Maybe, on a slow news evening in May, you’ve caught a glimpse of the local “Festival of Crows”, celebrated by the local inhabitants of King’s Cove, on your screen. It looks cute doesn’t it? Little kids dressed up in black capes and feathers, some adults too, frolicking about in the downtown area of Kinsley, the only town on King’s Cove peninsula. Perhaps you thought it was something like “crazy hair day” at school, except with a crow theme.
I was there in person just recently, with my boyfriend, Nick. Nick was born in Kinsley, however he had moved to my city last year, where we met and started dating. A few months into the relationship, he suggested we go visit his mom, his only living parent, in Kinsley. I was very much in love with him by then, and ecstatic that he wanted me to meet his mom.
So I travelled there with him- and I thank my lucky stars that I live to tell my experiences of the Festival of Crows. It is not cute and charming, not at all. It was a terrifying, bizarre experience, and it’s only now, after a few months, that I am able to reflect on those terrible events and share them with you.
Hopefully, once you are done reading, you will be wiser than I was, and never set foot on King’s Cove during the festival! And hopefully, writing this down will help relieve me of the nightmares I still suffer from, of feathers and children against the crashing waves.
But let me start at the beginning. My beginning. For me, it began at a pothole on the road connecting King’s Cove to the mainland.
I was dozing when the car plummeted into a pothole so deep I thought for a second we were falling into the bowels of the earth. I screamed, gripping Nick’s arm tightly. He swerved.
“Lucille!” he cried, dragging the car back across the gravel of the road’s shoulder which dropped down into the ocean far below. The road connecting King’s Cove peninsula, Nick’s childhood home, was narrow and elevated far above the sparkling waves. I felt my face flush, ashamed of my overreaction, but Nick was smiling.
“Goddamit, same as last year and the year before. Are they never going to fix that road? Like a bloody chasm, worse every year” he said, without sounding too bothered. He let his hand drift on my thigh.
“I’m sorry you were startled darling” he continued. “It’s so typical. The mainlanders simply don’t care about the peninsula. On the mainland you get construction crews working round the clock to fix every tiny thing, but out here, they just don’t care.”
I nodded. I had heard him rant about this before- King’s Cove and its surroundings had been badly neglected and underfunded over the past decades, services falling apart.
It wasn’t even that remote. The main township of Kinsley, Nick’s family home, was barely a three-hour drive from the causeway which connected the peninsula to the mainland. And from the city where we lived and worked, it was another two hour drive. We had been on the road since seven in the morning, and we were just about to drive onto the causeway.
A rusted green sign held the faded words “WE COME TO KING’S COVE”. I was puzzled over what that could mean, and it was only after we drove by that I realised the letter “L” in the sign had faded beyond recognition.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Nick was smiling broadly now. “Almost worth the rural technology!” The ocean ran up to the bottom of the elevated causeway on both sides, an incredible deep blue stretching out for miles, patterned by foamy waves and edged by hazy cliffs, and hills covered with fresh green foliage.
“It’s lovely Nick” I said, feeling excited at the prospect of the weekend where I would be meeting his family for the first time. I gazed at the light blue sky where two birds, barely visible specks in the air, were circling.
“Are they eagles?” I naively asked, pointing.
Nick took his eyes off the road as he followed the direction of my finger.
For the first time I understood the phrase, “turned pale with fear”. Nick’s colour drained so quickly I feared he would faint dead. I grabbed the wheel. It wasn’t necessary, for he silently steadied himself, and exited the causeway, carefully pulling the car onto the small gravel shoulder. Without a word, he slowly got out, staring at the soaring birds.
“Nick?” He didn’t answer. I got out of the car and went up to him.
“Nick?” His neck fully tilted back, he muttered something.
“What darling?” The blowing wind and breaking waves made it hard to hear.
“Those aren’t eagles,” he said dazedly.
“Ok. Sweetheart?” I could feel my stomach start to knot, he was never like this.
“I didn’t realise they’re so far out. They never come this far.”
The birds swooped down, seemingly towards the ground. They were black, much smaller than eagles. Nick shrieked, sprinting, grabbing my hand and dragging us back towards the car.
“Lucille, get in! We need to get home!” We jumped in the car and he blasted off towards the
interior of the peninsula and the town of Kinsley. Home? I thought our city was home?
I looked back out of the rear window. Two large crows had perched where we had been standing moments ago. I looked at Nick. His profile jutted sharply towards the windshield, his mouth set in a hard line, his hands gripping the wheel. He almost looked like a different person. He glanced at the rearview mirror, and pressed on the gas even harder.
“Nick, you’re way over the speed limit! Calm down darling, what is it?”
