The Keeper Of The Crow's.

January 3rd 4:45 pm, Crow's Crossing Road, 10 miles south of Covington near junction 38.

Present Day.

It had been raining for most of the day there on the road of crows, 42-year-old Jerry Lloyd had been a Covington resident for most of his life and was very familiar with the lore and legends that lived on Crow's Crossing Road, his companion that day-Bert Kribs however, was not from the area and knew nothing of such things, and when Jerry Lloyd related one legend in particular to him, it seemed much too  far-fetched to believe. The two had come there on this rainy afternoon to see one sight in particular, aside from the strange wildlife in the area, there was something else there that roamed the woods, something more unsettling than mere animals.

He pulled the truck to the side of the road and ignoring the rain Jerry Lloyd opened the driver's side door and stepped out onto the dirt path leading into the deep woods, Bert Kribs was at first reluctant to follow suit, and then he saw Jerry step around the front of the truck and turn to face the treeline, the trail was mostly overgrown with thick, lush wild grass and weeds, Jerry Lloyd turned to face his companion.

"This is the place." He told Bert Kribs. "Right up that trail, that's where everybody see's it. that's where we need to go."

Still not certain Bert Kribs stepped from the vehicle and turned toward the trail, one hundred yards past the treeline they saw the large murder of crows swarm the tree's surrounding a small clearing and there in its center stood a lone grim figure, an older Indian looking fellow with long black hair flowing to his shoulders, he moved the long walking stick carefully forward as his cold almost transparent lifeless eyes stared skyward. The very sight of him chilled both Jerry Lloyd and Bert Kribs to the bone. There before them stood the guardian of the woods, The keeper of Crows. 

In spite of the knowledge that the old Indian was not likely to harm them given the fact that they weren't there to do any harm themselves, both men in a state of panic turned to run away but tripped and fell into a ravine beside of the Ryepatch trail and were both were close to unconsciousness when they came to rest on the bottom. Jerry Lloyd's vision was slowly getting blurry as he struggled to stay awake, the last thing he saw was the swarm of birds in the trees above them and figure

of the old Indian staring down at him from the edge.

Common Crow.

September 30th, 1908, Copperton Rd.

It was at the time of the cold rainy season, the kind of cold that could bore its way through a man's flesh and chill him right to the bone, it seemed to always rain here, it was a dark cold and misty place, but he'd always found a reason to stay, mostly because the rain and the dense woodlands kept most folks away, until the Coverdale Lumber Mill moved in some five years ago eight miles to his south. It was on a particular Wednesday morning when the sounds of rolling thunder pulled him from his rest, as thirty nine-year-old Jackson Boone stepped out onto the front porch of his cabin, rifle in hand, he detected a sound that he was all too familiar with.

It was barely breaking dawn when he'd heard the voices accompanied by heavy footfalls lumbering their way along the Ryepatch trail, heading away from him through the woods toward the Saddlehorn river.  He turned his head away from the thunder to better focus, he detected four different voices, all male, all, very, very, angry. He followed the voice's along the Ryepatch until he reached the north fork, then he could clearly hear the sounds of the Saddlehorn river, the angry yelling turned into screams and when he'd heard a shot ring out he hurried his pace until he reached the top of a hill, he moved in behind the tall weeds and studied the four men for a time.  It appeared as though they were searching through the underbrush along the river banks for something in particular, something that had managed to elude them. He stayed hidden, and watched as the angered hunters made their way along the banks of the Saddlehorn heading south.

He sat with his back to a tree and his rifle at his side, waiting patiently as the dark slowly gave way to the light. He could make out the shadowy figure moving to the edge of a hollowed out log nearest the water's edge. he raised the rifle and leaned it against his shoulder as he stood. The figure was quite small, almost frail looking, it didn't take him long to realize that it was just a child. He watched curiously as they pawed at the ground eyes upward, roaming aimlessly, searching for what he'd guessed for something to grab onto to pull them upright. He reached out extending his hand to them, hesitantly they backed away. He studied them for a time and as it grew lighter he saw that the child was a boy. He looked up to the sky and then back.

"You really got them mill workers riled up, boy, what in tarnation did you do to them?" Jackson Boone asked.

When he didn't reply Jack slowly moved closer as to look him in the eye, he was an Indian, and the way he stared vacantly up Jack figured him to be blind. He looked him up and down, and then up at the gathering storm clouds.

"I ain't one of them, so you can bring yourself on up here, boy."

He waited, but the child still didn't answer.

"I don't know how you've been getting along without being able to see- but there's one nasty storm moving in, I got a cabin right down that trail there, if you can make your way along you can stay with me til your folks come looking for you."

He reached his hand down once again, and again the boy's eyes wandered aimlessly across the cloudy skies above until finally he seemed to focus on something just above the treeline, Jackson Boone watched with growing curiosity, he looked up at the top of the tree's to where he saw an unusually large black crow, just as he felt the boys hand grasp his, he slowly looked back down at him before pulling him up to the top of the trail, from above him Jack could feel the eyes watching his every move, the boys head cocked to one side, his blinking rapidly, he tugged at Jack's hand and raised a forefinger pointing through the treeline, in the distance Jack could hear the angry voices through the thunder, he knew they weren't far off.

"C'mon boy, we'd best be getting along now they're gonna be here soon."

The hurried along the Ryepatch, slowly making their way back to Jacks cabin. Behind them, the muffled cries of anger not only intensified but grew even closer. He grabbed the boy's hand and hurried him along as the rain began to lash down on them, they had just cleared the front porch of the cabin when the heavens seemed to open up with an ensuing downpour. The boy stared blankly out at the morning sky, blinking repeatedly, Jackson Boone looked down at him, a puzzled look crossed his face before he returned his attention to the now silent woods. 

"C'mon boy, we'd best be getting inside where it's warm and dry, them fellers that were looking for you more than likely turned back because of the storm, but them may come looking again."

He lit a fire and sat the boy down in the corner and returned his attention to the woods outside, there came only the sound of the down pouring rain. He turned to look down at the child, deciding that he must be hungry he prepared them a breakfast of wild goose eggs, with root potatoes, onions and left over rabbit meat from the previous evening's supper.  

"I'm Jack, by the way." he told the boy. The child stared blankly up at the ceiling, and in perfect English he said:                                                              

"My name is Crow."

He explained to Jackson Boone that his parents had both died, and he was left to fend for himself until the owner of the Mill, Landon Coverdale had taken him in, he fed the boy for a time but quickly pushed him into the milling camps along the Saddlehorn where he was bullied and abused almost daily by the workers, until he'd had enough and decided to runaway from it all. He was caught the first few times and was beaten, but the last time his friend that lived up in the trees had told him how to avoid them when they came looking again. the voice that he heard would never leave him, and he grew to trust it, it had been many days since he was in the camps.

 He placed a full plate of food down in front of him, and he could detect the faint sound of the boy's belly rumbling. He smiled to himself as young Crow quickly devoured all of it. He returned to the front stoop of the cabin, since the rain had stopped so he figured that it wouldn't be long until the hunters would return to their search, he went back inside to find the boy fast asleep.  All in all six hours had passed when he heard the angry voices return, when he looked down at the corner where the boy had once lye, there was nothing, the child had at some point got up and left, he'd guessed more likely than not he'd gone back into the woods. 

