The Weeping Thing Ch. 03

Matt went along with the teasing for the first hour. For the second hour, he found himself alternating between anger and depression. At the onset of the third hour, Matt said to hell with the tips he might miss out on. He snatched up a broom and dustpan and strolled off to sweep the garage.

"God, why did you bring me to this fucking place?" Matt lamented, as he made his way through the garage. "Why don't you just have a cement truck plow into me tonight, so I can start over somewhere else?

He ambled over to pick up some fast food trash somebody had left behind, including two sodas that were nearly full. It must be nice, the bitter man thought, to have enough money where somebody could only take a couple of sips of their soda and leave the rest of it behind.

"This life is bullshit." He said, before he walked off in search of even more trash.

Since Matt was not scheduled to work for the next three days, he hung out with John that evening and had a few beers. The whole naked-man-in-the-pick-up deal had blown over by then, thankfully. To help ease the situation, Matt presented Connie with half a dozen purple, red and yellow chrysanthemums. The clerk at the flower shop said they meant friendship, so Matt didn't mind buying them. Also, he treated John's kids to half a gallon of Rocky Road ice cream. Matt was a little nervous, when John's son admitted that he'd taken a couple of pictures of Matt while he'd been sleeping in the buff. The kid said he was planning on posting them on the Internet for the entire world to see, but this later turned out to be a hoax. There were no pictures.

It was getting near eleven at night, when Matt finally dragged his tipsy ass into the back of his truck. Once he'd made sure he was fully clothed, he settled in for a good night's sleep. He may have even been hoping for a pleasant dream, except that had been a dicey proposition as of late. Interspersed with the visions of horny missing neighbors and scantily clad nymphs, were some unpleasant images he could have done without.

They involved crows. Dozens of them, hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand of them sometimes. Matt would dream that he was lying down in the back of his truck, like always. He would become agitated upon hearing their scary caws from all directions around him. He heard the flutter of their sinister wings as they took off or landed. Worst of all, Matt would hear the scratching of their nasty little feet as they scurried on top of his camper shell.

In his dream, Matt would sit up and glance out his windows. All over John's yard, and porch and driveway, there were crows. All across the street and all the way to the neighbor's yards, there were crows. They were pacing about like little jurors, or spreading their wings to give themselves space. The majority of them were just standing still and facing his truck. They were watching him, Matt knew. This realization filled him with dread.

Within his truck, Matt would shudder. He would get into a rising panic as he tore through his belongings while looking for his keys. He'd become even further frightened as he wondered if maybe the crows had somehow taken his keys. Maybe they were waiting for him to jump out the back of his truck, so they could begin to harass him and possibly, to peck him to death. The crows sensed when Matt finally found his keys, deep within one of his ragged shoes where he sometimes hid them.

The moment the keys were in Matt's hand was the signal for the crows to begin their attack. Two thousand black wings flapped open at once, propelling a thousand little black devils into the air. Within scant seconds, they had become a dark and menacing tornado of feathers, beaks and claws. From all sides, they battered at the camper shell, cracking it like an eggshell and sending fragments down onto Matt's head and shoulders. Beaks chipped it away, claws ripped it apart, enlarging the spreading cracks into holes.

Crows began to poke their scary little heads through these holes to scream at him, while others kept widening the new openings. Their dead, black eyes focused on him. Finally, the holes were large enough for the deadly birds to get inside, and at him...

A woman's sharp scream pierced through Matt's head like a hot needle. He jerked up and off his back, half expecting his camper shell to be full of angry crows. But no, thankfully he found himself alone.

Matt was breathing heavily. The startled man felt his shirt moist with fear and sweat, as he took in the scene outside. He guessed it to be around nine or ten in the morning. A moment later he confirmed this with his cell phone. Something was wrong, Matt sensed, as he snatched up his keys and hurried out of the truck.

Absently, he started toward John's front door, until he looked out to the curb. John's car was gone, and so was Connie's. This meant they were both off at their part-time jobs. If the trouble wasn't coming from inside John's house, then where was it coming from?