My voice seemed to break the spell. His face and hands relaxed, and he looked more like himself. He glanced sideways at me, and smiled.
“I’m sorry sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you-”
“But what is it- the birds…” He smiled wanly. “It’s nothing- Lucille- “ his voice faded. The sun shone on the blue vastness on my side.
“It’s nothing- remember the silly photos I showed you, of my childhood, dressed up with my Aunt Margaret? And the news clips, how we celebrate the parade of Crows each year?”
I nodded. “Yes- you just said it’s an old local festival- right?” He smiled again, and it was a different smile this time. A quick sly smile, I didn’t like it.
“Yes actually- you must be right!” he sounded forced and jovial. “It is this weekend- you’ll probably catch it. I completely forgot! That’s ok right? You love these bits and bobs of culture and local colour.”
“But- you didn’t tell me it was this weekend- you said the kids dress up as crows and birds?”
“Yes, and it’s actually not that old- it started back in the early 2000s, when I was a kid, just for fun, but then it really ramped up during the corvid pandemic of 2020, you know.”
I shook my head feeling even more confused. Was he talking about the COVID pandemic? I decided to keep quiet, and he started in a chatty voice “Oh, I’d be surprised if there is anything even going on- it was just a fun little thing to do with a few families. There wasn’t much going on, you know, during the pandemic. Just dressing up and learning about wildlife, you know, homeschooling, arts and crafts. It was the pandemic.”
I didn’t say anything- I really wanted him to stop talking about the pandemic. I wanted to put all that behind me. Everybody just had a shitty time, right? And we just wanted to live again.
The dilapidated road worsened as we neared the township of Kinsley. We passed sparse houses set a good distance back from the road. The houses were in a late colonial style and habitable, but not in particularly good shape. In a rocky meadow a group of children squatted, working with large pieces of black fabric. Nick braked and pulled over.
“Oh look- I think that’s my cousin’s kids- Steve and- who was it- shall we go and say hi?”
Before waiting for my answer, he had jumped out and headed towards them. Despite feeling reluctant, I got out and followed him. There were three children on the grass, a small blond girl and two older boys. They were messing around with black and orange paper, fabric and scissors. The girl carefully folded a circle of orange paper into a cone and put the cone over her face, covering her nose and mouth. “A mask” she said solemnly.
“Louisa- you need to put in the lines for the beaks!” said one of the boys. Louisa didn’t say anything. I looked at Nick, who was staring at them with shining eyes. “Nick- what are they doing?” He didn’t seem to hear me.
He crouched down and said to the older boy.
“Hey Steve, it’s me Nick. You remember me buddy? How’s your mom? Aren’t you going to use any feathers? I always had tons of feathers on my costumes.”
“Yes, Elliot is bringing the feathers.” Steve replied without looking up.
I looked back. A third boy was approaching across the meadow, carrying a black object in his outstretched plams. As he came closer, I saw it was a dead crow, its claws pointing upward.
“Nick?” I said, tugging his sleeve. He didn’t respond. The sun was shining very brightly, but the ocean noises were very distant.The other three children laid down their little scissors and glue sticks, and clustered in a small semi circle around Elliot.
Louisa still held the cone over her face. Then they looked up at us for the first time, expectantly. I held on to Nick’s sleeve. He took a step, but then stopped. The kids frowned, and moved closer together, closing the circle. Elliot, still holding out the crow, spoke.
“This messenger is gone.”
“And we deliver his message”. All the kids responded loudly.
Nick whispered along , “And we will deliver his message”.
“Nick!” I cried loudly. “The fuck?!”
The children held out their left hands. Using the beak of the dead crow, Elliot turned to each child, scoring their palms, deep enough to draw blood. Then he looked up questioningly at Nick.
“No!” I said loudly. “Nick, let’s GO!” I pulled his arm, but Nick brought up his other arm, across my body.
“Lucille- it’s tradition!” he said it quietly but my blood ran cold. The kids brought their bleeding hands to their face, and smeared the blood on their forehead. Then they kneel back down to their crafts.
Nick shivered. Then he looked at me, smiling warmly.
“Isn’t it interesting Lucille? The children are making their costumes for the festival. Isn’t it cool?”
“Please let’s go Nick” I said pleading. The children were paying us no attention, their little fingers busily cutting paper and gluing feathers. The dead crow was lying by a rock.
“Oh sweetheart, you must be tired. Don’t mind the kids just fooling around, you know. We’re only five minutes from my mom’s place now- come on. She is dying to meet you!”
I silently followed him to the car, and we drove the rest of the way, barely exchanging another word.