Keene Brian: A Gathering of Crows

These were supposed to be his golden years, but in Axel’s experience, the only thing ever gold in color was piss. He thought about how excited folks had been at the prospect of a new president and a new beginning for the country. All that excitement had waned now. The nation was back to business as usual. Same old story. Same old song and dance. The media said things were getting better, that the economy was improving and folks were happier again. Axel thought that the media wouldn’t know what things were like for the average American even if that average American were to walk up and bite them on the ass.

Sighing, Axel sat the bottle down and rubbed his arthritic hands. The spring peepers continued with their serenade, oblivious to his thoughts, concerns or mood.

Farther up the street, the porch light was on in front of Esther Laudry’s bed-and-breakfast. Axel assumed that Esther must be happy tonight. She had a boarder, after all. That in itself was rare these days. And this wasn’t just any boarder, either. If the buggy parked outside was any indication, her overnight guest was Amish. Axel had run into Greg Pheasant earlier, and Greg had confirmed this. The Amish fella had come into town around four in the afternoon and had stopped at the garage that Greg ran with his brother Gus. He’d asked Greg if there was a hotel nearby. Greg had steered him toward Esther’s, where he’d taken a room for the night. Greg said that the guy had seemed friendly enough. After parking his buggy along the street, he’d tied his horse down near the river. Axel didn’t know much about the Amish, other than what he’d seen in that movie with Harrison Ford, but he supposed they must travel just like other folks. He’d heard tell that there was an Amish community up near Punkin Center. Perhaps this guy was on his way there to visit kin. If so, then good for him. Family was important.

For a moment, Axel’s attention was distracted by another noise—a faint, far-away groan, the sound a tree might make as it fell over. There was a distant crash and then nothing, except for the sound of the peepers. He couldn’t be sure if he’d imagined the sounds or not. His hearing wasn’t as good as it had once been. He was just about to shrug it off when he noticed that Esther’s lights had gone off. Across the street, he heard Jean Sullivan’s holler, “Oh, come on! I paid the bill.” He glanced in that direction and saw that her lights were out, as well. Then Axel noticed something else.

The spring peepers had stopped singing.

He took a deep breath and counted, waiting for them to start again.

One… two… three… come on, you crazy little things. Sing for me.

He shivered. The air was growing chillier. His skin prickled and the hair on his arms felt charged.

The Sullivans’ screen door banged open. Jean poked her head out.

“Axel,” she called. “Is your electricity off?”

“I believe it may be out all over, Jean. Looks like Esther’s is out, too. Reckon a line’s down somewhere.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I thought they’d turned my power off.”

Shaking her head, she went back inside. Axel strained his ears and heard her soothing Bobby. Then he went back to counting.

Four… five… six… come on, damn it. Peep!

Up the street, the Marshalls’ mangy old beagle began to howl. The sudden noise startled Axel, and he jumped in his chair. The dog howled again. It was a lonely, mournful sound—not anything like the happy call a beagle made when it was chasing a rabbit. A moment later, it was joined by Paul Crowley’s bear dogs in the kennel behind Paul’s house. Then, one by one, all of the dogs in Brinkley Springs joined in. The sound was unsettling, to say the least.

“What the hell is going on?”

Then Axel remembered that there was nobody around to answer him.

He waited for the spring peepers to resume their chorus, but they didn’t. Their silence was unsettlingly loud—much louder than the dogs were. Axel rubbed his hands some more and wondered what was happening. The aching grew more severe. He thought of Diane again, but this time, he wasn’t sure why.

Jean Sullivan returned to the kitchen table, where her son, Bobby, sat in the dark. His eyes were big and round, and he had the tip of one index finger stuck in his mouth—something he’d done since he was a toddler whenever he was scared or nervous. She assured him that everything was okay, and then fumbled around in one of the drawers beside the sink until she found some half-burned candles and a box of wooden matches. She lit a candle, blew out the match and tossed the smoldering stick in the sink, and then walked around the first floor of their home, lighting all of the other candles she could find. Since she’d bought most of them at craft stores, the home soon smelled of competing fragrances—vanilla and strawberries and lavender and potpourri. The soft glow slowly filled the house, chasing away her discomfort. Jean wasn’t sure why, but the sudden power outage had left her unsettled. The flickering candlelight made her feel better. She walked back into the kitchen and smiled at Bobby. He smiled back, clearly feeling better too, now that they had light again.

“What happened, Mommy?”

“I don’t know, baby. Somebody probably crashed their car into a pole somewhere. Or maybe a tree limb fell down on one of the lines. I’m sure they’ll have it up and running again soon.”

“Can I watch a movie?”

“Not while the electricity is off. Maybe we can read a book tonight instead.”

Bobby frowned. “But we never read books.”

“Well, I’ve been meaning to fix that. Maybe this is a good time to start. Now finish eating. Mommy’s got to call the power company and report the outage.”

“Okay.”

Bobby used his fork to move his meatloaf and peas around on his plate while Jean reached for the phone. Normally, she was resentful of the old rotary unit. She longed to have a cell phone, but simply couldn’t afford it—not on welfare and WIC. Nor could she afford one of those digital electronic units she’d seen at Wal-Mart. For Jean, her old rotary phone with its antiquated dial had always been a reminder of all the things she couldn’t give her son. Now, it was a lifeline. The folks with digital phones wouldn’t be able to make calls because they had no power. She picked up the receiver, put it to her ear and then paused with her index finger hovering over the dial.

There was no dial tone.

“Shit.”

Bobby gasped, then grinned. “You said a bad word, Mommy.”

“Mommy’s allowed to say a bad word when the phone lines are down.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the phone isn’t working, just like the electricity.”

“Does it mean I can say a bad word, too?”

“No. And eat your peas. I’ve told you before, moving your food around on the plate doesn’t make it look like you’ve eaten any more. All it does is—”

A long, plaintive howl cut her off. Jean and Bobby glanced at the window and then at each other. Another howl joined the first, then several more.

“Why are all the dogs barking, Mommy?”

Jean shook her head. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Maybe there’s a bear outside. Can I go see?”

“No, Bobby. Now I’m not telling you again. Eat your dinner.”

Jean moved to the kitchen window and peered outside. The barks and howls were louder now, seeming to fill the air. Outside, the street was dark, and she couldn’t see much of anything. For a moment, Jean considered going over to Axel’s house and checking on him, but then she decided against it. She didn’t want to leave Bobby alone. Jean didn’t know why, but her disquiet had returned, and this time no amount of candlelight would chase it away.