Right away, he thought of Jenny's house. Matt's hasty legs began carrying him in that direction. Jenny's place was only a block and a half away. With every other step that he took, his brain was saying: Hurry!

Hurry!

Matt started an easy trot, because his legs were still a little sore from the previous day's running around. Also, because he thought he might have been losing what little sanity he had left. Why the hell was he heading over to Jenny's house, anyway? So he could disappear like she had, he wondered. So the aliens could hover over him with their spaceship, and beam him up to take him God knows where?

He was just being stupid again, Matt chastised himself, as he drew to a stop before Jenny's yard. The place looked as abandoned as it had the last time he'd walked by.

Matt had only started turning around to face Old Margaret's house, when another shriek froze him in place. Had that just come from inside his head?

No, it had come from the woods, well past the back of Margaret's house. Matt had no idea where that scream had come from, but yet, he knew exactly where that scream had come from.

I am a dream and yet I am not a dream. I am real and yet I am not real.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Matt knew who had made that scream.

"Emelina!" He cried out, right before he broke into a dead run.

Matt raced across the street and over the unkempt grass of Margaret's yard. He sped around the house, expecting to see Margaret's red brick barbecue and clothesline, because he'd been there once or twice with Jenny. What he was not expecting to see were half a dozen crows. The ugly birds were as shocked to see him as he was to see them.

The crows had been spread out across the backyard like sentries. Now that they had a stranger in their midst, they attacked. With loud cries and a beating of their wings, they all at once went at Matt, driving him back as they plunged their beaks and raked their claws on him.

Matt backpedaled and ran past the side of Margaret's house. The crows flew around him and swooped down viciously at his head as they attempted to cleave him with their beaks. They were trying to keep him from reaching Emelina, he realized, once he was out on the street. Instead of running back to where his truck was parked, Matt raced into Jenny's backyard.

Jenny had stuff in her tool shed, Matt knew, because this is where he'd gone to equip himself when she'd hired him to do the odd chore. He reached the shed, as two sets of sharp claws bit into his back. With a hard jerk, Matt shoved the sliding aluminum door open and from it tore a sharp squeal of protest.

After jumping inside the shed, Matt snatched at the first long handle he came to. He stepped back outside armed with a rusty rake. Not the flimsy kind that bent against the ground, mind you, but a rake of thick iron with ends that curved out like angry fingers.

"Come on, you motherfuckers!" Matt challenged the half a dozen crows still circling the yard.

Matt lunged the rake out at them, only to watch some of them retreat and take perches on Jenny's roof. The rest quickly flew off in the direction of Margaret's house. This caused Matt to shiver as he wondered if they weren't going out to gather more of their kind.

"Son of a bitch!" He muttered, knowing he'd have to brave past them if he was to find out what was happening to Emelina.

"Oh, no. Oh, no!" He said in growing alarm, as he wondered if the poor girl wasn't being attacked the same way he'd been, by those evil black birds.

Matt considered the weapon he held in his hands. It was too long and unwieldy, he decided, right before he stepped back into the tool shed. What else could he use, what else could he use? He gazed past a small assortment of shovels, hoes, and picks on one side, spades, an extra water hose and old paint cans on the other. He found a short shovel, with a blade the shape of an acorn and coming in at about three feet long. This is what he ended up trading his rake for.

Matt stepped out of the shed, taking a few practice swings and comparing the feel of the short shovel to a baseball bat. The crows would have to be pretty close for him to use it, but if he connected with them, he knew, they were done.

"You wanna try that shit again?" He shouted at the crows still sitting on the edge of Jenny's roof. "I played baseball in the minor leagues up until my wrist went bad, and even after that I'd still go out there and sign myself up for them softball tournaments. Guess what spot I had in the batting order, you little motherfuckers? I used to hit fourth, and you know what that means? I was the clean-up hitter, the guy who hit the ball out of the park. Be advised, you shits, you get in my way and you're gonna pay for it!"

Matt started across the back yard.

A trio of crows dove down upon his head.

Matt didn't have the time to dig himself in, like he used to when he was taking his spot in the batter's box. He simply held the shovel straight up in the air, braced his legs about a foot and a half apart, and he waited patiently for the pitch to come in. Three fastballs, big, black and feathered, were heading his way. His eyes gauged the angle and velocity of the one in the lead.

