A soft sound. Like a … fluttering?
“Hello?” Brett yelled.
No answer. More of that sound. It almost sounded like a beating?
A shadow appeared in the light, casted a shadow on Brett until it landed and settled itself on the altar, out of arm’s reach. It stares at him with those shiny little black eyes.
Brett could feel the hate bubbling up inside him. He hated it. Hates this weird little fucker with the beady eyes.
He tried to ignore the sick uneasiness coating his stomach. He opened his mouth to tell the bird to fuck off when another one landed next to the first.
Then another.
He waved his arms, yelling in a mindless shout. The birds didn’t move; just continued to stare and study. Almost as if they were waiting for something.
As Brett’s discomfort increased, so too did his indignation.
More birds landed, jostling for space.
Where the fuck were his friends, he wondered. That spurned his rage on even further. The idea that, if his friends saw him now, acting like a pussy because of some fucking pigeons, they’d never let him live it down.
A voice in his mind whispered to him to be careful of those beaks, that they look sharp, but he ignored it.
As he tried to stand, tried to find the floor with his feet, still more and more crows landed. All silently staring. Judging.
He waved his arms again, yelling. “WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” He screamed the last.
The birds never moved.
He screamed and waved his arms, while his legs desperately kicked, trying to find any purchase, any structure. They met nothing but air.
He screamed until he was winded. Still the birds came.
When his screams had finally subsided and his was gasping for breath, a new sound emerged from the darkness.
It sounded like metal, being drug along concrete.
“Do you remember us?” one of the crows finally spoke.
Brett stared at the bird, dumbly. “What did …”
“Do you remember us?” another crow repeated for the first, cutting off Brett’s question.
Brett could only stare, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on the line.
“One crow for every girl you’ve hurt,” a third crow spoke, seeming to shrug it’s wings.
“I’ve never hurt anyone!”
“One crow for every girl you’ve hurt,” they repeated.
“I’m telling you, I’ve never fucking hurt anyone!”
“Tell them our names.”
“Tell them your crimes.”
“Tell them…” A chorus.
