Counting Crows

There was a sickening finality to the crunch of gravel beneath the taxi’s tires as it drove away. Don’t leave me here, I mentally begged, but the driver couldn’t possibly know that he was leaving me stranded here.

I shook off the lingering sense of foreboding as I marched toward the Gothic manor, dragging my luggage behind me, but maybe I have multiple personality disorder or something because my mind was split. On the surface, I was thinking about mundane things like whether or not the chefs at my new school will scramble the eggs or poach them. However, my subconscious was busy fretting about whether or not the taxi driver was at all concerned about leaving a fourteen-year-old all alone in the middle of nowhere.

Who could ever need a driveway this long? Why couldn’t the taxi driver drop me off by the door? The manor’s grounds were expansive, and I was certain it was stunning in the springtime, but in the late autumn, everything was skeletal, and the tree branches resembled knarled arms reaching for me.

I glanced at the horizon as I neared the imposing doors that were twice the necessary size-who could ever be that tall? The twilight sky was quickly fading into angry streaks of scarlet and purple, like painful bruises after a fistfight.

My trunk bounced against my ankles as I pulled it up the creaky wooden steps. Ouch. Speaking of bruises, that’s going to leave a mark. I smoothed my rumpled uniform, reaching up with the other hand to knock the dark wood when the door silently opened inward.

The woman opening the door was tall and thin with hollow cheeks and wiry black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her thin lips were permanently pursed and her skin was almost translucent. I was trying to decide if she resembled a skeleton or a ghost more when she spoke in a delicate, high voice. “Welcome to the Whitewood School for Excellence in Young Women. I am Headmistress Holloway. I presume you are Luella Moss, our newest student.”

My mouth moved of its own accord. “It’s Luna.”

The headmistress looked as if I had just puked on her sensible shoes. “Ma’am,” she corrected me.

Oh, I thought, so this is how it’s going to be. “I prefer Luna, ma’am.” She nodded briskly, still with the expression that the idea of calling me by a nickname made her physically ill.

“Mr. Byrne, please take Miss Moss’s luggage to her room.” I nearly jumped out of my skin when an aging man appeared out of nowhere behind Ms. Holloway, but neither seemed to notice my surprise. She hadn't even stopped talking. "I will be giving her a tour of the school."

Ms. Holloway began walking briskly into the moody halls without further adieu, leaving me to scramble to catch up.

I immediately realized that this was going to be a long tour. The headmistress must've felt obligated to give me the entire history of every tattered rug and exceptionally large dust mote as if I might care. I was tuning her out when I saw something outside the antique window: crows.

Exactly four of the hallowed birds were perched on the withered branches of an ancient oak tree, each watching me with soulless eyes, and a sable memory dripped darkness into my vision, filling me with dread.

One for agony, two for pure bliss

Three for a day you cannot miss

Four for blood, five for truth swallowed

Six for a secret bleak and hollowed

Seven for luck, eight for lost curses

Nine for her alluring cruel verses

Ten for cold, eleven for trial

Twelve for the innocent exile

Thirteen for the crow’s volatile luck

Which can’t be found until all have struck

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the Counting Crows Prophecy had begun. Oh, no. The truth dawned on me with a terrible light. Four crows for blood.

"Ms. Holloway, I-"

She glared at me fiercely, silencing me. "Miss Moss, you will learn in your etiquette class that you do not interrupt people when they are speaking. Since you have not been taking anything similar to our curriculum, I will excuse this behavior for today, but you have been warned to never repeat it at the risk of detention. If you must interject, say ex-"

A blood-chilling scream interrupted her lecture, and my only thought was, Will she get detention for that?

For a moment, genuine fear broke up Ms. Holloway's stern expression. "Not again," she whispered under her breath.

"Again?" My voice quavered. "What do you mean again?"

"Wait here," she ordered, ignoring my concerns.

Now let me ask you this-if this were to happen to you, would you stay by yourself in a creepy, possibly haunted mansion after someone screamed bloody murder? No, you wouldn't.

I followed her.

I wish I hadn't.

The victim had been stabbed to death in her dorm room. Her platinum blond hair was fanned out, and her pretty grey eyes were glassy. An ornate silver dagger was clutched in her pale hand. Viscous, scarlet blood slowly dripped off the point, and a screeching crow was engraved on the pommel. I shuddered to think who would ever create such a horrific weapon.

The scene was twisted and utterly wrong. The girl wouldn't have done that to herself, I was sure of it, but the knife was in her hand.

I shouldn't be here. I should've been in that empty hallway, I should've been enraptured by my tour instead of looking out the window. I should've never seen the four crows, and the crows should've never seen me. I should've never been in the Whitewood School of Excellence in Young Women

The world started to spin, fading at the edges. I held the doorframe with white knuckles, but my hand slipped. Luckily, the floor floated up to catch me before I could fall. As the darkness closed in, a final regret swirled through my blurry mind.

I should have never counted the crows.