The Call of The Ravens

III

October 4th, 1986

The raven on the windowsill muttered, "Nevermore."

I stared at it, my hands shaking, my legs quivering. It was about to open its beak again, but before it could say it, I turned around and ran away. Down the halls I went, my footsteps echoing behind me. My heart was about to burst out of my chest. I kept looking over my shoulder. Every time I looked, all I saw was the unending darkness. No raven.

There was a door to the left of me, and I burst into it. Inside was the living room. Its wooden floorboards and its leather couch were illuminated by the pale moonlight. On the couch sat the book, The Call of the Ravens. I took one more glance over my shoulder before I sat down on the couch and picked it up.

I opened the cover. On the first page were the words 'This book belongs to Lance Naismith' scrawled in blue ink. I flipped to the next page, and in between the two pages was a newspaper clipping. I grabbed the clipping and held it under the moonlight. It read:

THE MURDER THAT SHOOK THE CITY OF NORTH MALTHAL

On July 26th, 1986, Lance Naismith was found dead in the Northern Lion Woods by his younger sister, Colette Naismith. During an interview with the chief of police, Sir Stewart Faulkner, states that Lance's body was positioned in a peculiar way. His arms were outstretched as if they were the wings of a bird, and his legs were crossed. "His face was full of terror, and his eyes were wide open," remarks Sir Stewart Faulkner, "Due to the expression on his corpse and the odd way his body was positioned, it's safe to say that a murderer took this innocent man's young life."

We asked Colette Naismith about the discovery of her late brother. She answered, "I remember I went for a walk when I saw a small splatter of blood on the side of the path. I decided to go off the path to investigate, and that's when I saw him."

The clipping is ripped at the end. I placed it back in its original spot and started reading a few pages which comprised of poetry. One poem stood out to me whatsoever.

I Felt a Funeral, in My Brain

Written by Emily Dickinson

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading - treading - till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,

A Service, like a Drum -

Kept beating - beating - till I thought

My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box

And creak across my Soul

With those same Boots of Lead, again,

Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,

And Being, but an Ear,

And I, and Silence, some strange Race,

Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down -

And hit a World, at every plunge,

And Finished knowing - then -

At the bottom of the page, these words were written in red ink:

I see his eyes sometimes.

There then was a soft rustling noise, and I shut the book. I glanced at the door, but it was still shut. I looked at the bookshelf on the other side of the room. All of the books on it were still in their place. And then I looked at the windowsill. At first, I just saw the trees outside. When I squinted my eyes, however, a dark shape appeared. It sat on the window sill, unmoving. I clenched my fists.

It was the raven.

"What do you want?" I tried to stare at it, but I had to look away. Its yellow eyes were too much. The way it held its chin up high, and the way its feathers didn't move as the wind swept by. And it never once blinked. Never once moved. Never once breathed. It sat there as time ticked by. Was it trying to tell me something?

Then, behind the raven, a pair of green eyes appeared. But as soon as I saw them, they disappeared. I leapt to my feet.

"Nevermore," the raven repeated.

I fell to my knees. The raven was trying to tell me something. My head swirled with thoughts, and the world started to spin. Nevermore, nevermore. The words echoed through my head. But no matter how hard I searched through my memories, the words never made sense. Nevermore, nevermore. Tears stung my eyes. The raven started to caw, and the wind grew stronger. "Nevermore, nevermore!" I mumbled.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Then an image of Colette appeared in my mind. I saw her brown hair sway as she danced to the melodies of the piano. I saw her green eyes twinkle whenever she told me about a new book she read. And I saw the grin that would grow on her face as she sang one of her delightful tunes. All the things I yearned for. All the things I'd never experience again.

My eyes shot open. The crow stared down at me.

Nevermore.

Colette was gone.

Colette was nevermore.