Auguries and Forebodings

"Why?"

Elana Marin asked the world, in general, the question for the third time that morning.

"Why?"

The village or world seemed reluctant to answer. Nothing was obviously wrong. The October sky was pale but clear. Smoke rose in thin gray columns from the chimneys above the roofs. Somewhere beyond the church, a delivery truck groaned into gear. Yet the morning felt misplaced, as though Elana had awakened on the correct day of the week, but something was seriously off; she was late, yet again. Even the bells of St. Joseph Cathedral had sounded strange at seven, one stroke too many, she thought she heard.

She hurried along the narrow path toward town, pulling her coat tighter as the wind was blowing harder than usual on this brisk, blustery morning.

"Why?"

"Elana Marin, you know it is a bad omen to talk to yourself. I have known you and your family since you were born. I have reminded you of this time and again."

Elana stopped beside a low iron gate. Ana Dumitru stood in her garden with both hands resting on the top of a broom. She was a respected spinster in the village, seventy or maybe older, since the rumor was that she stopped aging, with silver hair pinned tightly behind her head and the permanent expression of someone who had spent a lifetime expecting trouble and rarely been disappointed. Ana had watched over Elana, an honest, forthright, perfectionist since she was small, tending to her while her parents worked. In all those years, the old woman's appearance had scarcely changed. Her hair had always been silver, her back always straight, and her eyes always sharp. Elana had never given the matter much thought. Some people seemed to grow old and then stop.

"What did you say?"

"It is a bad sign when you talk to yourself; it attracts attention, and answering voices or your name is an invitation. You never know what or who may answer, or from where."

Ana crossed her arms, closed her eyes, and made the sign of the cross. Elana sighed. "I overslept again. I'm late."

"There are worse things than being late."

"I imagine so, but not for me right now."

Ana studied Elana. "You look tired."

"Trouble sleeping. I wake up, lie there forever trying to shake the feelings, although I can't remember what the dream was about, then finally fall asleep again and oversleep." Elana hesitated, then laughed. "And apparently I've started talking to myself again."

Ana did not laugh. Elana continued. "Besides, strange things have been happening in the house. Monday, I was muttering to myself about Sergei and his demands before I kicked him out last month, and a bottle fell from the table. Perhaps I didn’t set it down right. Tuesday, while making dinner, I was reciting the recipe aloud, and a pot came off the wall where my father had hung it, secured for three years. I used it the night before; I could not have put it away properly. Yesterday a chair tipped over by itself. I shouted out at the house in anger, after stubbing my toe. Nothing dramatic. All coincidences. Windows open, old floors, crooked furniture."

Ana's grip tightened on the broom. "Elana, things that fall without being touched are not always coincidences, my dear."

"Oh, Ana." Elana lifted her left eyebrow.

"It's a sign."

Elana smiled and continued being polite. "Of course it is."

"A sign of death or serious trouble."

"Yes, so I've been told. But I really must go. You can give me the full list of omens later. Broken mirrors, black cats, ravens, owls, whatever else is waiting to ruin my week. I'm still here, alive and well."

She started away. Ana called after her. "If you hear someone call your name and no one is there, do not answer. Living alone in that house is not good for a young lady. You should find yourself another man who values you. Company makes life easier, my dear."

Elana turned around and walked back several steps. "Anything else?"

"Yes. A nice single boy lives just past your office. Andrei Popa, you know he has eyes for you."

Elana approached the gate. "Ana, you know I'm an independent woman.”

"Andrei Popa is a good man," Ana said.

"So was Sergei. At first."

Ana stared at her. "Not all men are Sergei."

"Perhaps not. But I have my work, my house, and my freedom. I like them all."

"Even when the house grows lonely?"

"Especially then."

"You are young and need to embrace love, my dear."

"Meh, love, another illusion."

"Do not mock what you do not understand."

Elana gave her a little wave. "I'll probably see you later, if the boogeyman doesn't get me."

She laughed and continued toward town. Ana did not. At work, Elana felt the first real uneasiness of the day. The moment she crossed the threshold of the records office, goosebumps traveled down both arms and up and down her back. It was so sudden that she stopped in the doorway. Someone's walking over my grave, she thought. Elana nearly laughed aloud. Ana was getting into her head. Really bad this time. It was the lack of sleep, she told herself. She worked through the day, stayed thirty minutes late to make up for the morning lateness, and deliberately took a different route home to avoid Ana. She told herself it was because the other path was shorter. It was not. By the time darkness settled over the village, she had almost forgotten the conversation.

 At 11:47 PM that night, a dog began howling. Elana lay awake listening to the noise. The animal did not bark. It howled in long, mournful notes that rose and fell with pitch and volume at such regularity that after several minutes she could predict when the next volley would begin. Finally, she threw off the blanket.

"You've got to be kidding me." Elana had a few other choice words she kept to herself.

She pulled on slippers, took a flashlight, and stepped outside. The village road was empty. The dog stood twenty meters away in the middle of the road, staring down the footpath leading toward the fields.

