Beware What The Raven Brings

by Nofa Ouali

Artwork by Nofa Ouali

Part 1: The Exploration

I hoist my immense duffel bag, straining against the agonizing weight. I step on a loose floorboard, wincing as the creak echoes off the walls. 

I attempt fruitlessly to remain silent as my mom calls from the living room, “Connor? Don’t stay up too late; you have school tomorrow!”

Hoping she’ll assume I’m asleep despite the creaking floorboards of my bedroom, I pause. 

After a good while, I tread carefully, desperately yearning to reach the far window without noise. I haul the weighted bag over the windowsill, dropping it five feet into the moonlit grass below, then I follow suit. 

Sighing breathlessly, I chuckle. My escape was smooth and swift; I couldn’t have longed for anything simpler. I lift my gaze from the earth to the dark landscape around me. 

Luckily I’m smart enough to bring a flashlight this time. I pull it out, flicking it on. I wound the duffel bag over my shoulder, using the flashlight to guide me across my uneven lawn. I gasp and stumble on clumps of soil multiple times; regardless, I make it to the front of my abode easily. 

There, leaning on my paint-flaked picket fence, is a dark silhouette of a lanky individual; their outline is a glowing pale white, illuminated by the colossal moon behind them. My breath catches in my throat, and I skid to a stop a couple of yards away from them. 

“Connor?” a nervous voice hisses. “Is that you?” 

My torso relaxes, Mike.

“Mike!” I snarl into the darkness, “You freaked me out! Where are Robin and Luke? I draw closer. 

Mike’s pale, freckled complexion twists into an apprehensive expression. “They’re already there waiting. C’mon! Hurry, before our parents realize we’ve gone!” He seemed restless; Mike fidgeting was quite a rare occurrence; he is usually collected and tranquil, always mediating between us during our outbursts and differences. 

“Relax, Mikey. I’m sure they’ll never find out. They would never think we’re dumb enough to hang out on a school night.” 

Mike and I burst into hysterical laughter at the irony of the situation. 

“Let’s go,” I snicker, slinging my arm across his shoulder. “Let’s get scared out of our own skin!” 

The desolate road to the raggedy barn was stripped of life. Completely alienated, it slightly petrified me, but Mike was unperturbed by the ostrobogulous. We stopped in front of the barn gate; Mike craned his neck as he peered over the high broken fence. “I don’t see ‘em.” 

“I dunno, Robin and Luke said they’d meet us here. Let’s go; they could already be inside.”

Mike nods solemnly, “All right. It’s not like them to not come; it was their idea to explore this abandoned place, too.” 

We leap over the broken fence with ease, dismissing the NO TRESPASSING sign hanging feebly; one nail—pinned to the wooden stake—its lifeline. 

The nipping breeze evolves to a biting wind. My eyes water as I stride downwind towards the once-crimson but now faded mahogany structure. 

“Luke—Robin! You guys here?” We crawl into the weeds yonder. 

I growl under my breath; if those two couldn’t commit to coming here, why in the world did they suggest the idea? Then again, they were the daredevils of the pack. 

Mike and I continue our trek; every nanosecond as we draw closer, my heartbeat throbs with heavier intensity. 

Everyone in my town is aware of the legend of the Old Man. The elder kids torment the youthful children sometimes at the playground or at school about the seemingly innocent myth. 

However, Mike, Robin, Luke, and I decide to pay Old Man Manny’s barn a little visit. I personally don’t believe anything that comes out of the mouth of this town. But the mere pondering of exploring an abandoned farm is the excitement of the story. Besides, the boys all believe it. I really don’t think an old man can take a minuscule town by storm; I know it’s a joke. (I knew not of the consequences then) 

The gargantuan doors to the pale barn were hanging off their hinges; deep scores were scarred across the width and length as if a rabid animal clawed malevolently at the doors. 

Mikey whistles, “That sure is something out of a horror movie!” 

I would say something if I weren’t so horrified. Silently, I push open the left door to examine the interior of the barn. 

Pointing my flashlight into the inky darkness, I gasp: scattered haphazardly across the soiled floor are perhaps millions of torn papers—letters. 

An earthy scent strikes my nostrils, the aroma of musty dirt and overgrown weeds. Particles float across the atmosphere from the shine of my bright flashlight. 

Inside the barn it was dead silent; I can hear my heart pulsating and can feel Mike’s gaze over my shoulder. 

“Hey you!” A voice—loud—behind us makes me jerk backwards towards the source. There, eyes alight with cheeky and mischievous amusement, are Robin and Luke, their hair tousled and their cheeks streaked with soot and dirt. “Scared are you, Connie?” Luke’s eyes find mine, and his gray eyes portray his sneer. 

