Black Feathers

11

December 2nd ’13

My eyes only

Proof now, because I’ve already got it written down. I’ve definitely had this dream before!

Against a white sky streaked with clouds the colour of grey milk stands a skeletal tree, its branches blackened and dead. The topmost limb divides into three finger-like branches that look withered and dislocated. On the tip of each charred fingertip perches a large black bird. Crows or ravens, I think. One faces left, one right and one looks up into the sky. Then the three of them look down at something I can’t see. On the horizon, far behind the tree, the sun is setting. It’s the same red you see when you look at the midday sun with your eyes closed. Flesh red, shot through with veins of gold. I do not want to see the sun go down. I can’t face the possibility of it not returning.

Someone is screaming. Hoarse, uncontrollable screams. The crows caw at something out of sight. Their cawing sounds like laughter.

When Megan opens her eyes she remembers the scorching of her heart but she feels no pain there now. She is lying on sheepskins in the roundhouse and the morning sun penetrates the cracks in many places. Mostly, it comes in through the open front door and the tiny hole where Mr Keeper ejects unwanted things. He appears from behind the curtained area and kneels beside her. Only then does she become aware of something wet and heavy on her chest. He places a hand over it and the weight increases. With his other hand he holds hers. The skin of his fingers and palm is warm and dry but rough. From his hand radiates a thick aura that seems to envelop her hand and spread into her chest.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her throat dry.

“Making the pain go away, little thing. I’m sorry you had to suffer it but it was… necessary. From this moment forwards you carry the Crowman’s mark and he is always with you.”

He takes his hand from her chest.

“Now, let’s have a look at the progress.”

He peels away a green, muddy poultice from her sternum and lays it beside him on the matting.

“Ah, yes! Perfect! Have a look, little thing.”

He holds a mirror so that she can see the place where the tool touched her. Already healing into a pink scar is a perfect symbol, forever part of her skin. Three claws pointing upwards to her face, one pointing down to her stomach. The footprint of a crow. There is no pain. She smiles and then cries.

“Can you sit up?” asks Mr Keeper.

She tries and finds it easy. He passes her more tea and she drinks it quickly, her thirst desperate.

“Dress yourself then, little thing, and we’ll go out. There is much to be done.”

February 7th, ’14

My eyes only

I’ve had dreams of terrible things happening for as long as I can remember. When the news is on and I see the most recent earthquake or flood, or when some new disease starts to spread, I get this cramp in my stomach like it’s in a vice. And I get that feeling, when you know you’ve seen something before.

I feel guilty too.

I know it sounds really pathetic and that’s why I’m writing it down instead of telling anyone – I couldn’t even tell Jude about this – but I feel like there’s this huge blackness coming across the whole of the world. I imagine it’s like the blackness on the dark side of the moon but it’s a living, intelligent thing.

Crops are failing around the world and people are dying of hunger. Dad says that only used to happen in Africa. Now it’s everywhere. I’ve heard stories about crowds of starving people in America storming corn fields or breaking into supermarkets and clearing the shelves. American police are allowed to kill those people. Sometimes they call in the army to do it.

All the terrible things I’ve always dreamed about are happening now. For real. I feel responsible. The worst one was the tsunami. I’d been having this nightmare about a huge wave. It’s like the wave is made up of pure anger, like it wants to smash humanity when it hits. As it nears the shores, it rises up higher and higher. I’m on the land, high up on a hillside somewhere and looking down. Where the beach is, the water has all gone and I know what it means. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time and that’s why, in the dream, I live at the top of this big hill. All kinds of ocean animals are flopping around on the exposed wet sand and then, far out on the horizon, I can see a movement, some kind of distortion and I feel this terrible clenching in my stomach because I know that, even up here on my hill, I’m not safe from what’s coming. The wave is impossibly huge and I always wake up before it strikes the land. The fear is too much to sleep through.

Last week there was an eruption in the Mediterranean. It was an underwater volcano but that didn’t stop it blowing dust and smoke miles into the atmosphere. Within a couple of hours a tsunami hit every shore from Tunisia to Syria. In some places the tsunami arrived as a swell of a few feet that swept inland on low ground for miles. In other places, the wave was a giant wall. Footage from mobiles and handheld camcorders showed waves of up to seventy metres high racing into the land. Hundreds of thousands of people died in a few moments.

Did I predict it or is it just a coincidence? Do I tell Jude? She knows I have nightmares and she knows people die in them. But I’ve never told her about them coming true. That’s only started to happen recently.


April 29th ’14

My eyes only

Sometimes I feel like someone’s here, watching me. I can’t see them. I can’t even hear them. I’ll be standing somewhere, in the garden or looking out of the window in my room and it’s like someone’s right behind me. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve spun around thinking I’ll catch someone creeping up on me.

There’s something else. I’ve had it all my life, at least as long as I can remember, but it’s only now that

How do I even write it? No one can ever read this.

I hear voices. There. I said it.

I’ll be dropping off to sleep at night and I’ll hear my name clear as anything. “Gordon.” That’s it. One word. I always thought it was just my brain going into that doze where your dreams begin. Recently, though, the things I’ve heard are like little proverbs or something. Really embarrassing. I cringe just thinking about them.

We are all stronger than we believe we can be

Shit, I hated to even write that down. I’ve never thought anything like that. I never would. Where does it come from? It’s such an up itself way of saying something. Here’s another.

Everything you need will come to hand in the very moment of its requirement

In the very moment of its requirement? What the f*ck is that supposed to mean? I hate it. But I’m on a roll now. Check this one.

The Crowman is in all of us

I know. That’s a step too far, right? The others could just be my subconscious bubbling up when I’m half asleep. But the Crowman. That’s just too messed up. Who is the Crowman? Where does this stuff come from? It takes me back to the fear. That I’m responsible for bad things happening. Worse, that I’m going schizo.

Maybe I feel guilty that we’re still doing OK up here on the hill. We’ve still got food – most people are on rationing now. We’ve got our own well water. And we don’t get the crime and violence like they do in the cities. But we work hard to keep well stocked and we’ve been preparing for a long time. Mum and Dad were smart and they taught us to be smart too. Do I feel guilty about that? I don’t think so.

Who or what is the Crowman and why do I hear voices telling me his name? Telling me he’s inside me? Is he the one who’s watching me?