Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore #1) - K.A. Merikan Page 0,27
pick up. He waited an extra ten minutes, then another ten. He would have gladly waited some more, but if he wanted to make it for the train, he couldn’t allow himself any more leeway. And if Zofia forgot he was leaving today, then maybe her next-door neighbors could point Emil to where she’d gone.
There was nothing to worry about—at least that was what he kept telling himself throughout the hurried jog along the dirt road, because dread was already clenching its claws around his heart. Had she changed her mind and had been too embarrassed to tell him? Had she gotten ill and her family hadn’t notified Emil? Whichever scenario popped into Emil’s head was disastrous and ended with him stuck in Dybukowo.
But whether he managed to leave town tonight or not, he needed to at least check up on her, because what if she’d broken her leg or fallen over and was unable to get up? With a cigarette fueling his fast-paced march, he traversed the fields between his home and the most populated area in the scattered village, passing through one of the neighbor’s yards to reach the main road.
His heart slowed, as did time, when he spotted a large crowd of people congregated around a ditch close to Zofia’s home. Breathless, he looked up, alarmed by the concert of cawing, and when he saw a tall tree that had more crows than leaves in its crown, his pulse galloped as if he’d been given an adrenaline injection straight to the heart.
Emil walked faster and then ran to the rhythmic thud in his ears. A woman rushed out of her house, screaming something Emil couldn’t hear through the buzz in his head. She dove into the crowd of onlookers and dragged her two small children away, tugging them back to their home. Another woman declared someone should call the police, but Emil could barely understand even the loudest of their voices, as if he were behind a glass wall.
A shiny Range Rover drove past Emil and stopped in the middle of the road. It belonged to Radek’s dad, but before Mr. Nowak managed to step out of the vehicle, Emil reached the gathering and stood still, wishing he’d just stayed home after all.
Zofia’s twisted body rested in the shallow water. Her face had been ripped to pieces, one eye a bloody hole, red marks of torn flesh on her bared arms.
“They did that!” cried one of the children Emil had noticed earlier. His gaze followed its index finger all the way to the tree above. To the crows that for once hadn’t been waiting for him in the morning. Which meant they must have been here.
Nausea rose in Emil’s throat, cold like icy syrup that tasted of bile, but no matter how mutilated Zofia was, she could still be alive, so he jumped into the ditch and touched her hand.
But no. It was cold. As if she’d been here for hours, a grim feast for the birds.
His breath stopped as he took in the small holes poked in her skin, the torn flesh of her mouth. She was dead.
She’d been the one person to reach out a helping hand to him, and now she was dead.
“Killers often return to the place of their crime,” came as a whisper, and Emil looked up, his throat thick with a scream he tried to hold back. The shallow water had soaked into his boots and encased his feet with its icy grip. He only realized the words were meant for him when he met the gaze of one of the women.
“Well? Aren’t those your birds?” she asked, with panic settling in her voice despite the way she stood unflinchingly above the ditch.
Emil’s thoughts were a mess. He still held on to Zofia’s hand, wishing deep down that maybe if he managed to make it warm, her remaining eye would open. When… how could something like this happen with so many neighbors nearby? It had to be a dream, and all the eyes looking at him in accusation—an illusion. They couldn’t honestly think he’d done something so gruesome, could they?
“W-what? No, they’re not my birds! The fucking things follow me, which is hardly my fault.” In a fit of frustration, he rose, grabbed a stone, and threw it at the crows which flew up in a black cloud, as if they were one body.
This couldn’t be happening. Not in Dybukowo, not in this quiet valley where nothing ever fucking happened!