I was dragged from the depths of sleep by Olive sliding into bed beside me, her long sinuous body naked and smooth and smelling of apples and cinnamon. I drew her to me, our legs entwining, the softness of her skin like warm silk, her small frame delicate, cradled in my arms.
“Just hold me?” she whispered. Her voice was weak and hoarse. She was exhausted.
I held her gently, wrapping her in my arms so she felt the truth that pulsed gently inside me; I never wanted to let her go again. Within seconds she was asleep and I soon followed her down into the comfortable darkness.
It was late into the night when I heard the girl’s voice once more; “They’re coming” and I heard a distant fluttering outside the window. At first I thought it was a dream, like when I awoke in the cabin to the chanting of Caribou Man’s cult, but the sound persisted even after I opened my eyes.
Carefully untangling myself from Olive’s arms and legs so I didn’t wake her, I slid out of bed and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains. With the charcoal and crimson clouds as a backdrop, the sky was peppered with clusters of jet black crows flying toward Peacock’s castle. I could only hear the flutter and flap of their wings, not a caw or croak to be heard.
Even they knew that a deadly feast was coming and it sent a chill up my back and over my scalp.
"BETWIXT - where the dead things go"