I grin and retort, “Don’t lie to yourself.”

His smirk widens. While you guys were shivering out in the chill, Robin and I found amazing loot!” 

“Yup,” Robin confirms, nodding, “Follow us.”  

Mike and I glance briskly at each other, an entire conversation passing between us in seconds. 

“We’re right behind you.” 

We follow our friends through the barn doors into the abyss of black. My flashlight flickers weakly as I switch it on. 

“Almost out of juice,” Mike observes unhelpfully. 

I stare in disbelief at the barn dissolved in ruin. 

Hay bales are arranged across the bottom level; the center of the barn is licked by the moonlight seeping through a hole in the roof. I stay on Luke’s heels as we travel deeper into the building, climbing an unsafe staircase. Half the floorboards are broken or completely crooked to a degree of immense danger. I hesitate, falling behind as the three boys climb the hazardous stairs.

I eventually gingerly pick my way over to where Luke, Mike, and Robin stand clustered together. 

“What are you looking at?” I call. 

They don’t respond; therefore, I glance over Robin’s broad shoulder at the source of their attention and intrigue. 

Perched on a cracked windowsill is a raven. Its feathers are an ebony, glossy hue, reflecting the bird’s pulchritude. I stared astounded at it; the bird was unfathomably large, its talons gripping the perch, exhibiting its aggressiveness. I notice deep indents where its claws dig into the ivory wood constantly. I freeze in mesmerizing adoration at the gorgeous specimen of a raven; I am afraid of its capabilities if it is conscious. However, luck was with us tonight; its eyes stayed shut, its beak burrowed in its shoulder feathers. Almost on cue, the bird’s malignant eye flies open. 

Part 2: The Raven

The raven bristles; its feathers rise in indignation. Its dewdrop eye glistens a pure black, deep and indecipherable. The raven cocks its head in interest at us boys; despite its grandeur, the bird remains indifferent to the four pairs of eyes examining it. 

“Cool!” Mike and I breathe en masse. Indeed, Robin and Luke straighten with pride as if the bird was their own.

“See?” Robin grins, reaching out to stoke it. 

“Robin—“ I begin stricken, 

“Relax, Connor. He doesn’t bite.” 

The bird’s feathers ripple under Robin’s fingers. 

The raven suddenly leaps up, making Robin cringe backward. It flies toward a loose piece of scratch paper with astounding gracefulness for a creature part of the class Aves. It seizes the page; a yellowed, torn piece of parchment. The raven hops closer, holding it out for me. 

“I—I think it wants me to take that.” I stammer. I gently reach for the page; meanwhile, Luke, Mike, and Robin stay silent, assuming they’d heard. The bird’s bulging eye narrows, boring into my skull. I swiftly snatch the paper from its hooked beak, unintentionally tearing a corner where the raven’s beak was gripping it hard. 

I gawk at the wisdom of the bird. Although I was taught in science that ravens were one of the few animals with the most intellect, this one seemed to have a peculiar understanding of simple meanings and specific tasks; its gaze held a sinister, far look. 

I bring the page closer to my face; the ink of the words was smeared with previous dampening, and the paper was rubbed raw. 

“What’s it say, Connie? Mike murmurs softly, 

My amber eyes skim the page as I read aloud: 

Beware what the Raven Brings 

What thou remark is what it brings
Thou will fathom when a raven sings.
A mellifluous ballad of thy confirmation,
Though, beware of the drawing desolation.
For it comes as thy ravening grows
What thou yearn for is what it bestows.
Concealed by the tendrils of pure fear
Is what never drew thee near
Now thou be warned, submit not to what it sings. 
For beware of what the raven brings

The silence remains deafening for what seems like eons. However, Luke penetrates the silence with a shrill cackle. 

“Seriously? That’s what we came here for at 10 at night? A silly poem invented by a bird to spook us? Ha!” 

Mike and Robin exchange glances and burst into furious complaints. 

“I told you guys this was a bad idea!” Mike snarls, “Now my dad's gonna be so mad for us sneaking out to an ‘allegedly’ haunted barn!” 

“Ya think I wanted to come? No!” Robin shoots back, “But you guys said it was a good idea!” 

The bickering intensifies; I glance at the raven anxiously. Its head is tilted vaguely in semi-amusement at my friends’ outburst. 

I play the meditator, “Dudes! Chill, I think coming here was worth it, don’t you think?” 

Six eyes fly to me. 