Jack grabbed the rifle and stepped back out onto the porch just as four large men stepped out from behind the trees. They explained in great detail how they had been looking for an Indian boy who they'd caught stealing food from a mill camp just to the north of the actual Coverdale Mill, and how thus far the thief had managed to elude them. When Jackson Boone explained to them that he hadn't seen anyone in three weeks time, the tone of the inquiry took a more menacing tone. If it was even vaguely suspected that Jack was hiding the boy, he knew that they would most certainly be returning later with hostile intent.  He didn't have to wait long, the returned later that night, torches in hand, as well as wooden clubs.

Before he'd even had time to react, they had kicked in the front door to the cabin, they drug Jackson Boone outside three beat him relentlessly while another three ransacked the entire cabin looking for the Indian boy.  After a full fifteen minutes the three men appeared in the doorway, Jackson Boone lye in a bloody heap on the wet ground. There was no sign of the boy but they had found two used dinner plates in the wash basin, which told them that at some point there were at least two people in the cabin. Two of the men went back inside torches in hand and set the whole cabin ablaze. Jackson Boone received yet another beating at the hands of the remaining members of the search party, the second beating would prove to be fatal. As they returned to their search with torches in hand, Jackson Boone bled to death in the clearing not more than 20 yards from his cabin.

"Your anger, fuels your desire for revenge, but be mindfull young Crow, given power, the fires of your anger will consume your very soul if you allow it."

Not more than sixty yards into the trees unseeing eyes scanned the entire area, hidden completely from view the young Indian known only as Crow, didn't have to see what was going on to know that the only friend that he'd had in the whole world was now more than likely dead. he sat in silence listening to the angry voices as they slowly turned away and headed back toward the milling camps, it was then, at that very moment that young Crow decided that he had absolutely had enough of being the victim and as the fear that had  relentlessly haunted him throughout most of his young life, began to disappear,  it slowly but surely gave way to anger. He kept at a safe distance as he followed the voices back to the main milling camp, he could hear faint echoes of wicked laughter as they would brag about their deeds of the previous evening. but the laughter ceased when they saw young Crow step into the firelight at the very edge of the camp.

The first mill worker stepped out from the tent and began cursing loudly at him and called for the others to come out and join him. But Crow didn't move, he didn't run away, not this time, this time things were going to be different. They watched him curiously as his slowly extended both arms straight out at his sides with his palms up, they heard the fluttering of wings beating against the night sky, softly at first, but growing quickly in intensity, and as the first swarm of crows came at them they tried desperately to retreat into their cabins and tents, many in a panic tripped and fell one knocked over a kerosine lantern that ignited the floor of the largest of the work cabins, the fire quickly spread and burnt the entire camp to the ground, the workers that weren't burnt alive were clawed to death by the angry swarm of crows.

And so it began, he would move from one camp to the next leaving each in ash in his wake until finally he ended up at the Coverdale Mill itself, he walked calmly in the front door, knew right where the kerosine lantern was kept, knew right where the matches were kept, and as he heard more angry paniced voices from behind him outside, he smashed the lantern onto the wooden floor and lit the final fire. He stepped outside and he could almost see the horrified face of Landon Coverdale as he watched his lifes work going up in flames at the hands of a mere boy. Angrily, he started yelling at the boy, he had taken two whole steps before the swarm of crows swooped down from the night sky and took him, his screams from that night would echo and haunt the woodlands surrounding the old Coverdale Mill for an eternity . 

Present Day.

The first raindrops fell onto his face and it stirred him, he was on the ground lying in the grass just off the shoulder of Crows Crossing Road, just off to his right Bert Kribs was starting to come to, he rolled over on his side and looked over at Jerry Lloyd in stunned disbelief, they were now just twenty feet or so from where they had parked the truck. Jerry Lloyd and Bert Kribs both slowly struggled to their feet, neither of them spoke a word as they stood dumbfounded watching the soft glowing spectre of the old indian as it stood at the edge of the tree's eyes staring skyward as the swarm of crows sat watching above him. They got in the truck as Jerry Lloyd started the engine and put it in gear but paused ever so slightly to watch the soft glowing figure slowly fade from view. They both knew as hard as it was to believe what they saw with their own eyes, people would believe them, it would be just another story in the growing legend of Crows Crossing Road.

~fin~

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2019~

The Order of Crow's...

 The Order.

The rain had begun to bead up on the windshield of the dark blue sedan before Noah Maxwell turned on the windshield wipers, casting sideways glances at his passenger William Crowler suspiciously. The pair rode in silence for much of the drive to Asheville from the airport. As soon as they turned onto Crow's Crossing Road, Noah's mood had become a bit more somber. He slowed down and came to a full stop at turn 23 near the Amherst woods and pulled over to the shoulder. William Crowler eyed him curiously, then almost hesitant to talk. He leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath carefully watching everything around him, and even though William was from the big city and had never step foot on Crow's Crossing Road he was at the very least vaguely familiar with the local lore surrounding this place.

"So, why are we stopping Noah?" He asked.      

Noah smiled.

"Because there's someone here that I think you should meet, William."

William chuckled.

"How do you know they're going to be here?"

Noah Maxwell stared at him blankly.

"Because he's always here."

Both men got out of the car and slowly made their way down a winding trail to the treeline. Noah stopped them within twenty feet from the first oak. 

"You know, William, you're a piece of shit. I know all about you, I know about your propensity to commit crimes, I know how you like to bully, torture and get violent with other people, you get off on it. And I also know that my sister, no matter how many times you've hit her in the past, no matter how many times you beat her up, for whatever reason she has decided to give you a second chance at building a new life with her. I know that you've spent most of your life in and out of the justice system, which is why I called you here without my sisters' knowledge, nobody knows you're here but me and -"

William abruptly interrupted him.

"Let me stop you right there Noah, this is where you are going to warn me that if I hurt your sister, you will kick my ass or something even worse-"   

Noah did not answer at first, instead he walked farther into the woods with an agitated William Crowler following impatiently behind him.

"No William, this is the part where you get your spiritual awakening" He paused to look up at the top of the treeline at the murder of Crows slowly growing in size. "Nope... I'm not going to do anything at all to you... They are." 

All at once, Noah Maxwell pushed him down the hillside to where he came to rest in the wet, rain soaked leaves. He cursed at Noah Maxwell loudly, but soon found his outburst interrupted by a dark figure walking toward him from the opposite rim of the hill. when it began to draw closer he could see that it was an old Indian man with long black hair, adorned in a long black hooded robe, the Crows seemed to follow his lead and swarmed in around William Crowler and began cawing loudly as they landed forming a circle around him, and for the first time in his life William could feel the fear building up inside of him.  As the old Indian drew closer William saw his eyes were glazed white as if he were blind, he lowered the hood and as if looking right at him raised his head in the direction of Noah Maxwell who had his hands out in front of him palms together as if he were in prayer, Noah bowed his head to the old Indian and nodded, the Crows became louder and sounded angry.

