As The Crow Flies...

There is something fascinating about the crossroad. The idea itself has so many layers in it and each layer is a different idea in its own. The concept of one simple choice altering your entire path and creating an adventure of its own is what keeps me up at night.

Every day, on the way home from work, I come up on a crossroads. Well, more like a three-way fork in the road, each direction another branch in my own personal fate. In order for me to go home, I have to go right. To go to the city, I turn left, but never in my twenty-five years of working, have I ever gone straight. The allure of the middle road has never been there before today. For some reason, on my way home from work, something deep in the middle road was calling my name. No, not my name. It was calling my soul. The pure energy force inside my body, my true self. And it was calling it by a name I had never heard. With absolute certainty, whatever was on that road knew that my soul would answer the call, but I was nervous, scared even, of that absoluteness in which it knew my soul’s name. I ignored the call and turned right, a strange heat cascading down my spine, spreading to my heart and lungs, my heart bumping in my chest and my lungs tightening. I push my foot on the gas and speed down the road, the call getting fainter and fainter until eventually, it disappears. I make it back home and run in the house, not even bothering to get my stuff out of the car. I collapse on the kitchen floor and start sobbing, my lungs tightening again, this time from the tears and not the call.

“What-what was that?” I ask to the silence, the only response the hum of the air conditioning.

I slowly get back up and open the fridge, pulling out a soda, the carbonation bringing me back to the present. Walking back out to my car, I grab my work bags and shuffle into the house, shutting the front door, not even bothering to lock it. With no regard to friends, or food, I climb into bed and curl into the fetal position, sleep rushing at me without a hello.

A loud ringing noise wakes me up, and I turn, seeing the red light of the landline flashing in the dark. Climbing out of bed, I pick up the phone, untangling the wire.

“Is this the residence of Miles Montgomery?” a monotoned voice asks over the line.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“That does not matter as of yet. Please respond with a yes or no. Is this the residence of Miles Montgomery?” the voice asks again, a slight note of irritation inflected in its robotic monotony.

“Yes. This is he. Why are you calling me at two in the morning. Isn’t there a law against this?” I rub my eyes, trying to rub away the heavy, swollen feeling in my eyelids.

“Where we come from, there are no such laws. To us, anytime is the right time. Only we know the right time when it is revealed to us at the right time. Do you understand, Miles Montgomery?”

“No but let’s pretend that I do.” I moan, my head pounding all of a sudden.

“It is dire that you understand us, Miles Montgomery. It is dire indeed.”

“Well it’s dire for me to get some sleep. I have work tomorrow, wait, today. I’m sure you do as well.”

“If you do not understand, then there will be no need for work tomorrow. When you arrive at the crossroads, you must take the middle. We attempted to summon you previously, but you ignored our summons, rather abruptly we must add. When you hear our summons again. Accept. If you do not, there will be a great altercation. One that we will not be able to stop. Now rest, Miles Montgomery, and when you wake, remember what we have instructed. Accept.” The voice finishes, and with an abrupt click, the line goes dead. Not even an end tone. I slam the receiver back on the dock and shuffle back to bed, not even a sliver of sleep reaching my brain. What feels like an eternity later, my alarm clock goes off. The early morning sun slants through the east window and paints my room a gilded blue. With a groan that would put a bear to shame, I roll over and smack the clock off the nightstand, missing the snooze button altogether which means I now have to get out of bed and chase a rolling, screaming, alarm clock across the room. Of course, since I am severely sleep deprived, in the end, I banged my shin twice, stubbed at least nine of my toes on separate pieces of furniture, and I knocked over a lamp when I slammed my knee into the nightstand. Overall, I would not recommend buying a round alarm clock, no matter how good of a deal it seems. Do not do it.

Without hurting myself any more than I already have, I somehow stumble through a quick breakfast of cereal and milk, and make it to my car, and then halfway out the driveway, I remember that in order for me to go to work, I need my work bags. Finally, a mere fifteen minutes late, I show up to work with some new bruises to match the circles under my eyes.

“Good morning young man,” a soft Southern voice calls from the foyer.

“Hey there Linda. How’s life been since yesterday?”

“It’s been alright to me. How about you dear?” A low creaking sound approaches me as Linda, my primary care patient, rolls into the room, her old wicker wheelchair groaning with each movement.

“Could be better. Hey, you’ve been living in this area for a while. What’s down that middle road? You know, where the city turn is?” I ask, hoping somewhere in her fading memory she has a clue.

“Hmmm. I can’t recall a middle road. Not since I’ve lived here. Maybe it’s new. A construction road perhaps.” She offers up, her cloudy eyes reflecting a dull, aged light.

“That’s probably what it is. Sorry to bother you with that.” I sigh in frustration.

“Why do you ask?” She looks at me, squinting her eyes to focus on my face.

“Just saw a middle road yesterday on the way home. It looked old and unused.”

Her milky stare intensifies, and I look away. “Mm. A road that appears when one was not there. Sounds like the work of a demon. Be warned, young man. The demons are not to be messed with. Crossroads are their territory. Stay clear of that middle road, or you may be lost to us forever.”

I quickly give her the meds and check on her husband, who is bedridden with the flu.

“Is Linda causin’ you problems again boy?” he asks, his raspy voice thick with mucus.

“No more than she already does, sir.”