“I mean,” I say tentatively, “this is the sickest night ever!”

“Yeah!” Luke pipes up, “Give it a try, Connor.”

“Huh?” 

Luke gestures to the seemingly bemused raven. “Ask for something like the poem says to. Who knows, maybe it could get us a dollar.” 

I gulp, chuckling with nerves. “Okay,” I take a breath, “Get me a penny.” 

I stare expectantly at the raven, who sits silently on the perch. 

Before I can resign, the large creature bursts into flight, beating its wings rhythmically. The raven screeches, a cacophony of unmasked anguish; I feel disoriented at its sudden flight. 

The bird flaps into the dark oblivion of the night sky, a string of caws fading with every stroke of its wings. 

 *     *     *

The bird returns moments later, elation seeping through its eyes. It glides back through the cracked, open window, perching swiftly on the surface of the windowsill. Ruffling its feathers, the raven leans forward, extending its keen beak. 

We gasp in disbelief as in the bird’s narrow mouth is a pale, rusty penny, glinting under the moon’s rays. 

Part 3: Beware What The Raven Brings

We decided the bird’s name would remain “Raven”. Simple, fathomable, simple to recall. Robin, Luke, and I got into a gargantuan conflict the night of Raven’s discovery. We were punished immensely for sneaking out. Mike, however, was the sharpest out of all of us, for he discreetly made his escape while his parents were asleep…unlike the rest of us. Knowing him, though, Mike resisted fibbing, telling his parents of our secrecy, fortunately leaving out the part about Raven. 

The following weeks we were grounded.

Despite that, a month later, we hung at the barn, gleefully taking turns asking Raven for baubles or minuscule curios that fit our longings: money, food, or other items were given to us as we wished. 

Frequently, the boys and I would play harmless—but comical tricks nonetheless—on the neighbors, stealing their hats or handheld trinkets and returning them to their front doorsteps by dawn. 

“Poor Tim,” Robin smirks as a boy, stout with youth, flails for his phone as Raven seizes it out of his hand with odd grandness. 

Our chuckles perish as ten-year-old Tim bursts into tears, fleeing in the direction of his home. 

“We gotta get that back to him quickly.” I mutter under my breath. 

“Let’s go,” Luke sighs, grabbing the petite device slipping dangerously out of Raven’s narrow beak. “Enough fun for one day.” 

We make our way back, leaping over the barn doors’ threshold to part our separate paths home. Robin lives closer to Tim and therefore promises to drop by and give his electronic to him before drawing dusk. 

I pad home, giddiness and euphoria flooding through me as I open the door to my house. 

*     *     *

The following day Robin doesn’t show up to school; his disappearance wasn’t much of a concern due to his always being ill. However, when Luke didn’t come three days after. Presuming they were both absent for essential reasons, I was unperturbed by this oddity. Mike and I laughed, still playing games with Raven. (The dawn of my troubles begins to arise at this point; I was gullible, unaware of the consequences of my actions.) We resorted to pranks, relishing our time together with Raven. 

One fine afternoon, the sky a brilliant hue of glimmering sapphire, Raven flies toward us as we stand at the same windowsill we first discovered him perching on. 

Although, rather than clutching the five-dollar bill we requested for it to bring, Raven instead holds a vast wishbone between its jaws, the ends of the pearly white darkened by something unknown. 

“What?” Mike barks disgruntledly as Raven lands heavily, dropping the bone atop Mike’s fingertips. “We asked for five bucks, not a dirty bone!” He chucks the darkened object out the obsolete window, grunting as he forces his muscles to oblige. 

Raven’s gaze locks onto the bone, its throat bobbing as it gnashes its beak with malice at Mike’s blinded rage. 

“Raven!” Mike cries beseechingly, “I didn’t ask for that! Get me a five-dollar bill!” 

Raven’s dewy eye widens with mock understanding, lifting aloft once more as requested.

*     *     *

Mike’s order comes with no avail, merely a thin, sickly bone equivalent to the one five minutes ago. 

Mike's perplexed stare swings toward me, portraying his exasperation. I blink at him pathetically in bafflement at Raven's sudden abnormality of not retrieving what we request. 

“Maybe…He’s just… tired or hungry?” 

My response was more of a question than a consoling statement. Besides, I was aware that neither Raven’s tediousness nor its possible hungry behavior was the result of the paranormalcy. 

I attempt asking Raven for a variety of other factors, leaving in failed misery to my endeavors. 

“Welp, we tried.” I mumble, vaguely lightening the mood.

“I wish Robin and Luke were here; they’d know what to do.” Mike grumbles as we depart the darkened structure. 

