel didn’t think about him, but right now, he was thinking about him more than ever.

They’d met in college. Before his freshman year, Joel had never been out of Brinkley Springs and the surrounding vicinity. Richard was from California and had traveled all around the world. They sat next to each other in psych class, formed a friendship and began spending time together. Within days, that friendship had turned romantic. After graduation, Richard had gone back to California and Joel, unable to find a job, had ended up back in Brinkley Springs. He’d been depressed and despondent until two months later, when Richard showed up at his door. The moving van was parked outside.

They’d lived together for just over a decade. Joel knew what people said behind their backs, but he didn’t care. Yes, some of the people in town were blatantly homophobic, even in this day and age, but most were just curious. As far as he knew, Brinkley Springs didn’t have any other gay couples. Not that they’d let it officially be known that they were indeed a couple. Joel had balked at revealing that, preferring instead to tell people that Richard was just his roommate. In the end, that was why Richard had left a second time—Joel’s steadfast refusal to come out of the closet and openly embrace and acknowledge their relationship.

Joel died a little more each day without him.

Feeling melancholy, Joel began humming Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind.” It had been their song.

He stared at the picture on the end table. It had been taken four years ago at the beautiful Cass Scenic Railroad State Park, near Bald Knob. In it, he and Richard were smiling, arms around each other. Behind them was a colorful kaleidoscope of fall foliage. Joel had taken the picture himself, using the timer on his camera. They’d been laughing about the mountain’s name—Bald Knob—and it had led to playful innuendos that lasted throughout the day and ended in a slow, passionate bout of lovemaking in a rented cabin atop the mountain later that night.

The shadows swallowed everything else in the living room. Once-familiar objects like the grandfather clock and the potted plants and the coffee table became unidentifiable shapes. The book he’d been reading, a lurid paperback called Depraved , was all but invisible in the darkness. Everything had changed. Muted. But the picture remained clear. Richard’s smile, his hair, his eyes, were unaffected by the gloom. Joel buried his face in his hands and could still see his lover’s face.

The town had fallen silent. The screams and gunshots had subsided. Somehow, the silence was worse. Joel hoped that it would all be over soon.

“The feeling’s gone,” he whispered, “and I just can’t get it back.”

When the window shattered and a dark-cloaked man leaped into the room, Richard didn’t jump or scream or try to run away. He simply looked up, wiped the tears from his eyes and sighed.

“You are not afraid?” The figure loomed over him, arms outstretched.

Joel shook his head. “I’m too tired to be afraid. I saw what was happening. Earlier, out in the street. I watched two of you pull a family from their car. Nobody came to help them.”

“Nobody could.”

“Is this the end of the world?”

The intruder laughed. The sound reminded Joel of a whistling tea kettle.

“No. Merely the end of your world.”

“Will it hurt?”

“I could make it very painful indeed. Agonizing and slow. Now are you afraid?”

Joel shook his head.

The man’s shoulders slumped. “It is better when you are afraid. It improves the taste of your soul. But no matter.”

The man in black reached for him and Joel leaned forward into the embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered as the darkness engulfed him.

Kirby Fox cowered in his tree house, reading his Bible (a red, faux-leather-cover King James version that he’d been given at church after completing catechism classes a year before) and begging the Lord not to let what had just happened to his parents happen to him, as well.