The crow

Brendon ploughs through fallen trees and mud, spoiled by the vicious storm up the narrow valley. His athletic body leans forward against the backdrop of the mountain. His eyes are like deep pools of quiet water scanning for evidence of the direction Brendon sr. might have taken. His thick black hair glued to his head from the sweat that runs down his face, cooled down by large water drops, coming down from the overhanging trees. "I am glad I kept myself in shape" he whispers "If not, I would have been down on a rock already."  At first the crow circling above his head, remains just another crow. Its crackling crow sends down an ego down the valley.

 

Brendon’s father went up the mountain the previous night to look for two sheep that did not come to the stall that night.
“But father it is a storm outside... wait for it to clear before you go!”
“ What if they where caught on a ridge? No, I cannot leave them. It is better to save them than to leave them to die.”
“ What if you slip and fall into one of the many rushing streams or from a cliff for that matter?...You know what it is like in these storms, it is extremely dangerous”
“How long have I been here? You think I am stupid boy?”
“No...Dad. Just be careful okay?”

It was still dark when he found his fathers bed not slept in. A cold shiver ran down his spine. “Where is he?” he murmured. “Dad, are you here?” Only silence greeted him. Deep sunken feelings penetrated his soul and send a shiver down his spine. Without thinking he crabbed his Adidas and made his way up the pass. 

Dragging him over one of the many trees, a pièce of cloth draws his attention. It’s a piece of his father’s shirt.  An icy shiver runs down his spine. Pale faced and wide eyed he looks at a hand sticking out of the mud right next to a sweet thorn bush.  Frantically he starts to dig with his bare hands.  The wetness on his face is not only sweat but also tears of desperation.  Even though he knows the person buried in the clay, could not be alive, he still keeps digging.  'Is this my father?' he asks himself, he knows that nobody else would have been so stupid to go onto the mountain at night not to mention in this heavy downpour.

The face he uncovered made him jump back, landing in another thorn bush. Small trickles of blood seeps down his spine   “Old Howard?” He knows the old man from his childhood; he was the owner of the garage in town.  “What are you doing here old man?" he asks the question even though he knows no one will answer.  By the looks of it, the old man cannot be dead more than a few hours.  He gives a sigh of relieve when he realises that it is not his father.  “Sorry Howard nothing against you, just glad it is you, and it’s not...you know who.  He smiles at himself grasping the fact that his talking to a dead man.

Leaving the body with the intention to come back right after he found his father, he struggles further up the pathway. Massive bolders block the road on his way up. “This storm must have been much bigger than we thought. Did this storm cover Old Howard’s body? Could it be that water overpowered him? But the question remains, what was he looking for on the mountain?” Some places he has to go on his hands and knees to get past the rocks. Mud stuck to his whole body and sweat running down his body makes him look more weary, maybe even more than he really is.
  “The crow again.”  While catching his breath he look up.  “What is it with this stupid bird?”  His eyes lock with that of the crow’s.  A strange feeling seems to overwhelm him, something dark and evil starts to creep into his soul. Brendon breaks eye contact, wiping the feeling away as just another horror movie’s implant.

On top of the mountain, he makes his way to the waterfall.  For a moment he takes in the beauty of the valley.  “Back to reality boy... your father, that's why you are here!” Looking down the waterfall, he knows that it is almost impossible for the uninitiated to get down to the foot of the fall. It is much too slippery and to steep. Water rushes down the narrow river in a brown mass of soil and vegetation. Brendon ploughs his fingers through his muddy hair, while tears of weariness want to overwhelm him. He wants to sit down. “Just for a second, just for one second!” he mumbles to himself. He knows he cannot, he needs to do what he came here for, and he needs to do it now. Something inside of him drives him on. He slides down the steep pathway to the base of the waterfall. He has to hold on to shrubs and branches on his way down.  “If I lose my steady now I am a dead man,” he says aloud. He grabs on to tree a few feet from the raging water gushing downhill.  He knows this place by hard. He came here many times clutching knees, sitting in a foetus position after one of Brendon sr. bizarre paedophile types of love. Many times Brendon jr. washed himself for hours on end trying to get clean, feeling guilty, dirty, and used. He washed even though he subconsciously knew nothing could take these horrible experiences out of his mind.