“None of that sir crap. We both adults here. And I ain’t callin’ you sir. Call me Stephen. I’ll call you Miles.” With a wet cough, he hacks up a wad of snot into his handkerchief and expertly tosses it into the hamper across the room.

“You feeling any better Stephen?” I ask, pulling out a thermometer and a pressure cuff.

“No better than yesterday, but I ain’t dying. Not yet at least. I’m too young for that.” He smiles and opens his mouth. I stick the thermometer under his tongue and strap the cuff around his right arm.

He grimaces when I puff up the cuff and I tap the gauge, watching the needle jump.

“How’th it look, Doc?” he asks, his voice muffled by the thermometer.

“Blood pressure is a little high, but your temperature is going down. I think you’ll be up in no time, Stephen. Just rest and eat plenty of soup. Drink some real water. No coffee or beer okay?” I give him an accusing look.

“But they got water in ‘em.”

“Not the right kind of water, Stephen. If you want to get better, you need to listen to what I say. I didn’t take six years of school for nothing.” I smile and unstrap the cuff, the Velcro rasping in the quiet room.

“I heard y’all downstairs, boy. What’s this thing about demons?” His hand clasps a cross around his neck, almost subconsciously.

“Just some ramblings from Linda is all. I saw a middle road up at the fork and I was asking her about it.” I admit, putting my tools away.

“Well don’t rely on her memory too much, Miles. She isn’t much there anymore. Don’t want her thinkin’ on demons and such, you get what I mean?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” I let my head fall, memories of my own father giving a talk similar to this years ago.

“No need t’ be sorry. Just be aware, is all. And it ain’t demons, boy. It’s those fairies.”

“Stephen, that’s not very nice to say.” I give him a sad look.

“Not that kind Miles. I don’t give a rat’s behind about them. I’m talking about the fae. Ancient magical folks, them fae are. Known for their tricks and puzzles. You hear them callin’ ya?” he leans closer, a thick cough bubbling up from his lungs.

“The fae aren’t real Stephen. Those are just children’s stories to keep them safe from strangers.”

“That’s what you think. Now answer me, have ya heard them callin’ ya?’

“I felt them yesterday.” I admit, my face burning with embarrassment.

He leans even closer, signaling for me to lower my head. He puts his mouth almost on my ear and whispers something haunting.

“They want your soul, Miles. Linda was right with that part. They could care less about your body. They want your soul back. Were you ever ‘missing’ as a kid? Maybe strangers come up to you like they recognize you, and somewhere, deep in your mind, a flicker of recognition sparks.”

“How- how did you know?” I stutter, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed.

“Because boy, the same thing happened to me. I was taken by the fae. Shortly after, I was returned to them, with no memory of how long I was gone or what happened to me. People would come up to me, glad to see me so healthy and happy, and I would have no idea what they meant. ‘Of course, I’m healthy’ I would tell them. Why wouldn’t I be?” he pauses, catching his breath.

“Do you see the middle road?” I ask, and he gives me a short nod. “How do you ignore it?”

“You don’t Miles. You can’t. They will keep calling your soul. Calling your home. You must do something. Why do you think I quit working. If I had to drive past that road one more time, I wouldn’t have been able to resist. I would have gone down that road, my own life be damned.”

“I can’t just quit my job. I have barely enough to pay my bills as it is. I need your help.” A soft whine escapes my throat and I get up and run out the room, Stephen calling after me. I run down the hall and pass Linda, who starts rambling about demons, her voice getting more frantic with each second. I make it to my car and collapse in the drivers seat. I look back up at the house and see Linda, her frail hands banging on the window, the glass spiderwebbing more and more with each hit. With all of her strength, she smashes it open and starts yelling, her voice raw with rage, spit flying out of her mouth, her arms and hands bleeding profusely, the skin flayed so much that muscle glistens under the wet, red blood. A rather large shadow walks up behind her and a rough hand sticks a needle in her neck. After a few seconds, she slumps over, the shadow catching her head before it hits the glass. Her wheelchair gets pulled back and Stephen walks up to the window, holding the now empty syringe in one had, a roll of bandages in the other. He gives me a curt nod and closes the blinds. I start my car and jolt out of the driveway, making it halfway down the road before realizing my seat belt chime is going off repeatedly.

Before I know it, I make it to the crossroads and that longing feeling fills my bones. The fae are calling my soul, and I can’t ignore it anymore. I drive up to the middle road and turn my car off.

“Seems disrespectful to drive,” I say to myself, setting the keys on the tire. I pull out a pad of paper and write a quick note, pinning it under the wiper blade. I walk to the mouth of the road and try to peer in, but all I can see are trees and bushes. I take a deep breath and step onto the path, and with a last glance at my car, I keep walking, the forest closing around me.

“Hello child. It’s been too long,” a deep, monotone voice says from behind me. A rare smile stretches on my face, a strange, warm feeling cascading down my spine, tightening my lungs and touching my heart.

“Hello Stephen. I’ve missed you.”

“Now son, I am Father now. Stephen is long gone. How are the humans?”

“Never better.”

“That’s good my son. That’s good.”

Ten Months Later

A silver car pulls up to the crossroads, its headlights reflecting off the taillights of Miles’ car. A young woman gets out and walks cautiously up to the car, a feeling of unease filling her blood. She notices the note and pulls it out from under the wiper. After ten months in the elements, only two words remain; middle road. The woman sets the note back on the car and looks at the middle road, and something from within the road calls to her, to her soul. And she answers…