As the Raven Flies

Hi all, here's my latest story 'As the Raven Flies'. Written on a really bizarre idea one evening it all appeared formulated in my head, which was brilliant, and broke a pretty mean bash of writer's block! Big thanks to Rebecca Emin for her constant support and advice, she's a star! I hope you enjoy As the Raven Flies! Remember to leave your feedback and follow me on Twitter @Harry_Tennison.

As the Raven Flies

By Harry Tennison

It was late-evening. The sun had set and the moon basked everything in an eerie light. A man sat with his wife and children around a table, each in a wooden chair. But there was one chair empty. The woman’s face was grave, the strain of knowing making her old before her time. Her weathered lips opened, forcing the food down, not noticing the taste.

Their house was next to the village square. The square was surrounded by shops and houses: a butcher was locking his door. The village guard was shutting the large oak doors, blocking access. A raven sat on the wall surrounding the village, croaking loudly.

The guard hesitated; he could hear footsteps in the distance. A figure rode upon a hazel coloured horse, saluted the guardsman as he thundered past and stopped in the square. The villagers had spilled out, eager to hear what their visitor had to say.

He threw back his travellers hood and said simply:

“He is coming.”

The villagers looked at one another, murmuring to their friends, all repeating what the man had said.

He is coming.

Then, as if by magic, the moon fell behind a cloud. A thick mist appeared and a wicked chill sped through the air.

“Go, run!” the man cried to the villagers, “I’ll hold him back!”

They all knew he didn’t stand a chance.

He is coming.

The people scrambled, tumbling through secret passages hidden deep in cellars, climbing the high wall that surrounded them. But not everyone.

Through the mist he came. His black shadow bore down upon the remaining man, standing alone. He continued to walk: there was nothing. He opened the door silently. There he was sitting in his chair.

“So you came.” The man said.

“I always do.” A sinister voice floated around his head.

“Why are you here?” He asked, his voice shaking.

“I’ve come to do what I should have done a long time ago.” The foul voice hissed back.

“Please, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do not test me.”

The man stood up and turned, and immediately felt weak: drained of all emotion.

“Take me.”

“Of course.”

The wife and children sat upstairs, listening. They heard one man speak, the husband and father they knew well...but then he stopped. One of the children began to cry, running out of the room in a vain search of something to stop her tears. Suddenly she stopped crying.

He is coming.

The other ran after the first, blind in fear, shouting her name. But he was then silent.

He is coming.

The wife was silent, too scared to make a noise. A lone candle in the corner of the room flickered, before turning blue. The wicked chill filled the room and the candle went out.

“I told you I was coming.”

Anyone who remained that night will have heard a piercing scream break the deathly silence which hung over the village that night. They will have seen a figure leaving the house he once called home. A raven flew low over the village square. It was caught in the air and, with an explosion of fire, disappeared. And Death accompanied him. His work here was done.