The old man slowly placed his cold dead hands on each side of William's head and folded both thumbs over his eyelids and slowly pushed his head backward. And William Crowler began to scream. There in his own tortured thoughts, William not only saw every life that he brought pain and suffering into, all the torture, all the abuse, every life, every face he'd caused pain, he not only saw them all, but he felt all the pain, all the suffering, everyone that he'd hurt they were all there with him. All at once, a lifetime of malice all came rushing back to him... And for all of his screaming, for all of his cries and begging, there was nothing he could do to make it stop... For William Crowler, it felt as though his soul was being ripped from his body, and then the next thing he knew he was pulling himself up the damp hillside toward Noah Maxwell's feet.

Noah turned back toward the highway, and then, barely able to walk,  a broken William Crowler in tow. when they got to within twenty yards of Crow's Crossing Road, William finally collapsed. Noah Maxwell stood over him defiantly looking at him as his eye's slowly began to turn a frosty white, William unable to do anything but lye there in the wet grass shivering, his then blind eyes began to wander aimlessly across the empty black skyline. Noah Maxwell calmly bent down and took his wallet from his pocket, and stood over him. The Crows had returned and begun to circle overhead as the old Indian man appeared once again at the edge of the treeline and stood silently watching. 

Noah turned to face him. He knew he could not see, but still Noah thanked him, throughout his young life Noah Maxwell knew there to be one absolute, whenever something confused or tempted him, whenever his drunken stepfather would berate and beat on him, Noah always knew that he could return there to the Road of Crows, and the old Indian and his flock would somehow always seem help to clear his confusion and ease his pain.  He could never thank them enough. He returned to the sedan and got in and began to drive as the rain intensified, he pulled over at Bane's Bridge above the Saddlehorn. He got out and removed the burner phone from his pocket and dialed 911. when he finished the call, he bent down to pick up a large rock and smashed the phones sim card with it, and then taped William Crowler's driver's license to the rock and threw them both into the rapids of the Saddlehorn River. He looked back in the direction of where he'd left William.  

"Rest in Peace, you piece of shit."

Epilogue: A life lived, a life passed.

They'd responded to the 911 call at just after 3:00 Pm on Friday afternoon, officers from the Jackson County Sheriff's department found the shirtless wet middle-aged man alongside of Crow's Crossing Road, near turn 23 lying in the fetal position in the grass just where the anonymous call had said he would be.  When they asked him who he was, his white eye's aimlessly roamed the sky, his lips were moving, but there were no words. they called the ambulance at 3:15 PM, he had no identification, and as officer George O'Reilly watched the paramedics strap him to the gurney, the unidentified man grabbed his wrist tightly. He began to softly speak in almost a whisper, George O'Reilley heard him say one word over and over again… Repent... The two officers watched in silence as the Murder of Crow's that had been circling above, began to follow the ambulance as it slowly pulled away. Just another day in the life, here on Crow's Crossing Road.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2019~

The Ghost of Tamyron Meadows

It was long before the endless miles of asphalt had carved through the landscape of Crows Crossing Road that the people of the small town of Cambridge had first learned of the woodland lights at Tamyron Meadows. It had been a long held belief that the lights were created by the ghost of Elias Jonah, A man long since removed from the world of the living many years ago. But it had not been so long that his name would not live on, carried on for generations to come, in the whispered words of legend. It was the fall of 1710 when the then fledgling township of Cambridge first learned of the existence of the strange little man that they would come to know as Elias Jonah. He lived in a small cottage in the woods near the Tamyron Meadows, where he could be seen on most days riding his white horse to the pond near the middle of the meadow to fetch fresh water.

While some only viewed him as a harmless eccentric- there were others though, who held a different opinion of Elias. Those Christian souls, who looked upon him with great disdain, such a man was the Reverend Charles Abbey. The good reverend saw him as a godless man who huddled around candles late at night worshiping the devil, conjuring whatever demons he could to do his twisted bidding. And the Reverend had done all that he could to convince his loyal followers of this. But in all reality- quite the opposite was once true of Elias. For Elias Jonah was once a holy man. And then on one misty fall morning, fate would deal him a crushing blow.

A young Cambridge boy and girl had ventured into Elias’s garden near his cottage to fetch themselves a ripe pumpkin. Naturally Elias- hearing a noise came to investigate. But when they saw Elias Jonah walking towards them through the morning mist, they didn’t see a harmless little man, they saw the devil himself. And once so frightened beyond all sanity and reason, they raced back to Cambridge to alert the reverend and the great Christian township. Word spread like wildfire, the good reverend made with absolute certainty- that everyone knew. the devil himself was in the woods near Tamyron Meadows, and he had to be driven out at any cost. And so with torches lit- off they went to Tamyron to find this unearthly devil and drive him from their midst forever.

Elias as it turns out was riding in the woods when they arrived, there was no trial, there was no sentencing, there was only angry, concerned -well intentioned citizens bearing torches. All being blindly led by the Reverend Charles Abbey. He raised both hands in the air and made a declaration.
“DEVIL! We cast you out of this place.. Go back- Back I say! To the depths of hell from wince you came!”
No one recalls who exactly threw the first torch into the cottage of Elias Jonah. Only that it was immediately consumed by flames. Behind them- hearing the commotion, Elias appeared from the woods, curious as to why his home was being burnt to the ground he cried out in great confusion.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” He yelled


They all turned to face him when the Reverend Charles Abbey raised his hands and shouted at the appearance of Elias Jonah. Slowly the crowd moved towards him.
“Devil! We cast you out of this place!” Abbey yelled.
“Fool, I am no more of a devil than any of you that would dare burn my home to ashes.” Elias answered defiantly.
“Devil leave us now!” Abbey yelled back.
The crowd itself grew more outraged, blindly following The Reverend Charles Abbey’s lead, they pushed forward towards Elias, his horse instinctively moved backwards toward the trees. That was when the Reverend would deal the final blow. He took his torch and threw it on Elias Jonah igniting his night coat immediately. Within seconds others would follow suit and it wasn’t long before Elias Jonah sat atop his horse completely engulfed in flames.

The horse not realizing what had happened, being a frightened beast -ran through the woods with its flaming rider. The small crowd of torch bearing good Samaritans stood idly by and watched as Elias Jonah burnt to death atop his own horse. The Good reverend turned to his flock and raised both hands.
“We have done Gods work here, my friends. Let us return home now and cleanse our selves in the power of prayer.”
Return home they did, and they prayed and prayed, and time had passed, one week, one month and finally one year. And then one night in the fall of 1711, Elias Jonah would return for his revenge. He appeared at the edge of town, in a small clearing, two people saw him and immediately alerted The Reverend Charles Abbey, who was no where to be found.

The ghostly apparition proclaimed to the township that it was indeed the ghost of Elias Jonah, and it was there for only one person, it wanted the Reverend Charles Abbey, and the longer it took to get him the more houses the following night it would return to burn. And true to its word, the following night the ghost of Elias Jonah returned and burnt one random house to the ground. And the next night it burnt two, and it would return until half of the village of Cambridge was ablaze. Until on the final night The good Reverend Charles Abbey appeared at the end of the street awaiting his fate. And when the flaming ghost of Elias Jonah appeared he prayed for mercy but received none. And the flaming horse ran towards him, and the ghost itself swooped down and carried the Reverend Charles Abbey off into the dark cold night never to be seen again.