"Hey."

It ignored her. Her flashlight beam swept over hedges, fence posts, wet grass, and the empty path. She looked for a reason for the dog's strange behavior. Nothing.

"Come here."

The dog howled again. A chill moved over Elana's body. Not cold. Something else. Similar to when she stopped at the threshold at work. Only more intense.

"Stop it. Do you want a treat? Get out of here."

The dog lowered its head but never looked at Elana. Its eyes remained fixed on the path. Then came a metallic crack overhead. Elana looked up. The old wrought-iron weathervane on her neighbor's gabled roof tore away from its rusted mounting. For one impossible second it seemed to hang against the moonlit sky. Then it flipped, cartwheeled downward, and struck the road less than two meters in front of Elana with a violent clang, scattering orange flakes of rust everywhere. The dog yelped and bolted. Elana froze. The fallen weathervane arrow pointed directly toward her house. A coincidence? The thought came quickly, almost desperately. A rusted bracket. Gravity. Bad luck. Nothing more. Still, she backed toward her door without turning around. She dropped the flashlight while fumbling with the key, stumbled inside, and slammed the door and locked it.

BAM! Elana jumped.

BAM! BAM! Someone, or something, struck the door hard enough to shake it in the frame.

"Who is it?" Silence.

She stood on tiptoe and looked through the peephole. No one. BAM! BAM! BAM!

The sudden banging shook her up, and she fell backward a few steps.

"Who is it? Who is there?"

Again, nothing. The knocking stopped - total, deafening silence.

"This isn't right," Elana whispered. "Something's just not right."

She remained by the door for another 20 minutes until she stopped shaking and her breathing slowed. Eventually, she went upstairs, back to bed, and fell asleep. She dreamed of a black field under a white sky. Hundreds of birds stood motionless among the dead stalks in the lifeless light of dawn, all facing away from her.

One bird turned. A raven. It opened its beak. "Elana."

She woke with a gasp. She recognized the voice as her mother’s, but that was impossible. Her mother was caring for her grandfather far away in another city. Morning light pressed weakly through the curtains. Her clock read 8:37.

"Why? Why?" She slammed her fist onto the bed.

"Because."

Elana sat upright. The voice, female, soft, close. "Momma?" No answer. She searched through the entire house, then stood motionless in the kitchen. Nothing. "Now I'm hearing voices. I really need to get some decent sleep." On the floor beneath the window lay three black feathers. She stared at them. The window was closed and locked from the inside. Elana picked one up. A raven's feather, perhaps. Or a crow. She was no expert. She hid one in a drawer and discarded the others. At the records office, she could not concentrate. She tried to work but kept making small mistakes. Twice she entered the wrong year into a file. Once she opened a drawer and forgot why. At noon, a shadow crossed her desk. She looked toward the window. A raven sat on the sill outside. Its feathers were glossy black, but the light caught shades of blue and violet along its neck. It watched her with one bright eye. Elana waved it away. The bird did not move.

"Go."

"Move."

"Shoo."

"Scat."

"Get the hell out of here!"

It tilted its head. Something about the movement made her think of Ana. Elana stood quickly and shut the blinds. When she opened it ten minutes later, the bird was gone. A black feather lay on the windowsill. She left it. That evening, Ana waited at Elana's gate.

"You came home the other way yesterday," she said.

"So?"

"So, you avoided me."

"I was tired."

Ana looked toward the roofline of the neighboring house. "I heard about the weathervane."

"Actually, everyone has, apparently."

"It landed the arrow pointing at your house, Elana."

Ana's expression sharpened. "Listen to me. A dog howled at an empty road. Iron fell from the roof at your feet. And this morning, you heard something answer you. I’ve told you about these signs since you were a little girl, to protect you from the evil that lurks everywhere."

Elana stopped. "What did you say?"

"You heard a voice."

"How could you possibly know that? I haven't told anyone."

Ana looked away.

"I dreamed it, and I am frightened for you." For the first time in all the years Elana had known her, the old woman looked truly scared.

Ana continued, "Did you find feathers? If so, don’t keep them. Remove them from wherever they are left and throw them outdoors. It is a form of gifting. They’ll want something in return."

Elana said nothing.

"If you hear your name, Elana, do not answer. And if a bird speaks to you, do not speak back. It allows them to manipulate you."

Elana had enough of this talk. "Ana, I must get dinner started so I can get to bed early." Elana went inside and locked the door without waiting for a response. The weekend passed without incident. The dog did not return. No objects fell. No voices spoke. No birds appeared at her window. By Monday morning, Elana had nearly convinced herself that the strange occurrences of the previous week amounted to nothing more than an extraordinary series of coincidences.

Having the day off, she cleaned the house, opened the curtains, washed her clothes, and finally discarded the black feather she had hidden in the kitchen drawer. Elana glanced toward the calendar. Ana's warnings were beginning to take hold of her imagination, and she didn't like it one bit. Five days. Five unexplained incidents. Each had begun with her speaking aloud to herself. Elana closed the calendar. Perhaps it was finally over. Elana sat down, made a cup of tea, and grabbed some cookies. Smiling to herself, she knew her imagination was running wild. Elana relaxed and even chuckled to herself.

