The Meaning of Crows

Jacob trudged through the trail on his walk home from school, kicking mounds of snow with the toe of his boot every few steps. He shivered and hunched his shoulders in, bracing himself against the wind that seemed determined to seep into his bones. Finally, it was Friday, and Jacob wouldn’t have to walk the kilometer home from school for two days. ‘When I get home,’ Jacob decided as another gust of wind stung his cheeks, ‘I’m gonna make hot chocolate and hide under a blanket until I can feel my toes again.’

Lost in a daydream about spending his evening watching TV snuggled under his red wool blanket his Momma had made him, Jacob had walked straight into the back of someone stopped on the trail. Taking a few steps back, he shook his head and called out a quiet, “Oop, sorry,” to the figure blocking his path.

The figure turned around, their white coat blending into the winter scene around them. Their arms raised to their head and removed their hood, revealing the concerned, wrinkled face of Jacob’s elderly neighbour.

“Mrs. Jenkins, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” Jacob apologized. He looked around and then, titling his head, asked, “Mrs. Jenkins, where’s Richard? I thought you weren’t supposed to walk around all by yourself no more.”

Mrs. Jenkins furrowed her brows and took a step closer to the boy. “They’re coming,” she whispers, eyes shifting from side to side in alarm. “They’re coming, we don’t have time.”

“Time for what? Who's comin’?” Jacob asked. He felt the back of his neck tickle like it does sometimes when Momma blows on it to tease him, but it didn’t feel safe and funny like when Momma did it. It made his stomach twist all funny. Jacob bit his lip. “Want me to walk you home, Mrs. Jenkins? I don’t mind, and we can stay away from whoever’s comin’.”

Mrs. Jenkins shook her head and pointed to the trees on her left. “Too late!” Her voice was raspy, like she’d been sick with a sore throat as she said, “They’re coming. You need to go home. Go, boy, go home! Quickly now!”

Jacob raised his eyebrow. “Ooookay,” he drawled, stepping around the old woman who continued to point at the trees. “I’ll tell Richard you’re out wanderin’ again, he’ll come bring you home.” He had only walked a few steps when he felt his hood being tugged hard, dragging him backwards. Jacob let out a choking sound, and looked up to see Mrs. Jenkins staring deep into his eyes. He tried to squirm away, but her grip was too strong.

“The crows tell the truth, but the eighth one lies. He lies!” She called out, voice echoing against the quiet woods. She let go of his hood and shuffled up the path, leaving behind the confused boy rubbing his neck with eyes wide open.

Jacob watched the woman make her way up the trail, deciding that he would let his Momma and Daddy tell Richard that his momma was wanderin’ the woods. Jacob turned around and slowly started to continue his walk home from school, puzzling over what his elderly neighbour had said to him. As he made his way through the edge of the forest, Jacob paused, smiling at the sight of his faded blue farmhouse at the bottom of the hill. He was debating on if it was worth a tongue-lashing from his Daddy to slide down the hill in his nice new jeans when he heard a rustling coming from behind him. Jacob spun around fast and stared into the wood.

Suddenly, birds flew out from the trees and along the path, heading straight towards Jacob. With a cry, Jacob dropped to his knees and covered his head. He heard several caws and the beating of wings as the birds flew over him only to circle back towards town. Jacob peeked through his arms and saw eight birds return to the trees, shadows covering them so he could only faintly see their shapes. ‘Crows, nothin’ to be scared of,’ Jacob determined as he stood up and brushed the snow off his knees. ‘Eight of ‘em. Like what Mrs. Jenkins was sayin’.”

Another gust of wind blew through him, reminding Jacob of the warm blankets and hot chocolate waiting for him at the bottom of the hill. He walked quickly, eager to put some distance between himself and this strange walk home. As he walked down the hill, Jacob wondered what Mrs. Jenkins was talking about, and what the eight crows were doing. He pushed his front door open and, stamping his boots to shake off the snow, decided that while his hot chocolate was getting warm he would borrow Daddy’s computer and look it up.