Though the original Cambridge burnt down- the town was eventually resettled four miles away. It slowly grew, and would blossom into the community that it has become today. But there is still a part of old Cambridge that will not leave this world quietly. Memories still linger for some, two hundred and ninety nine years later, there are still those who hold their breath whenever near old Cambridge. There is something restless there, still roaming the woods near Tamyron Meadows. On most nights you can see it clearly, on others not at all. But when the moon is high in the sky, and that cold murky mist covers the ground, you don’t have to look hard to see the faint flickering light that moves silently through the woods around old Cambridge. There rides Elias Jonah, the oldest resident, here on Crows Crossing Road.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2010~

The Hanging Man of Black Leaf Trail.

They were determined to find a ghost come hell or high water, and when the two black SUV’s stopped in front of the three deserted buildings where Black leaf Trail connected to Crows Crossing Road, they thought that they had stopped at just the right place. They got out of the vehicles just after 2:00 pm on Crows Crossing and decided to have a quick look at the surroundings. The whole scene looked old, broken down and decaying, three of them began to walk across Black Leaf Trail to the first dilapidated building- an old weathered, wooden two story structure that sat back some thirty feet from the edge of the road. There were several broken dirty glass windows in the front and a long ramp that went along the length of it.
“It’s the old Manchester feed store.” A cold voice spoke up from behind them.
All four men turned to face it, he was a frail looking, thin, white haired man standing across Black Leaf Trail by the front of the lead SUV. They gave each other surprised looks as they crossed back over to the vehicles.


Jack Danger approached him first - holding out his hand to greet the old man. He was smiling from ear to ear trying to present himself as courteous as possible. The old man ignored the extended hand and gave him a blank stare.
“Sorry, we didn’t hear you walk up.” He smiled nervously. “I’m Jack Danger, from Destination Paranormal.”
The old man didn’t answer.
“You know? Jack Danger? Host of the TV show Destination Paranormal?” He offered.
He gave him a blank stare.
“We film all over America. You know? Hunting for ghosts?”
“Well there ain’t none in there.” He answered. “The only ghost we got around here lives back in the woods.”
He turned and pointed at the trees.
“But you’d have to be one fool hardy sonofabitch to go back in there.”


The Young man that called himself Jack Danger, turned and motioned to his camera man to come over. Moving both forefingers in a circle indicating that he wanted to film something.
“Hey. suppose you tell us about the ghost on film so we have something to go by, who knows maybe you’ll end up on TV?”
The older man drew in a deep breath and nodded.
“Great. Terry! Bring over that camera. Lets get rolling.” He turned back to the old man. “So tell us about this ghost that we’re going to go see back in these woods.”
“They call him the hanging man, his real name was Abe Carther though, bout 75 years ago he and his wife had a small cabin back over yonder bout’ two miles back, one day Abe Came back from huntin and caught his wife foolin around with another feller and he done killed them both right there on the spot. Shot him, chopped her head off with an ax.”


Jack Danger rolled his eyes, looking at his camera man suspiciously, motioning for him to get in closer.
“So. Why do they call him the hanging man?”
“The man he shot was the constables son, and when he found out what Abe did, he came out to these woods with six other fellers and hunted down Abe and hung him from the tree right by his own front porch. Every since then ol Abe seeks out revenge on whoever gets anywhere close to that cabin. They even found a few folks hung back in there. Some as recently as one year ago, don’t reckon anybody’s been foolish enough to try to test ol Abe since then.”
Jack Danger smiled at his camera man, as they walked back to the SUV’s.
“Well Terry, looks like we have our ghost, if this doesn’t help our sagging ratings nothing will, the Art’s & Science channel will HAVE to renew our contracts after this.”
They took four black bags from out of the lead SUV and divided them up between them. They gathered at the entrance to the woods with the star of the show Jack Danger turning to the old man.



He motioned for him to come over to the edge of the tree line. He put his hand on the old mans shoulder.
“Now you just point us in the right direction and the four of us will go back in there and get the exclusive with ol Abe.”
He winked.
“Straight through there- You’ll find a trail twenty feet back in. that will take you right to the cabin.”
The four of them began the two mile hike back into the woods towards the cabin of Abe Carther at exactly 2:30 PM, they weren’t in the woods for thirty minutes before they stopped to get the camera’s ready.
“Alright. We should be getting close now Terry, now we’ll do an entro right by that tree over there and I want the shot to be in tight while I tell the audience where we are. Marvin, you and Dave keep the equipment close in case we need extra batteries or something.”
He turned to face the two equipment men and motioned for Terry to bring the camera. He stopped in front of the tree.
“And in 1- 2 -3. Hello I’m Jack Danger and this is Destination Paranormal.”

He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth when behind them they heard the sounds of a struggle. Curious, Jack and Terry both moved in the direction of the sound to find Marvin standing there staring into the woods, his face white as a sheet.
“Marv? What happened?”
“I dunno. I was standing here and Dave was over there and we were just watching you when something grabbed him and drug him into the trees. I tried to go after him but he’s- Gone.”
The three of them walked slowly back down the path, Terry was filming every step of the way. Twenty five feet in they found Dave’s shoes. Now curious, Marv bent down to inspect them, and when he looked up in the trees there was Dave swinging from the end of a rope. All three men panicked and went running in three different directions, and when he stopped, in the distance Jack could hear Marv screaming through the trees.

He had to find Terry and get back to the SUV to call the police, he stumbled around for several minutes before he came across Terry’s camera laying on the ground. He bent down to pick it up.
“Terry? Terry? Where are you Terry?”
On a dead run he went back down the trail as fast as his legs could carry him, and when he saw the clearing he just knew he made it back to the road. But when Jack Danger stepped through the trees he felt his stomach tightened when he realized that the two black SUV’s were no where to be seen. He stumbled forward as the noose flew over his head and landed clean on his shoulders, he tried to wrestle himself free as he felt the rope tighten around his throat and drug him back into the trees along the trail. But there was no one to hear him plead for his life, there was no camera there to film his greatest moment, there was no audience to watch him being lifted effortlessly to his final resting place in the tree tops.

The Final Take.
~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty year old Sarah Whitfield almost could not believe her eyes when she saw the frail little white haired man walking along the side of Black Leaf Trail in the down pouring rain, she carefully pulled the Buick to the shoulder and look into the rear view mirror to try to see if her eyes had been playing tricks on her. She turned the Buick around and drove slowly along the opposite side of the road until she saw him casually walking along. She rolled down her window.
“Hey Mister, would you like a ride someplace? I’m heading to Dutton.”
The old man smile and walked over to the Buick and leaned down towards Sarah Whitfield.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind? I would want to impose.” He said.
Sarah Whitfield smiled.
“Don’t be silly, it’s pouring out there, get in before you get sick.”
He got in the passenger seat, and told her that he was just going down the road to the old Manchester feed store. She looked over at him.
“By the way.” She said “I’m Sarah. Sarah Whitfield.”
“Nice to meet you Sarah. I’m Abe. Abe Carther.”