“Omens, Meh.” An hour later, a soft tap came from the window. Elana did not turn.

“No.”

Tap. Tap.

She closed her eyes.

Tap.

Slowly, she looked. The raven stood on the sill outside. The same bird; she was certain. It must be. Ridiculous, she thought. There were thousands of ravens. It tapped the glass once with its beak. Elana approached the window. The raven hopped backward onto the outer ledge.

"Go away." Elana waved her hands toward it. The bird stared. Then it flew toward the path leading out of the village. Elana watched until it disappeared. Elana put her hands on either side of her head. "This is madness." She paused, then reached for her coat. Perhaps it was anger. Perhaps embarrassment. Perhaps she wanted to prove that Ana's warnings were superstition at best, an annoyance at worst.

“I'll prove Ana wrong,” Elana said, and followed the bird. The raven waited on a fence post at the edge of the fields, leading her somewhere. It seemed to take forever to follow. The wind howled through the narrow village streets, whipping violently around corners and rattling windows as powerful gusts swept across. She pulled her coat tight around her. As she closed in, it flew another fifty meters and landed. Elana followed again.

"So, this is what I'm doing now?" she muttered. "Following a bird?"

The raven took flight again, several more times. Elana had no idea where it was taking them. Finally, it led her toward the abandoned orchard beyond the village, where twisted apple trees stood among waist-high weeds. Elana stopped and looked at the orchard. She thought, “I’m not going to go in there.” Instantly, all sounds from the world around her disappeared. No traffic. No children playing. No church bell. No insects. No bird calls. Nothing. Even her footsteps appeared muffled. The raven landed on the low stone wall bordering the orchard. Elana reluctantly arrived where the bird was resting and stopped. She hung her coat on the wall.

"All right," she said. "You've brought us here."

The raven turned its head.

"What do you want?"

The bird opened its beak. Nothing. Elana laughed nervously. "Of course. I'm standing in an abandoned orchard talking to a bird." Then it spoke.

"Elana."

Her breath caught. The bird flew off. Elana moved farther between the twisted apple trees. Their bare branches stretched above her like fingers reaching up from under the ground to close around you and pull you down. The silence was deafening. The blustery wind stopped; no distant traffic reached her beyond the orchard, and the dry leaves beneath her shoes made no sound. She stopped, suddenly aware of how far she had wandered from the stone wall.

"I'm leaving." Directly behind her, someone whispered. "Why?"

Elana froze. It was her voice. Not similar, but exact. The same tone, the same inflection, even the slight impatience with which she had spoken the previous Thursday. There was no one there. Movement between two apple trees. Something dark. Too small for a person.

"Who's there?" No answer, more deafening silence. That was when pure horror overcame her. No explanation, coincidences, or imagination, just undefined terror. She remembered Ana's warning. You never know what or who may answer, or from where.

"Ana," she whispered. She desperately wished she had listened. Elana turned toward the orchard entrance, but where was it? She could not see the wall where she hung her coat or the entrance. She ran in several directions. She stopped.

"I need to calm down. I only walked no more than a short distance." Elana was visibly shaking. Somewhere behind her, a woman laughed. It was a soft, familiar laugh - her own. Elana spun around.

"Stop it!" The laughter ceased. She stood motionless, breathing heavily, trying to control the panic that was rising at an alarming rate. She heard footsteps. Someone was following her. She backed up one step. So did whoever was following. Then another. Something mimicked her, stepping when she did. Again, something moved among the trees, matching her exactly.

"WHO ARE YOU?"

No one responded for a long 30 seconds; then, from somewhere ahead, her own voice answered.

"Who are you?"

Elana covered her mouth.

No one ever saw Elana again. All that remained was her coat neatly hung over the orchard wall. Police discovered her shoes neatly placed side by side beneath a twisted apple tree, more than 100 meters from where they found her coat. No blood. No signs of a struggle. No one could explain why her shoes lay so carefully beneath that tree, with no mud on the shoes and no footprints in the mud.

Three nights after the search for Elana ended, Ana Dumitru woke shortly before midnight. Someone was standing outside her gate. She did not know how she knew. She did. From her bedroom, she heard the faint metallic creak of the gate moving upon its hinges. Ana rose and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Downstairs, the house was silent. Through the front window, she could see the deserted path beneath the moonlight. A raven sat upon the gatepost. It watched her. Ana reached for the cross at her throat.

"Go away," she whispered. The bird did not move. She immediately regretted speaking. Slowly, the raven opened its beak. Nothing came out. Behind Ana, something stirred. A faint rustling, like fabric brushing against the floor. Then a breath against her ear. A young woman's voice. A voice she had known since its owner was a child. Finally, Ana hears the same word.

"Why?"

Ana closed her eyes. She did not turn around.