His lead leg went forward by about a foot. His middle began to twist before his arms did, generating more power for his swing. The broad end of the shovel lashed out and met the first incoming bird in a sharp clash of metal, exploding feathers and blood. This was infinitely easier than hitting a little round ball with a narrow round bat, Matt discovered.

The other two crows nearly crashed into each other, as they'd been startled by the sight and sound of their fellow meeting an instant and violent death. They now hurried back to the roof to reconsider their plans.

Matt couldn't spare the time to wait for them. He burst through the back yard, past the street and into Margaret's property, before he glanced up and saw other crows gliding high up in the air and following him.

At least they weren't attacking him, Matt thought. Short moments later, he was running through the woods behind Margaret's house.

Like a blur, Matt rushed through the trees. His shadow barely grazed past the wary tree trunks and wild bushes that grew on all sides and acted as the caretakers of the woods. He leapt over fallen trunks, shoved his way past shrubbery that reached out and clung to him as if it meant to drag him down. He stamped his foot harshly down onto clumps of fallen leaves that voiced their disapproval with sharp, protesting cracks.

The crows came with him, gliding over the tops of the trees like parasites. They grew into a larger and larger wave of death as the distance from the house increased and more and more of the unholy birds came together.

After what seemed an eternity of running, a breathless and adrenalin-charged Matt spotted his recent lover, huddled close to the base of a tree trunk. Emelina was tightly clinging to the tree as a number of crows battered at her head and arms. They ripped pieces of her hair and flesh away as they flew back with their little mouths full, in order to let other crows come in and take their shots next. Little streams of blood were evident in a dozen places, fresh tears in her skin in a dozen more. Were it not for her clinging arms, Matt would have supposed the girl to already be dead.

"Noooo!" Matt screamed at the sight of the carnage. At the same time, he became emboldened for the battle that was about to begin.

The crows harassing Emelina turned and came toward him. The crows that were pursuing him through the woods swooped down through the trees and also came at him.

Matt became a man against a speeding black hurricane, against a torrent of swirling death. His short shovel whipped out, sounding a dull bell-clang as it struck three or four of the malevolent birds at once. It didn't matter which way he swung, for they were everywhere. The ones he wasn't hitting would sometimes pummel into him and bounce away with fierce flutters, or else come close enough to nip at him with their sharp beaks or claws. He roared at them, even as they impregnated the woods with their unholy caws. He moved, forcing them to readjust their lunges. In quick glimpses he watched as they crashed into each other while trying to get to him.

After the sudden run, and with him still out of breath, Matt felt the energy starting to escape from his arms only a few minutes later. Yet the crows still came at him, giving him no quarter, no mercy. They landed their strikes even as Matt's strength began to falter. Bits of him were being pecked off. Streaks of blood were beginning to seep out through the fresh tears of his shirt. Deep gashes started leaking from his legs.

Matt dodged aside, as one set of claws ripped into his cheek and down the side of his throat. Several sharp pangs tore into his back. He almost fell, then. He knew that if he did, he was done for.

He was done for already, Matt bitterly realized, as his energy was dwindling away far faster than the number of crows he was murdering. Only the thought of saving Emelina was keeping him going now.

"Close your eyes!" A man's voice penetrated past the huge wall of sound the crows were making.

"Who's that?" Matt sputtered out, as another crow came close enough to stab the top of his head with its beak. Pain shot through him from the new wound.

"You have to trust me! Close your eyes, now!"

And so Matt did.

There was no darkness. Matt found himself still standing in the woods, with so many trees around him, and Emelina still huddled like a dead thing against the trunk. The crows were still there, but for a long moment, they seemed disconcerted and stunned. He could see them abruptly flying away from him and crashing into each other as if they were in a panic. As if they feared him now, when only seconds ago they were intent on killing him.

The short shovel was no longer in his grip, Matt noticed. Worse than that, his arms were nearly as hairy as an animal's. Matt looked down at the rest of his body, finding his chest and belly free of hair, but from the waist down, he was indeed as hairy as a beast. He was an angry beast, Matt knew, as he opened his mouth and roared like a bull, scaring the crows into further pulling away.