~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2010~

The Legend Of Jack Hook

October 15th, 2010.
You could only drive on the dirt road, and then- only so far back in along the tree line before the ruts got so bad that it was no longer passable. Then, if you wanted to get back to the old deserted remains of Seger’s mill- you had to walk into the back woods some two miles on foot until you reached the Saddlehorn river. There wasn’t much left of the mill itself, most of the burnt out remains crumbled into ruin decades ago. There was part of a burnt out wall that still stood and the concrete floor was all that remained. There wasn’t much left at all, not much except for one enduring legend that- like the mill itself, would refuse to die. Its what would bring partying teenagers from every small town within 50 miles here every Halloween season, they would hike back into the woods from the dirt trail at Crows Crossing Road, they would bring beer, pot, and whatever else they could carry to take to one of the most isolated spots along the Saddlehorn river, and they would do it all simply to scare the wits out of each other. And year after year, each and every time someone would enter the woods in search of Seger’s Mill, no one ever realized that they were not alone. Until it was too late.

This time, there would be four, they thought that it would be enough. The sun was out when they entered the trail at the edge of the woods, there was a slight chill in the early afternoon air, and after all there were four of them, what could go wrong? But of course the last ones to try it- thought six would be a safe number and of course it wasn't. The last time someone was brave enough to test the legends at Seger’s Mill was almost three years ago, three kids ended up dead, one ended up in a mental hospital and two of them moved away. And through it all - no one ever actually figured out what happened. In spite of the warnings to steer clear of the Mill, it was inevitable that sooner or later someone would venture back into the area in search of cheap Halloween thrills. This particular group was being led along by 17 year old Mitch Weldon, he knew exactly where the ruins of the Mill were- having grew up in the area. And of course all present more than once had heard of the legends of Jack The Hook, it was almost 85 years ago when Jack Corrigan had his infamous accident where he lost his hand while working at Seger‘s Mill.

In 1925 it was never clear to the folks of the then still blossoming young township of Alderville, exactly how Jack Corrigan was seen to have a metal hook in place of his lost hand. There were never any records of any doctor performing such an operation, nor any that would lay claim to the deed. All that was known for certain was that Corrigan could be seen at odd hours of the night wandering the streets of Alderville with his new metal appendage wrapped in rags, muttering insane ramblings to himself. After several incidents- concerned citizens ran him out of town and he was never seen nor heard from in Alderville again. Some say he went back to the Mill where the accident took place and in a blind fit of rage one night he burnt it to the ground taking his own life and forever cursing the remains of it. In the 85 year period following, several incidents had occurred where hikers reported seeing a wild man with a metal hook for a hand roaming the woods and attacking anyone who ventured too close to Seeger’s Mill. All and all, there had been over 35 fatalities contributed to the Mill, only five of which the bodies of the victims had been discovered - horribly mutilated. The rest were never to be seen again.



They stood near the clearing at Seger’s Mill just before 4:30 PM, There was Mitch Weldon leading the way, he stopped just short of the edge of the clearing and looked back at Benny Frye, Cora Samuels and Cynthia Todd. Mitch was exactly one year older than the rest of them so they appointed him the leader, so when he turned to the rest of them to ask what they thought about going on - they found it a bit unsettling. Benny Frye stepped forward.
“You said to trust you Mitch- so that’s what we’re doing.” He looked back at the two girls.
They both nodded slowly.
“Yeah Mitch.. Lead the way.”
The small group of teenagers slowly moved towards the ruins of Seger’s Mill, and almost as if on cue the clouds began to roll in making the sky seem dark and ominous. They went to the center of the concrete floor of the Mill and sat down in a small circle. Each of them looking up in different directions as the sky continued to grow darker and darker. They hadn’t even been there for twenty five minutes when a noise caused Mitch Weldon to spin around sharply and look up at the top of the only remaining part of the structure. There at the top of the burnt wall sat three crows silently staring down at them.
“Holy shit!” Mitch exclaimed. “Those stupid birds scared the hell out of me.”
Cora Samuels slowly rose to her feet and walked towards the three birds.

They watched her almost transfixed as she moved toward the crows, slowly raising her hand to them, smiling, coaxing them closer. She turned to look back at her three companions before walking back to the circle and sitting back down.
“I think they’re beautiful. I’ve heard people say that the crows here are like guardians or something, you know- like a bridge between the spirit world and our world. They’re special. that’s why they won‘t fly away.”
Benny Frye cast her a strange look as he fumbled in his back pack before producing a clear plastic baggie half full of rolled marijuana cigarettes .
“I think we should smoke a joint, you know- to kind of take the edge off. We’re all a little jumpy right now.” He said.
His three companions happily agreed as he lit one and began to pass it around. He took the first toke and handed the joint to Mitch just as something at the edge of the trees caught his eye. his eyes quickly darted in several different directions at once, before quickly disregarding it as his over active imagination. Then Mitch saw it, and then Cora- and as the first raindrops began to fall, all four began to realize at the same time that perhaps this wasn’t a good place to be after all. Mitch slowly rose to his feet, he nervously looked back over his shoulder at Benny and the others.
“Okay - so maybe that was an animal of some kind.” He said.

Benny rose to his feet and moved to the edge of the concrete floor and peered into the dark woods, all at once the three crow’s began to raise a ruckus, they began cawing and flying around the Mill. He stopped to look up as they all returned to their perch at the top of the burnt wall. Now all three were staring right at him. He turned to face his three friends, his level of discomfort slowly began to rise. Cora Samuels rose to her feet and stood beside him.
“Oh geez.. They didn’t come here to protect us.” She said. “They came here to warn us.”
Now Mitch Weldon stood.
“Alright we had our Halloween chill for today, lets get the hell back to my truck before we scare ourselves straight into having an accident.”
Ignoring the crows, they all stood up and gathered themselves before heading back to the trail, and unknown to them- with the three birds in tow. They walked for another twenty minutes back into the woods before they heard the first echoes of running feet quickly coming up behind them. With Mitch in the lead, followed by the two girls and then Benny at the rear, they all stopped to look back just in time to see a shadow grab Benny by the foot dragging him back into the woods. He let out a shrill scream as Mitch and the two girls grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away from the shadowy figure, and Mitch Weldon felt his heart stop when he saw the metal hook dig into Benny’s flesh tearing his back open.



They frantically tried to free their friend as the first crow came through the trees followed by the other two, they swooped down into the shadows just before Mitch felt whatever it was - relinquish its grip on Benny. He pulled his friend back onto the trail and without another thought hoisted him up over his shoulder.
“Lets get the hell back to my truck! MOVE IT!” He yelled.
On a dead run they didn’t stop until they were out of the woods and back at the edge of the dirt road. Mitch Weldon put Benny in the back with the two girls, he got in the cab as the shadow emerged from the edge of the trees.
“Mitch! It followed us! Hurry get us out of here!” Cora yelled.
Thirty feet from Crows Crossing Road, Cynthia Todd got a signal on her cell phone and called 911, and told the operator that they were on their way back to Alderville with a severely wounded Teenager and that they should send an ambulance to meet them halfway. And once safely back on Crows Crossing Mitch Weldon hit the gas and never looked back. Seven miles outside of Alderville he flashed his lights at the Ambulance and pulled over, it turned around and came back towards the truck and stopped in front of it - seconds later followed by two county sheriff‘s vehicles.

