The Crow’s Redux

Last night the dreams returned, they startled me awake twice. The dream’s sent a shiver down my spine as I awoke. There at the foot of my bed was my daughter Amy, maybe she were ten year’s old?

Standing holding her Teddy bear while in her nightgown, and asking in her quizzical way that she still had at nineteen, “Daddy why do they call it a Crow’s nest on the ship?” I knew she needed answers or no one would sleep. I put my slippers on and walked her to her room, put her back in the bed and pulled her cover’s tight to her little chin. I would make it an abridged bedtime story at 3 am I thought to myself.

“Sweetie they call it a Crow’s nest because in the olden days when a ship were at sea, if the crows were let loose from their cage they always fly toward land. That way the sailors could navigate, and if the landfall were not in sight, the crows would fish for their food and just return to the crow’s nest.”

“Ok Daddy Amy said. They are still bad, bad, birds Daddy, you know that don’t you?”

“I do sweetie, now sleep.”

 I hoped it quenched her thirst for comfort, I kissed her forehead and said goodnight. I returned to bed, all of this in my dream.

The Morning brought a sleepy Daddy with his coffee, and a mature young woman now in college where she belonged, not here reliving Crow stories with her old man. I felt foolish having even dreamt it.

My wife had put the paper on the table and I opened it to scour the headlines as I enjoyed my coffee. The front page of the Providence Journal had a story of thousands of Blackbirds that had died in midair and dropped to the ground in Arkansas. The reporter had tracked down and quoted the requisite sources, a veterinarian, and a state wildlife biologist. New Year’s firework’s, a storm trauma were a few of the theories. I closed the paper and went to the office.

That night I dreamt again, I was soaring above the ground as though flying. No… I was seeing the world from a bird’s eye view; I sensed it even in my freight. I … or the bird was over water, soaring low looking for land? No…. I awoke as the face of the bird hit the water. Looking back on it now, I recall I was soaking wet and scared. I was thankful Amy was not in the dream. I fell back asleep relieved.

The following morning brought more angst as I opened the paper. The Journal reported a fish kill numbering in the hundreds of thousands in Arkansas. The picture was a snapshot of my dream the night before. I called in sick and broke out in cold sweat as I read the story for the second time and stared into the picture. I knew this place, despite never having visited Arkansas in my life.

I searched the internet trying to make sense of the dreams. I called Amy at school just to check on her. All was well. “I was Just watching the news. waiting for a movie to start.” She asked if I had heard.

“Heard what sweetie I asked?”

“About the Birds in Sweden she said. The ones in the Crow family that dropped from the sky, you know those birds’ Daddy. Freaky she said. You know how I have always hated those Birds’.”

“Yes Amy I do. But don’t obsess about it ok? Go back to your Movie. Talk soon.”

We hung up the phone and I rushed to the computer to search for the Swedish bird kill. She was right; as many as 50 “Jackdaw’s” had fallen on to Edmondson Street in Stockholm. The Reuters feed had little in the way of explanation. I did learn Edmondson was a famous Swedish Sailor.

I did a Google search For Crow’s /death, and broke out in a sweat when the results came back. Not only were there 25 articles on the recent bird kills. But at the sidebar of related stories, a headline that stopped my breath momentarily jumped off the page.

News line: Columbus Ohio. Famous Serial Killer Michael Crowe Executed.

In a quiet, scarcely attended execution at the Ohio state penitentiary on December 30th, Michael Crowe was put to death via electrocution today for the string of killings that rocked Columbus some 17 years ago, thus putting an end to the single largest Serial Killer saga in Ohio history.

Crowe’s body was turned over to his Mother, Anna Edmondson Crowe of New Orleans Louisiana. The body will be transported via train for burial at the family plot in the famed and reputedly haunted St. Louis Cemetery in New Orleans. Seemingly a Fitting end to the legacy of Michael Crowe.

Below the article another headline jumped out. I tried to maintain my composure as I read it.

News line: Pointe Coupe Parish Louisiana. 450 birds drop from midair in mysterious New Year’s bird kill. Experts cite power lines as a probable cause.

I fell to my knees and mumbled the only phrase that made any sense. “Those are some Bad, Bad Birds,and…… some Damn Evil Crowes’.



~ by onthedarkside on January 6, 2011.

3 Responses to “The Crow’s Redux”

  1. Gave me goosebumps, Kevin. Very dark.

  2. Very creepy!

  3. Great story Kevin. You could be the next Stephen King!

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