A group of crows is called a murder. I never understood why that was until now. See, a few weeks ago, I was taking a walk in the afternoon. I was puffing on my cigarette, when I felt a chill crawl up my neck. It creeped into my bones and I felt eyes boring into the back of my neck. I quickened my pace, not daring to look back. There was a snap behind me, and I turned to see some leaves rustling and a crow staring back at me, with a red beanie in its mouth. I laughed to myself as I turned back around, I was nervous for no reason, I thought. I continued the walk briskly, even though it was just a crow, I couldn’t shake that feeling of something being wrong. I felt a pit in my stomach the rest of the way home. I noticed my shoes weren’t near the door where I usually leave them.
The next day as I got on my bike to work, I saw a few more crows circling above me. They followed me all the way to work, and even pecked at the windows to the cafe. The rest of the day went on as normal, except for this one man with a red beanie that kept giving me a smile that made my stomach turn. Something about his eyes. I heard the flap of the crows following me all the way home.
That night sleep did not come easily. I heard the crows pecking and screeching outside my window. They would take turns flying up to my window and slamming their beaks into the glass. I tensed up every time they made that horrible squawk. Even when they eventually went quiet, I could feel them staring.
The next few weeks I was on edge. I felt their beady little eyes following me wherever I went. It got to a point that even when there weren’t crows, I would hear footsteps behind me, and when I would turn, nothing. Every little sound would make me jump. Be it the sound of the espresso machine, or the wheels of the van that would leave around the same time I would. On my bike rides home, I would almost crash trying to speed away from the cloud of crows.
At home, I swear there were things moving just outside my vision, and when I would turn, there was something a bit out of place. I would notice my vase was tipped over, or my laundry would be scattered alongside the basket.
Tonight, as I was sitting at home, the pecking had stopped for the day, yet I could see a shadow moving along the outside of my window. I heard tapping along the glass and walls. I heard a long, dull scrape at the front door.
I sprinted upstairs and locked myself in my room. I heard some glass shatter downstairs, and some footsteps stamping around. A man called out my name in a gruff voice. I am sitting here, typing this out, trying to pass the time. The crows were trying to warn me. I hope the police get here in time. The footsteps just stopped outside my room, and the crows are starting to screech.