The frightened teens recalled the entire tale to the sheriffs deputies as the paramedics tended to Benny Frye. In the end, Benny Frye would live to tell his cautionary tale to other teens hoping to tempt the angry spirit at Seger’s Mill. All four teens would survive and eventually recover from their harrowing ordeal. But on that late fall evening, as they watched the paramedics load Benny Frye into the ambulance, and as the officers told Mitch to meet them back at the sheriff’s office to make a formal statement. In the growing night, no one noticed the three crows silently watching from the edge of the tree’s. And as they closed the ambulance doors, and it pulled away followed by the sheriff’s cars, Mitch Weldon and the two girls got into the cab of his truck and calmed their nerves before following behind them. And through it all no one seemed to notice the long metallic slash mark across the face of the trucks tailgate as it pulled away. Above the hum of engines no one heard the metal hook fall onto the asphalt behind them and bounce to the side of the road. No one knew exactly how lucky the four teenagers were to survive or how close they actually came to death doorstep themselves. And so like any other day or night, the rain continues to fall, and the crows continue to stand watch because they know, there will be others to come. And other restless spirits to be tested. Here on Crows Crossing Road.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2010~

Rain wash over me.

Clarence Keeler and his son Andrew had spent many days over several summers enjoying the succulent bounty of fresh water trout that the Saddlehorn river had to offer. They had at least three different fishing spots that they preferred but on this particular day they chose the one nearest the bridge at Sonnets Ferry just a quarter of a mile off of Crows Crossing. It was the usual gray overcast morning there in the woods but it hadn’t been raining yet, although the skies were threatening. They pulled to the side of the dirt road, got out and went to the back of the truck to get their tackle box, fishing poles and bait, he instructed the boy to carry the two lawn chairs down to the bank of the river, and the boy happily complied. He got within 50 feet from the water when he came up behind his son to find him standing there white faced staring across the bank.



Clarence studied the boys face somewhat puzzled at first. Until he looked across to the other side of the river and saw the tall broad shouldered Indian man walking along the opposite bank away from the bridge, The boy and his father watched for a full five minutes before he stopped, turned and looked right at them before disappearing before their very eyes. Stunned Clarence Keeler slowly opened one of the lawn chairs and sat down, he motioned for the boy to do the same.
“Who was that pop?” The boy asked.
Clarence Keeler sat in stunned silence..
“The legend is true, that had to be William Grayfeather. I thought that that story everyone tells was just a legend.”
He sits the boy down and tells him the tale of William Grayfeather.



Dry climate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 24th, 1874.
It had been the second straight year that the crops had failed in the small settlement of Sonnets Ferry, they hadn’t seen nary a drop of rain in nearly twenty four long months and the river was all but drying up. Right along with the hopes and dreams of better days for the people of the Sonnets Ferry settlement, while some had packed up whatever they had left and moved on seeking greener pasture there were still a handful of people who still clung to the hope that somehow something would come to save them from the drought. The funny thing about desperation is it can drive people to do desperate things. Then on the morning of September 24th, while out hunting for small game, young Thomas Marlow came upon a four wheeled- wood enclosed wagon, with big fancy words painted on the side.


He circled around the sides of it looking to see if there was anyone around when a short fat fellow wearing a dirty suit and a black derby grabbed him by the arm.
“Say! What are you doing here young feller! Don’t you know better than to go looking around somebody’s wagon?” He yelled.
“Mister, I wasn’t going to steal nothing I was just wondering who it belonged to. I was just out hunting for rabbit.” The boy explained.
“Rabbit Aye?” He eyed him suspiciously. “Where you from boy?” He demanded.
“Sonnet’s Ferry Sir, its about a mile up river. If you want I can show you.”

He allowed the boy to sit on the seat of the wagon as it plodded along the rut riddled dirt trail leading to Sonnet’s Ferry. He introduced himself to the boy as Barnabus Chelly, and he was a traveling salesman, that sold potions and elixirs that would cure everything from the common cold to scarlet fever depending of course on the ailment. In the back of the wagon he had an old Indian fellow that helped make the potions from genuine Indian ingredients, discovered by an old medicine man from a long lost Indian tribe that of course wasn’t around anymore. The boy listened to his tall tales wide eyed and believing every word.
“Wow Mr. Chelly! A real Indian?” The boy asked
“You bet he is, he was the son of a real shaman. Knows all kinds of ancient Indian tricks.” Barnabus boasted.


The longer they traveled the taller the tales got and the more the boy believed every word. Until finally the tiny settlement of Sonnets ferry slowly bloomed into view. There wasn’t much to it basically six medium sized buildings in a small group and a few surrounding farms in the outlying area, one general store that was just about out of everything and a trading post nearer to where the actual ferry was. Thomas introduced Barnabus Chelly to his mother and father who had both come to the front door of the small general store when they heard the horse’s whinnying as the wagon stopped in front. The boy immediately introduced Barnabus Chelly to his parents before he produced two rabbits that he’d shot before running to Chelly. The Marlow’s invited him inside. And soon had invited Chelly out to their farm for dinner. To which he happily accepted.


The Marlow farm was even smaller that the buildings inside of Sonnets Ferry. They didn’t have much but were willing to share. And over dinner, Everett Marlow had told Barnabus Chelly about the drought that had been plaguing the area for the past twenty four months. But it wasn’t until the boy interrupted the conversation by bringing the magical Indian in the back of the wagon into the conversation. And suddenly a devious idea began to slowly form in the back of Barnabus Chelly’s mind.
“I’ll bet that magic Indian in the back of Mr. Chelly’s wagon could make it rain pop.” The boy exclaimed.
The boys parents looked at Barnabus Chelly curiously.
“What Indian?” Everett Marlow asked.
Chelly looked down at his plate of food trying desperately to appear innocent.
“Well Mr. Marlow.. that’s true enough I reckon.. I do have an Injun in the back of my wagon, but I couldn’t rightly let him out to do any of that rain dance stuff them redskins do.” Chelly replied slyly.


Marlow rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking back and forth between Chelly and his wife. He looked at the boy and then out at the wagon. He tried to look as though he didn’t want to believe what Chelly was selling but the seed had already been planted. He looked back over his shoulder at his wife.
“Alright Chelly lets have a look at this Indian, I don’t suppose having a look will hurt anything.” He said.
They walked out to the back of the wagon when Chelly turned to face them.

He walked back and forth almost nervously carefully searching through his mind for just the right words. He stopped and turned to face them.
“Now folks, I’ve heard tell that these injuns have made it rain in some cases.. But dadgumit they’re just so damned unpredictable, they’re savages at heart you know? Are you sure you want to see this?”
They all nodded in agreement. And slowly Barnabus Chelly unlocked the back of the wagon door and swung it open. It was dark and dusty and hard to see inside. Barnabus Chelly leaned in the door.


