October Nigh

Story One: The Call of the Crow

The call of the crow signals their time; it signifies the moment that you should be locked away inside. Doors closed, windows latched, fires burning bright and everlasting. Their month begins, and our time of hiding starts.

September 29th, only a day stands between their time and us. My newly wed wife and I rush around the store, amidst hundreds of other hurried customers, in an attempt to finish everything before the stores close tomorrow for the month. I try not to remember last October, our neighbours had left one of their windows open. I can still hear the crashing, and the screaming. I can still hear them calling for someone to help. No one dared though, no one was brave enough to face them; there was no might in the world that could face them. We just huddled and listened; there was nothing we could do but listen, as they slowly died.

My mind reacts quickly to an oncoming shopping cart. I try to manoeuvre out of the way but it's too late, and we crash carts, sending both of them tilting either way. Neither my wife nor I exchange words with the other couple. We simply put our things back in our cart and leave them to clear up their own matters. That is life before October, you think and react for yourself; you help no one but yourself. It's the only way to stay alive, to survive.

We finish grabbing everything we will need to last the month; mostly non-perishable items and frozen stock. Nothing fresh; nothing that will go bad. We need it to last us an entire month. As we rush to the checkout, my wife's grip tight and fast on my arm, I watch as a stock boy simply pours dozens of boxes of crackers into the isle; no longer bothering to carefully shelf each item. In moments, the crackers dwindle to less then a dozen boxes. The people are like crows to a dead carcass; they dive in and leave little behind.

As we leave the store, we watch as the parking lot is boxed in by dozens of cars trying to leave, the roads are not much better. I shoot a look at my wife, the look telling her it's going to be a few hours before we make it home. It's a good thing we brought the coolers.

September 30th, the day of reckoning, the day of all preparation.. My wife is up before I am; she is cleaning everything. All the windows are open, letting in the last of the fresh air we'll breathe in a month. I wake up to the sound of her banging the rugs against the wall outside.

I grab some slacks and prepare to get to work. I have no thoughts of showering or the time to do it anyways. It is time to work, to prepare, to be ready. As I'm heading outside to begin checking the roof, my boss calls. He gives me his and his wife's best wishes and says he hopes to see me in a month. I tell him the same, keeping our conversation short and curt. We both realize that there is not much to be done and little time for chitchat.

My work on the roof is quick; it's a new house and there are no holes or damaged roofing tiles to be found. Good news for me, and I throw a sorry sidelong glance at the new neighbours as they hurry to fix their patchwork of a roof. They really should have done it months ago, I think.

As I come down the ladder, I see my wifeclearing weeds and dead brush from the garden.. I ask her why she is wasting her time with it, and she curtly tells me that even though there will be no one around to see it, that doesn't mean it needs to look like this. I tell her there is no time for such nonsense, but having none of it, she waves me away and quickly goes back to work. I shake my head, but know better then to argue with her. She needs a project to keep her mind off of what is coming anyway, as do I.

Soon, everything is done, and we have closed and latched all the windows. A healthy stock of woodpile is in the attached garage, more than enough to keep us going for a year. We don't lock the door yet, savouring the last moments of freedom that we have.