“See you tomorrow, Mikey.” I call as I head home, deflated at Raven’s evasiveness this afternoon. 

I’m greeted with an equally solemn farewell as Mike turns left behind the obsolete barn. 

My ecstasy evaporates when Mikey is absent as of this week. I’m floating in bewilderment, for he never stated his disappearance. The night of our final encounter, Mike emailed me with astounding joviality, claiming he’d be at the barn after school to hang. However, I currently stand in my school’s barren lot, waiting for Mike, where he remarked we’d after our final period five days prior. 

The longer I wait, the more my gut tells me perhaps Mike really isn’t arriving. 

Kicking loose pebbles on the dark asphalt road, I dart to the barn. Its pale orange-scarlet color blends with the streaks of tangerine and ruby across the width of the sunsetting sky. 

I trudge to the heavily scarred doors in fury and angst; neither Mike, Robin, nor Luke has shown up to our academy or the barn in multiple weeks. Each day my suspicion increases; my friends all wouldn't leave me in solitude for this length of time if their disappearances weren’t all connected. 

I enter the broken structure in dawning horror as on the barn’s moldy floorboards is Raven, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. 

I freeze in terror at the sight of the pitch-black bird’s sudden relocation. Every instance the boys and I arrive to ask Raven for products or mere items, it remains serene on the pale windowsill or its presumed abode. Never once did I encounter Raven anywhere else in this monstrosity of a barn. 

Despite the seemingly legendary meeting, I glare valiantly at Raven. “Okay,” I growl, “Luke, Mike, and Robin aren’t here. Today you better get me what I ask for!” 

Raven blinks blankly at my scolding, playing an innocent stray caught raiding a garbage bin. 

I sigh emotionally; peculiarly, I feel as if Raven were a human; speaking to it seems like a chat with Mike or my mom—pondering every word flying out of my lips. 

“I really do like you, Raven.” I grin softly as it fluffs out its dark feathers, striding upstairs.

I turn back, realizing Raven isn’t on my heels. It remains where it was, eyes wide with uncanny malice. 

Shifting awkwardly, I mutter. “Hey. C’mon.” 

Raven caws, a deafening agony throbbing in my ears. It finally hops away toward a horse stall, on the brink of decay, glancing back at me every other leap. 

Intrigued, I shuffle after it. 

Raven pauses once more, looking up at me with ebullient, bulby eyes in front of a particularly raggedy stall. I attempt to read Raven’s gaze, eventually understanding as it gestures to the door of the horse stall by fluttering nearer. 

I gradually touch the stall’s metal lock. Scenting the rusty, coppery odor of frayed metal as I undo it with trembling fingers. 

I can feel the tension in this moment, flinching under Raven’s inevitable stare behind me. I sigh breathlessly, pulling the creaky stall door open.

In front of me is a haphazardly scattered pile of rancid, foul bones. A vile odor wafted nastily into my nostrils. In the midst of that putridity lies a pearly-white object. I gag as I recognize it as a skull. 

Part 4: Old Man Manny

My heart is pitiless, thumping through my rib cage. Likewise with my respiration. I breathe heavily, turning in uncontrollable fear toward Raven. The bird, perched on the floor, squawks with maliciousness, feathers rippling in satisfaction. I’m faintly aware, however, I screech, “You aren’t just a raven, are you? You aren't!” I pause, gulping; taking a breath, “It's not the barn that’s haunted; it’s a bird. A raven!” 

I extend my left forearm, shaking in rage, pointing a finger. “You know where my friends are, don’t you, Old Man Manny! I know where, too, I’ve seen them.” 

The old man’s feathers rise in pure loathing at me; he gnashes his beak, eyeing me with an expression of uncontainable disdain and malevolence. 

With a jeer, Old Man lifts into the air in the barn, flapping madly toward the Skull Stall (this is where the feast begins). 

Alarm and petrifaction flow through my veins, and I bolt to the double doors of the barn that will never leave me. I pull, straining against the assumption of its heavy weight. However, I know the end; there is no way out. 

Tears pool down my t-shirt, dampening the cotton cloth. I recall my aunt's favorite saying: “Remember, beware of things you don’t understand”. 

Water seeps from my eyelids, and I weep through my terror. 

I am hyper aware I’m trapped in the barn. If I can’t escape, I can inform the next party. 

Gently using a piece of sharp rock, I print in my own scraggly handwriting on the interior of the barn door: Beware of what the raven brings. Before I finish, however, the splintered wood behind me shifts with movement, and the Skull Stall’s door creaks open. 

The End