“William! William Grayfeather! Now you come on out here nice and slow to meet these folks, and you best be nice about it too.” He turned to face Everett Marlow. “I had to at least try to give him a Christian name you understand being a savage and all, figgered he needed saving.”
He was tall, taller than any of them, and broad shouldered with long black hair that fell down his back, and when he stepped out from the back of the wagon they all drew a deep breath and stepped back. All except Marilyn Marlowe who thought at first sight that he had kind eyes, kind but filled with a terrible sadness.
Chelly felt his chest swell, along with his head.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marlow.. Young Thomas.” He said nodding towards the boy. “This here is William Grayfeather son of an honest to goodness genuine Indian shaman. William- now these nice folks need our help, and by god we are gonna help them!” he proclaimed.

Unexpected Turn
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He ushered Mr. Marlow to the side and quickly tried several different sales pitches on him, before finally selling the desperate farmer on the idea that he would leave the Indian with them for a small fee, and he would take his wagon to the edge of the woods and wait, and if the Indian couldn’t make it rain then he would come back and happily return the fee and he and the Indian would be on their way no harm- no foul. Mr. Marlow even though being a man of faith had no money to pay the fee so in exchange he gave Chelly a cloth pouch of small golden nuggets that he’d taken from the river that summer.


It wasn’t much but the word gold was all that Chelly needed to hear to get him to agree. And he left William Grayfeather with the Marlow’s. He prodded the horses and the wagon slowly pulled away and Barnabus Chelly had no intentions on making good his promise. Everett Marlow cautiously walked around William Grayfeather.
“Well, he doesn’t look hostile.” He looked him up and down. “Do you even understand English Mr. Grayfeather?”
William Grayfeather nodding.
“Yes sir. Mr. Marlow what did you give Chelly? I’ve been trying to part ways with him since two months ago but he locked me up in that damned wagon. What did he tell you? What is it that you need help with?”
Hearing Williams near perfect English, Everett Marlow could feel his heart sinking. He looked down the trail to where Chelly and his wagon had disappeared and realized that he’d been taken.



He slowly sat down on the front porch of the farmhouse, removing his hat, a feeling of foolishness and dread came over him. William Grayfeather sat down next to him.
“He said you could make it rain, it has been dry here for so long I suppose I was ready to believe anything was possible, My hope made me stupid I suppose.” Marlow hung his head.
“ Mr. Marlow.. Having hope isn’t stupid, sometimes hope is all that we have to get us through the bad things in life, hope keeps us going.” He looked up at the sky. “Mr. Marlow, I can’t make it rain, only the great god can do that, but you keep praying for that miracle and don’t ever give up hope, its going to happen.” He rose to his feet and looked back up at the sky. “Do you feel that Mr. Marlow?”



Everett Marlow now rose to his feet and stood beside William Grayfeather.
“Do I feel what?” He asked.
“Its going to rain tonight, I don’t need no magic to know that, I can just feel it in the air. Do you have any animals outside?” He asked.
“Some.. Not many.. but some.. Why?”
He turned to face Everett Marlow.
“You’d better get them someplace inside, looks like Barnabus Chelly’s plan didn’t go so well, your Miracle’s coming Mr. Marlow.” He pointed to the tree’s “See that there? The wind is kicking up from the East, A storm is blowing in, feels like a bad one too.


And storm it did, long through the night, the rain poured down on them from the thick storm clouds, so much in fact that the Saddlehorn had once again become a full fledged raging torrent. And when Everett Marlow stepped out from the farm house the next morning it was still pouring, he stepped down in the wet grass and when he rounded the corner of the porch there stood Barnabus Chelly with a gun drawn pointed at the head of his son Thomas.
“Please Mr. Chelly.. I’ll do whatever you want just let my son go.” Everett said.
“Where’s the redskin Marlow? I’m taking him back with me.” Chelly yelled.
William Grayfeather stepped into view.


“You may as well let that boy go Chelly.. I’m not helping you anymore.”
“My God William!” Chelly’s lips spread into an evil smile. “This is your best work yet, You’ve been holding out on me boy! My God! You made it rain! You really made it rain. Think of the money we could make with this William.”
William Grayfeather’s eyes narrowed as he slowly walked towards Chelly.
“It’s over Chelly, you prey on peoples fears, you devour their dreams, you give them false hope, wave it in front of their eyes and just when they are ready to believe, when they are ready for their miracle you sneak away like a thief in the night, you are a bug Barnabus, and your thievery ends here.. Now. Let the boy go ”

Chelly suddenly not so confident began to pull the boy by the shirt backwards towards the river all the while William Grayfeather followed. And when he was at the waters edge and he could go no farther he pointed the gun at the boys head again.
“Not another step William, I’ll shoot the boy.”
But now William was too close and he reached out with the quickness of a snake and snatched the boy away from Chelly’s grasp and tackled him knocking him backwards into the water. Everett and Marilyn Marlowe both rushed to their sons side while William Grayfeather Held Chelly’s head under the water while relentlessly beating on him. Chelly’s hand with the gun broke the surface of the water and discharged two shots directly into Williams chest, but the large Indian continued to hold him under the water until he finally drowned.



William fell against the bank as Everett and Marilyn Marlow both pulled him from the river. He looked up at the sad faces of the Marlow’s and motioned for Everett to come closer.
“Don’t ever give… Up.. Hope.. Mr. Marlow.. Sometimes.. Hope... Is the only thing.. You have.”
He took two short breaths and then one deep one and then his eyes looked away. That afternoon the rain would die down long enough for Everett and Thomas Marlow to dig a grave.. And along the banks of the Saddlehorn river in the late Autumn of 1874 William Grayfeather was laid to rest. And on his grave was a marker, across its face, written by the hand of Everett Marlow was but a single word… “Miracle”

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2010~

Sundown Never Sleeps..

It was a feeling that he could not outwardly place, he supposed that it was one of those ‘One of these things is not like the others' kind of things- but he couldn’t put his finger to it. It was something that had been tugging at the back of his mind since they‘d gone through Pleasantville. He’d seen the kid sitting in the back seat on the old red Pontiac Tempest, when they’d pulled up to the stop light on the main drag. The kid was really neat looking, wearing a little pink dress laying in the back in a blanket with no car seat, Bear remembered giving the parents a cold stern look, compared to the kid, they were dirty looking, nasty matted hair, dirty hands and the mommy looked even worse, they looked like a couple of junkies he‘d thought. Something didn’t fit- the kid was way to clean to be theirs, only it didn’t hit him until now. Now he just had a bad feeling, and when he‘d walked past the gas pump by the police cruiser he heard it coming over the radio, somebody had snatched a kid from the front seat of a car while the mother was inside the store paying for her gas. No description of the suspects but the little girl was wearing a little pink dress with flowers on it and she had her little blue blanket with her. He turned immediately towards the store. His two friends Snake and Christian were walking towards him.
“Snake? Is that cop still in the store?” He asked.
The other biker shrugged.
“Yeah. I guess so. why?”

