Whispers After Dark

Chapter 1

It lay lifeless on the field, a pool forming around the body. Dark red blood engulfed the field, the body coating itself in its blood.

Mr. Chamberlain stood over the crow, scratching his head, probably wondering how it got there. The sun beating against his body, his black shirt and bell-bottom jeans surely made the heat uncomfortable. His belt buckle didn't serve its purpose, loosely hanging on the droopy pants. The children crowded around the gates, eager to get a glimpse of the dead creature. Emily's hands tightened around my hair, pulling at the roots. Twitching my eyes, I could sense her joy in having a good view of the crow on my shoulders. Her squealing and the constant tapping on my head to look somewhere brought strength to my arms to hold her higher. To see her happy, the discomfort was a small price to pay.

The headmistress, Mrs. Chamberlain, stood near the porch with her arms crossed, and a book in hand. The warm embrace of the sun cast a radiant glow on her delicate features. Her chestnut-colored hair cascaded down her shoulders, catching the sunlight, leaving strands reaching in odd directions. She had an ominous glow similar to that of Mr. Chamberlain, but her smile emanated a serene beauty, enrapturing the gaze of the beholder. The sunlight lightened her eyes, sparkling like polished gemstones. Her presence radiated a captivating blend of strength and compassion. A strong oceanic aroma expelled from her. Many of the children found it repulsive, but I believed it added character to herself. After all, there was a tangy aquatic scent everywhere on the orphanage grounds. I'm sure she noticed me capturing every detail on her body when she called the children inside.

I always wondered what a divine woman was doing at a penurious orphanage. I gently lifted Emily off my shoulders, relieving myself of her joyful body that was tightening around my neck. Extending my hand, she grabbed it eagerly, leading the way to the entrance. Her constant giggling and skipping kept me tripping over my feet, struggling to keep my balance and maneuvering around the herd of children. Climbing the steps up the porch, the children rushed inside and started to diverge around the house.

"Charlie, stay here."

Mrs. Chamberlain's voice left a commanding effect on my body, like a soldier given strict orders to follow. I disengaged myself from my impatient sister and stopped in my tracks, watching her rush through the doors as if it was some sort of competition. She slowed down, noticing I had left from her side, and began searching where I had gone. Locking eyes with mine, her face lit up revealing a smiling face that radiated pure joy and happiness. It was a sight that warmed my heart and brought forth a sense of delight and charm.

"Come on," she called, extending her hand, waiting for me to grab it.

I crouched down to her eye level, patting her head.

"I'll be inside in a minute, I 'ave to talk with Mrs. Chamberlain. Follow the children inside." I pointed in the direction of the door.

She pouted but followed what I said with a nod as she turned around and walked through the doors.

Towering over me, I could sense Mrs. Chamberlain's side glance watching Emily from the corner of her eye. As I got up from my squatted position, I watched her eyes, tracking the movement of her husband, taking care of the afternoon's unfortunate event. I was sure she noticed my gaze locked in on her face, yet she continued to avoid eye contact.

"Go assist Mr. Chamberlain with the clean-up." Her voice was firm and straight to the point.

Averting my train of thought, I followed her order and opened the small gap between the wall and the gate, leaving just enough space to squeeze through.

Closing the gap between myself and the headmaster, I stopped in my tracks right behind Mr. Chamberlain. I allowed his straight posture to cover the majority of the dead bird from my sight. I got a better view of the deceased animal from this angle. The feathers on its jet-black skin were rustled and disheveled, bearing signs of the struggle that ultimately resulted in its tragic end. Among the mess, a noticeable bite mark stood prominent, evidence of the cause of its demise.

Mr. Chamberlain stared at the crow, the same way he had been when I was watching with Emily from a distance. It seemed he was looking at something far beyond the motionless bird on the ground.

"A once intelligent 'n agile creature, now resting on its dismembered feathers. Its body, vacant from its soul, freed from the 'unter, a former prey to its predator." The British accent was thick in his voice.

He sighed as if the pain the crow had succumbed to affected him.

"What do you think, lad?" Mr. Chamberlain asked, turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of me in the corner of his eye.

I was no stranger to Mr. Chamberlain. Emily and I arrived at the Chamberlain Orphanage two weeks ago. Settling in had been tough for Emily, and reassuring her that our next home would be permanent was a difficult task. It's hard to sell an idea to someone when you have doubts about yourself. Fortunately, this orphanage proved to outperform its expectations.

Mr. Chamberlain was a stern man, upholding his image of authority that was shown through his appearance. His face bore the marks of exhaustion, with dark eyebags, and a slouched frame, it wouldn't be much of a surprise if he fell over into a deep slumber at any time. Lines etched across his forehead and around his eyes told stories of stress the headmaster had encountered. His tall and imposing stature exuded authority, and in his presence, no one disobeyed his rules, including Mrs. Chamberlain.

I peered around Mr. Chamberlain's shoulders to examine the body. "The blood is not completely dried. Its death was not too long ago, possibly a couple of hours prior."

Disgusted to touch the bird with my hands, I turned the body over with my foot and continued my autopsy. "The bite mark fits the size of a dog, the only animal 'ere that could cause this anyways."

Too disgusted to examine the body up close, I held my imitating stance of Mr. Chamberlain, standing up straight with my arms crossed, and puffing out my chest. "Nonetheless, the crow should've been wary of its surroundings on the ground, innit?" I said, concluding my thoughts. I hadn't talked to him much so I didn't know how much professionalism he expected. I guess now was the time to find out.

"Indeed, but that's not what I was askin'. Do you believe the crow is free after its death?"

This time, Mr. Chamberlain turned his body to face me. Arms crossed looking down at me, I didn't notice I had started sweating. He was a philosophical man, most likely expecting a similar answer. He held a steady gaze, waiting for my response.

"New freedom would say that somethin' was holding it captive previously. Why do ya say the crow wasn't free in this world?" It would be a miracle if he understood what I said because I was also clueless about what I had said. Why was this world a prison? His gaze didn't move from my face. It felt as if every movement of mine was being judged. My fidgeting hands, my unsteady breathing, my sweaty palms. He looked at me as if everything I was doing was wrong.

"The constant struggle to outperform the herd. We cannot leave this world until our sentence ends or we end ourselves. We're limited by the walls of the ever-fleeting present moment, and within the confines of our limitations, we experience a stream of suffering, tragedy, worry, and misery." Mr. Chamberlain's eyes were deep in thought, straying from our conversation.

This was no longer about the crow. My chances of interpreting what he meant began to plummet.

"What you refer to as struggle, others call it a goal. To be the best is why we do everything right?" I blurted.

That was stupid. It was a spur-of-the-moment thought. I didn't understand what he was trying to infer. I didn't even know what "ever-fleeting" meant.

"Not every action is a battle to be better than another, boy. Look at that bird." His hand gripped my shoulder, holding it firmly. His eyes shifted to the lifeless crow. "The bird did not die because it was trying to be better than its predator. It died because it could never be better than its hunter. The killer was simply more skillful afoot. Settling down to rest from his tireless journey of flying left it to its ultimate demise; to be viciously murdered while the rest of the world carries on with their lives. It's a cruel reality that the crow's life was meaningless."

His monologue left me with no words to dispute his dark presumption. Interrupting my thoughts, Mr. Chamberlain held out a garbage bag, already turned around, heading for the house.

"Put the bird in the bag, and wash the grass. Tend to the soil if necessary."

In the Chamberlain Orphanage, the most notable rule was the obedience of the children. Being the oldest, I had to abide by the rules as well. Taking the bag, I got to work.