They appeared leaderless now, Matt observed, powerless. For some insane reason, he felt strong enough to take on them even without a weapon. Matt roared again, and this time, he recognized his expulsion as a challenge.

The crows came at him. He began swatting at them with his bare hands, destroying them in mid-flight, even before they'd gotten close enough to strike out at him. The ones he hit squarely fell to the ground dead. The ones he merely battered aside fluttered off on crippled wings, or were too maimed to fly and also fell.

After he'd quickly beaten down a dozen of the malicious fowl, the rest became more cautious. They circled around Matt, keeping their eyes on him as if they were searching for vulnerable spots, or for more opportune timing.

Defiantly, and seemingly not in control of himself, Matt felt his body lurch forward to snatch a maimed crow from the ground. He held it out for the rest to see it squirming in his hairy hand. Then his mouth opened impossibly wide and he ate it. Matt felt the writhing creature's blood stream between his teeth, felt his jaws crush down on its feathers and brittle bones. In a quick gulp, he swallowed the thing whole.

On the ground, the maimed crows struggled to create distance from him, while in the air the uninjured ones flew to the higher branches and landed, and watched.

Matt swallowed a second bird, crushing it down with his mouth and allowing its blood to leak out of his mouth. After this, he roared up at the trees yet again.

The remaining healthy crows flew off, leaving their dead and injured to their own fate.

Feeling wild with the lust for more blood, Matt began to stalk toward more fresh meat, when his head swirled and he became aware of a thin man poking his head out from behind a nearby tree.

"Who the hell are you?" Matt demanded.

"That doesn't matter right now." The man said. "What's important is that you get Emelina back into Margaret's house as soon as possible. You have to do this right away!"

"Why?" Matt growled, hearing his voice as the voice of a beast.

"She's in your world right now!" The lean man implored. "She'll die if you don't get into the house, into the bedroom facing the backyard! She'll die if you don't do this!"

Matt turned and took in the wounded girl with his eyes. She was nearly nude as she always was. All over her body were red, open wounds from where the crows had attacked her.

"Open your eyes!" The lean man hurried forward. "You're the only one that can save her now!"

"You're Donald, aren't you?" Matt guessed.

"Yes, yes I am. Now go and save Emelina! The crows are gone now, but they might come back if you don't get her away from here!"

Matt opened his eyes, only then realizing he'd kept them shut for so long. The sun had barely begun its arc earlier, when he'd first woken up. It looked as if many hours had passed since then. He guessed it was early in the evening now, with the sun about to set in just a short time.

Matt saw Emelina still crouched against that same tree. He hurried to her side. The girl was dripping blood all over. As Matt kneeled down to look at her closer, he became aware of just how sore his own body was. He ached all over, especially from the arms and back. It would severely test his remaining strength to carry her all the way to Margaret's house.

Still, Matt knew he had no real choice. With a rough grunt, he dropped the shovel he must have been holding all day, crouched and reached his arms out to grasp the battered girl. After a mighty hoist, Matt lifted her. She only weighed about a hundred pounds or so, he estimated. Thanks to his earlier exertions, it felt as if he was hauling around his pick-up truck in his arms.

Emelina never woke up, even after Matt fell in the woods, twice. When he finally reached Margaret's place, he feared she was dead. Matt lowered her body just long enough to slide open the back door, which was thankfully unlocked. He carried her into the second bedroom. There, Matt set her down on the plainly covered mattress that Margaret must have kept as a guest bedroom, that was once the domain of her missing boarder.

Matt's arms and back were complaining like a pack of old women, as he backed up away from the bed and leaned against the wall. He was going to leave bloodstains there, he knew. That would be a bitch to explain later, if the cops started asking him any questions.

He heard the sounds of several people crying, coming from inside that bedroom. It unnerved the man enough that he almost ran out in panic. Matt couldn't leave the girl alone, however. He forced himself to brave whatever mysterious ghosts were haunting that place. He felt so tired, so tired...