Bear walked past him back into the store, he saw the cop at the counter paying for a sandwich. He patiently waited until he headed for the door, the officer turned to face the much larger man, the sight of Bear made him uneasy. He was so big, so burly, a barrel-chested brutish looking man, and yet there was something in the eyes, something that puzzled him.
“Officer?” Bear said. “I was standing by your cruiser and I overheard someone on your radio talking about a kidnapping?”
They walked together out the door toward the three Harlys and the police cruiser.
“Yeah, it happened this morning over in Burnam county, the mother was in the store for just a minute or two to pay for gas and somebody snatched the kid out of the front seat. It really sucks too, poor lady is hysterical, shame, can’t take your eyes off your children for a second these days. They have everybody in three counties looking for that kid.” The officer said.
Bear looked at Snake and Christian and then back at the officer.
“Yeah. Well it didn’t hit me until I heard your radio but I think I saw that kid when we were passing through Pleasantville this morning. She was laying in the back without a car seat, laying there in a blue blanket. I knew that kid looked too clean to belong to those two.” Bear told him.

He gave him a full description of the dirty looking couple and even remembered most of the license number, make and year of the vehicle, they were driving a beat up red 1962 Pontiac Tempest with Ohio, plates. And last that Bear could remember was they turned and were heading east towards Crows Crossing Road. The officer thanked Bear for the information and immediately radioed back to the Sutter county Sheriffs office. Bear told him that they were going to stay in the area until the child was recovered, probably in an abandoned settlement in the woods that Christian knew about where they could stash their bikes and themselves out of the weather in case it rained, all Bear knew was that it was somewhere along Crows Crossing Road. The officer thanked them for their assistance. He thanked him in kind and the three bikers left the convenience store and headed east on Crows Crossing. Five miles later they turned onto a narrow stretch of road that lead farther back into the woods until they reached Quick’s bridge at the Saddlehorn River. Christian turned his bike down the dirt road that ran beside the river and lead the way to the abandoned settlement. They stashed their bikes in a shed next to the building they would be sleeping in. Just before dark Bear decided to walk back in the trees to gather some fire wood. He had been stepping on and breaking small branches when he’d first noticed the large black crow sitting on a limb in a tree above staring down at him.

Bear’s round face drew into a smile as he carefully stood and moved closer to the tree never taking his eyes off of the beautiful bird. His lips pursed and he began to make little kissing sounds at the bird slowly raising his hand to see if the crow would move. But instead of moving it cocked its head almost curiously still looking down at him.
“Boy aren’t you a handsome feller. Say where do you live big boy?” Bear smiled.
Without warning the crow let out a blood curdling shriek and flew out into the clearing landing on another tree some forty feet away. Taking it as a sign that the bird didn’t wish to be bothered- he returned his attention back to the firewood. Moments later he looked back up and there was the bird again sitting and staring at him only closer than before. Now puzzled Bear called out to Christian and Snake who both emerged from the trees and into the clearing.
“S’matter Bear?” Christian asked.
“Get a load of this bird man. He’s acting kinda funny.” He answered.
Christian laughed.
“Hey man. That’s a crow.” He laughed pointing at the bird. “You’re less than a mile and a half from Crows Crossing Road, all of the crows here act funny.”
Bear wasn’t smiling anymore. He stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving the Crow.




He explained to them how it flew away and then came back and did it twice more before they’d shown up, always flying off in the same direction, landing on the same tree. Making a terrible commotion each time. Bear instructed them to the tree where it always landed. The same spot every time always flying to that spot then coming back. They moved next to the second tree and the crow almost seemed eager to follow them.
“Call me crazy,” Bear said “But I honestly think this little guy is trying to tell us something.”
“Well call me crazy man,” Snake said, “But its gonna be completely dark in a couple of hours, and if we follow this bird too far into the woods we could get lost.”
A strange noise echoing through the trees caught their attention and the three men looked at each other and carefully made their way deeper into the woods being ever so careful to be as quiet as possible. The trail led them up a hill and weaved its way back towards the river near another small dirt road that came straight through the woods. And Bear could almost hear his heart pounding through his chest when he saw the red Pontiac Tempest parked some thirty five feet away on a small cliff overlooking the Saddlehorn river. He turned back to Snake and Christian.
“Get back to the settlement and walk the bikes back to the bridge where we came in before you start them, get the cops up here but fast! them are the two junkies that snatched that kid, I’ll stay here and keep an eye on them. Go on now, and be quiet and quick about it!” He instructed them.
They disappeared quietly back into the trees as bear moved around to get a closer look at the car. He didn’t see the young man with the club in his hand sneaking up behind him.

He swung the club at Bear striking him in the back and went running towards the river yelling at the top of his lungs, Bear struggled to his feet and followed, he was standing on the ledge of a twenty foot drop yelling down at the water to the woman who held the baby, he turned in time to see bear step up in front of him. He scowled at him.
“I. I’ll kill you man!” He stuttered at Bear.
He raised the club into the air as Bear doubled both fists.
You tell that scrawny bitch of yours to put down that baby or I’m gonna throw you both a beating!” Bear yelled.
“No way man. Run Marilyn!”
Bear took one step forward when a black flash flew right by his head and straight into the face of the club wielding junkie. Startled he staggered backwards dropping the club and fell backwards down the small cliff face. Bear looked down at him as his thin body lay still with his head against a log. He had broken his neck on impact. Bear turned and made his way down to the water some thirty yards ahead he could see the woman with the baby trying to climb up the side of the bank to get away from the outraged biker.
“C’mon lady. Don’t hurt the kid.. Just give her to me and I’ll let you get away clean. I won’t try to stop you.”
Her feet were starting to come out from under her and he could see that she was losing her grip on the child.

Bear looked up at the large black Crow almost helplessly. The crow stared back at him.
“You got any magic left big boy? I’m running out of ideas here.” He said.
He could see the baby who was now lying on the ground while the woman tried to feverishly look for an escape. It seemed to Bear almost. Magical, as he watched the large Crow get between her and the baby and began shrieking at the top of its lungs at her. She was slowly backing away half confused half frightened. Bear’s smile returned.
“Yeah big boy! that’s it. Give it to her good.” He chuckled.
He ran over to the baby as she climbed out onto the side of a fallen tree that was precariously laying in the water, the crow all of the while- flying at her from every direction seemingly all at once confusing her even more as she inched her way out on the limb farther and farther out over the water. Until finally her feet slipped and she fell in, Bear watched as the river washed her away. He held the little girl close as he made his way back to the dirt road that ran beside the raging Saddlehorn, off in the not too far distance he could hear the faint growl of motor cycle engines followed closed by the wail of police sirens. He walked with the baby towards the flashing lights as the crow flew over head. He stopped and looked up at it as now the police cars were only some fifty yards away.
“Thanks for the help big boy. I owe you one.”
When it all sorted out, they returned the baby to her mother, Bear got his fire wood and built his fire, and although he Snake and Christian would have been welcomed with open arms in any town in the area, they decided to camp out next to the Saddlehorn, here tonight they would sleep peacefully, amongst the trees and their new found friends.. Here on Crows Crossing Road.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2010~