Jacob hung up his jacket, threw his backpack onto the bench even though Momma told him every day to put it upstairs, and slid into the kitchen on his socked feet. “Momma? You home?” He filled up the kettle and flicked it on with his finger. Shivering, he raced to the living room, calling out again, “Momma? I’m home!”

The house was still, the only sound to be heard was the kettle heating up in the kitchen. Jacob shrugged and wrapped his red blanket around himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d beat Momma home. It gave him time to use Daddy’s laptop without her asking questions about how his day was. He wasn’t eager to recount his spelling test or the walk home.

Jacob opened up a browser and typed, “E-I-G-H-T C-R-O-W-S” into the search bar. He hit enter and the page filled with pictures of crows and several articles about migration patterns. Jacob frowned and with brows furrowed, he scrolled through the results. His eyes locked onto one link that simply said, “The Meaning of Crows”. Clicking the link, he let out a gasp at the handsome crow pictured at the top of the page. “The Meaning of Crows”, the page was titled, and he continued on to read, “In storytelling, the number of crows present signifies a certain event that will occur by the story’s end.”

Jacob scrolled down through the list of crows, eyes skimming over the list until he hit six crows. Reading softly to himself, Jacob said, “six crows is for a money change, seven crows is for a curse, eight! Eight is for a happy, life altering experience!” Jumping up to his feet, the laptop crashed to the ground as he raced to the kitchen just in time for the kettle to boil. Spooning hot chocolate powder and pouring water into his mug, Jacob wondered what kind of experience was going to happen to him. He hoped that he would find a puppy and get to keep it, or his Daddy would win the lottery like he always said he was gonna, or Momma would take him on a trip, just the two of them. Jacob sat at the table and sipped his drink for a while, daydreaming about racing along the beach with a dog by his side and his Momma waving to him from the towels.

The front door suddenly slammed open, startling Jacob into the present. He looked at the doorway and saw his Daddy standing there in the open doorway, shoulders hunched and looking shorter than he did this morning. Jacob met his father’s eyes, noticing that the deep blue eyes they shared were filled with tears. Setting his mug down, Jacob stood up and walked slowly to the man who continued to stare at his son as the tears leaked down his cheeks. “Daddy?” Jacob said, hands gripping the old black coat his momma had gotten Daddy years and years ago. Shivering from the icy wind entering the house, Jacob’s voice wavered as he asked, “What’s wrong, Daddy? Why are you home so early? Where’s Momma?”

His Daddy knelt to the ground, pulling Jacob into a tight embrace as his chest let out a heaving sigh. Jacob hugged him back, feeling tears drop onto his head. Daddy continued to cry for a moment, then finally let out, “There’s been an accident, Jakey.”

Jacob felt the tickle on the back of his neck again. “An accident? Where’s Momma?” Jacob felt his Daddy’s chest heave as he choked in a sob.

“Momma was in an accident drivin’ home from work, Jakey. Richard said he was heading back from town when he saw Momma driving home. A great big bunch of birds flew like a bat outta hell and into the road, and he thinks they startled Momma,” Daddy pushed his son back an inch, holding his small face between two calloused hands. “Momma’s car hit some ice when she swerved and she hit a tree, Jakey. Momma’s…” Throat catching, Daddy pulled Jacob back into his chest, “Momma’s gone, Jakey. Momma’s not comin’ home.”

Jacob felt his heart drop to his toes as shock took over his body. His body went limp, and Daddy, sobbing loudly now, held him up in the tight hug. Jacob's mind went blank, and he looked outside through the still open door towards his Momma’s favourite apple tree. Sitting on its branches, he could make out eight birds in the fading winter’s light. Seven handsome crows, and a barn owl sitting amongst them. He stared at the bird he would loathe for the rest of his life for takin’ his Momma away as Mrs. Jenkins’ voice rang in his ears, ‘The eighth one lies.’