King of Crows

There is a tale I’ve heard told about an ancient king. Glendower, the Raven King. He sleeps in the forest somewhere, or so I’ve heard. Waiting for the waker—waiting to join us, the living, once again. Somewhere, Glendower sleeps, dreaming of the day he will be woken. Eager to walk through his lands once again.

Eager to grant the waker a wish.

That’s the tale I’ve heard told.

The tale of The Raven King.

A magical king. A wish-granter. A sleeper whose quiet breaths are full of life.

I’ve heard the tale of that king. Heard it several times, actually.

But…

There’s more to the story than what there appears.

You see, I believe that something isn’t adding up.

There are… things… that can’t be explained by that tale.

Things that we, the listeners, have screwed up.

Things that we got wrong. Continue reading “King of Crows”

Feast of Crows

Shore up the windows.

Burn the shellfish.

Set food out for the cats.

Hurry.

Make haste.

Don’t sit there. Don’t idle. Move.

Move.

They’re coming.

Board the doors. Set the crosses on the threshold. Paint the walkways with white.

They’re coming.

Put out juniper. Throw the incense in the backyard. Check the attic.

Work all night if you have to.

They’re coming.

And they come at noon. Continue reading “Feast of Crows”