“Dad...Dad...” he shouts, attempting to overpower the thunder of the waterfall. He look around for clues, something he dropped, a footprint in the mud, anything, but he found absolutely nothing.

Brendon sits down on a rock with his head in his hands. “What now?” he murmurs under his moustache.

Then all of a sudden the crow dives down towards him, flapping its wings in an attacking manner.  “What is it with this bird?” Bending down and holding his arms in a defensive way, he runs for the nearest overhang and pushes himself as far back as possible into an opening of a rock, close to the thundering waterfall. Water mist cools down and wet the tired, muddy body.   The crow drifts down landing lightly on an old tree stump close to the entrance.  His black eyes seem to penetrate Brendan’s soul again, darkness prowl deep inside of him, like a cockroach penetrating the unseen darkness.  With all his strength he tears his eyes away.  This darkness scares him more than anything else does, “What’s this, where does this dark, feathery bird come from?”

The second time today a cold sweat pearl on his forehead.  A sudden hard crow from the bird makes Brendon shrink back. The flapping of its wings brings his head up with a speed that almost tears his muscles in his neck. The look the bird gives Brendon makes his hair stand on end... but before he could chase the bird away, it flaps its wings and flies away.

Brendon’s heart beats faster and a terrible feeling takes hold of him.  With shaking hands he crawl’s out of his hiding place.  For a few moments, he completely forgot about the reason he came here.
He looks up to see if the evil bird is coming back.  Then right in front of him he sees the face, the face of the one he hated all his life, lifeless, crucified upside down.  If his feet were north and his head south his hands would have been south-east and south-west, nailed to an old yellowwood tree.  His stomach has been ripped open and both his eyes plucked out of their sockets. Tied to his one ear; a piece of paper flaps in the wind.  “It is a picture of baphomet... but why baphomet?”  Baphomet was one of the satanic pictures hê was shown in bible class by Miss Landry or ‘laundry’ as she was called among the young ones. She used it as a symbol to show just another way satan is known in this world of ours.  “Was Satanists responsible for this grotesque murder?  But where do they come from, this small town has been handling its own affairs for many years, no interference from the outside world. Why would they crucify the body so that it looks like a peace sign?”
"I have to get Uncle Knox, he is the only one who can help me with this situation" mutters Brendon as he makes his way down the slippery mountain. Blood runs freely as try to keep his balance down the slope by grabbing on every tree or shrub hê can get. Hê passes Uncle Howards grave without even glansing his way.

As he reaches the foot of the mountain, he frantically starts making plans to get to town. "Tractor... nope it will not start. Car...nope keys are always in fathers pocket, he never trusted me with it. What now? I will have to run, I have no other choice!"

 

Author's Note

Yes please ignore grammar problems. It is the first chapter of a book; I have been trying to finish for a year now. Would you be so kind to advice in what you think, and please be honest?

Reviews

[Joshua Carl Cruz]

Dragging himself if i read the intention correctly. i feel as though there are a lot of outside influences and plenty natural deterrants. One thing I kept thinking about was what if they had both been drinking in the lace before his dad left and subsequenly Brennon to find him. It would cohesively explain to me why he talks to himself out loud so often. I do that when I'm plastered. Anywho, did you lose your pop when you wrote this? A father figure mayhap, or are you the dad in this?

[A Lonely Girl]

Hi! I enjoyed your descriptions in this piece very much. I believe it is a good start to a story! Good job :)

[Hannes]

Thank you....I really appreciate your review

[A Lonely Girl]

You're very welcome :)