As the Crow Flies

As the Crow Flies

The crow descended slowly on the roof of the cathedral. When its long tendril claws touched the lofty roof, the transition started as feathers became flesh, beak to mouth until transition was complete. No longer a crow, the woman stood looking down in the city streets glistening with rain. A smile widened on her face obscured in shadow as she picked up the clothing she had discarded before taking flight, wiggling her naked body into her bottice, petticoats and gown tucked into the vent so her clothing would not be wet. 

Her name was Willamenia Drexler and she is a shapeshifter. Women shapeshifters were rare, but a shapeshifter who could transform into a crow was almost unheard of. Her domain lies somewhere between Earth and Hell. Hunger sated, she licks the blood from her lips. Crows are the messengers of the underworld and people fear them. 

She is queen of the early Twentieth Century London where few of her kind dare intrude upon her territory. Those who do become victims of her wrath, their remains are littered across the countless dark allies in the city. Her identity remains a mystery even though her name is whispered among those who treble as they speak it. She, like the Ripper, remains a feared predator in places like Soho and other poor districts where the citizens seek the darkness to do their unspeakable deeds. 

My name is Inspector Broderick Haley of the Twelfth Precinct. Presently I am standing over the body of a murder victim, the sixth this week. For thirty years since 1886, I’ve been an investigator. In that time, I have been involved in cases I don’t even wish to talk about, not even to my wife Angela. She may know that I have seen some pretty rough stuff, but she will never know the details.

“Inspector, she is missing her eyes.” One of the officers squatting next to the victim observes.

“Already noted.” I shake my head. This victim, a nineteen year old female, was not sexually assaulted. Instead her attacker chose to consume her eyes and ears which makes identifying her a bit more difficult. 

“Is she a street walker?” One of the brawny officers asks. He has red hair and a van Dyke which has become fashionable among some of the other officers. 

“No evidence to suggest she was.” I rub my chin.  

“Yeah but women don’t come to their neighborhood unless they is working girls, eh?” He shrugs and I want to slap him for his ignorance. But he’s not the only one who thinks this either. I have two daughters at home. My oldest, Katherine, is two years shy of the victim's age. Every time I glance down at her mutilated face, I see Katherine lying there. It’s an occupational hazard when you find your own feelings becoming entangled with that of the victim’s circumstances.

“Seens like we’ve seen this before, eh?” Detective Christine Mumford stands next to me. She knows me. She knows what’s going through my mind.

“Aye.” I close my eyes and shake my head. 

“One day we’ll get her.” She pats me on the shoulder as she walks to her patrol car.

“When? How many people have to end up like her?” I pointed to the eyeless girl. 

“Brod, you’re having a nightmare.” Angela, my wife woke me from a nightmare. 

“What time is it?” I smacked my lips trying to get some moisture in my cotton dry mouth.

“Three in the morning.” She checked the alarm clock. “Are you alright, love?” 

“It was just a nightmare from the investigation.” I sipped some water from the glass on my nightstand. 

“What is going on?” She blinked her eyes.

“I can’t talk about it.” I shook my head while taking another sip of water. 

“I think the world is losing its mind, if ya ask me.” She lay back down pulling the blankets up to her chin.

At that moment two blokes sharing a bottle in an alleyway heard a noise.

“What was that, Frank?” One of them asks, pointing into the darkness.

“How the Bloody Hell should I know, Nick?” Frank takes a swig from the bottle.

“I don’ wan’ no one taking our bottle.” Nick stands up, wobbling a bit.

“Sit ya self down, Nick. Ain’t nobody gonna both us.” Frank puts the bottle down as Nick walks further into the alley. “Bloody Hell.”

The scream brought Frank as inebriated as he was to his feet.”Nick is ya alright?” 

No answer.

“Nick? Answer me.” Frank’s knees were knocking together as he walked down the dark alley. Suddenly a tall striking woman stood in front of him. “Who might you be?” 

“Willamenia.” She smiled, whipping the blood off her mouth with her arm.

“Is that so?” Frank crossed his arms over his chest. Under normal circumstances, he would invite her to have a couple of swigs from their bottle, but his instincts told him he should consider running. He should have listened to his primal instincts. Her face began to transform into a giant crow. “What the bloody Hell?”

It was too late as her beak plucked out one of his eyes. Frank screamed in agony, dropping to his knees as blood ran through his fingers. Unable to defend himself, Frank felt his other eye being removed from its socket.

“Help me!”He cried out.

“Too late.” Willamenea laughed.  

I stood in the alley where two more victims had been found. 

“So our killer kills indiscriminately.” I kneel next to the victim identified as Frank Middleton. 

“It appears that way.” Detective Mumford shook her head.

“You do remember the terror the Ripper caused down in this area.” I stood up as I could no longer take the odor of decay from the victims. 

“I do.” She tapped her foot anxiously. “I worked with Scotland Yard trying to find the killer.” 

“And you never found the bloke, did you?” 

She said nothing as she shook her head.

“I am getting that feeling again.” I rubbed my neck. “If we have another panic like that one, people are going to start demanding our resignations.”

“Excuse me.” A man pushed his way in holding a large camera.

“No photographs, please.” I put my arm out to prevent his access to the body.

“C’mon inspector, we has a right to free press.” He argued.

“Free press, but not a public panic.” I shook my head.

“Heard his eyes were plucked out.” The man smiled. I had to retrain myself from not punching him in his big old nose. He didn’t care one bit about the two victims lying dead in the alleyway. All he cared about was how sensational the headlines would be with him getting full credit for the explicit photograph. People were sick. As long as they weren’t the ones being slaughtered by some monster running free in the streets of London, they would eat it up like they did with the Ripper. I remember listening to them talk about how horrible it was, but they eagerly told each other graphic details of each of the murders. How the prostitutes were dissected, some of their parts removed while they were still alive.

How could this be happening again? 

Crows. Crows are the agents of evil. Growing up, I would help my father in the fields.

“Be wary, Broderick of them crows.” He pointed to a few fluttering overhead. “If they has the chance they will rob you of everything you have.”

“Why?” I asked him.

“No one really knows.” He shook his head, “But you must be wary when they come. You can never be safe. Never. As the crow flies.” 

Crows did a lot of damage. They always destroyed whatever they saw. When spring came, so did the crows. No sooner were the seeds in the ground when they would descend from the skies like an omen of things to come. As I grew, I learned to despise these wretched birds. 

After planting, my dad would have me help him put up a scarecrow in the middle of our fields. I did not think the crows would fall for such an obvious ploy, but every spring after planting, we would put one up hanging like Jesus from His cross to scare the crows away. Time and again, I would watch the crows circle out fields before dropping out of the sky to eat a great deal of our grain. 

When he passed away, I found out the truth. Our family farm was losing money. I barely had enough to give him a proper burial. Packing up my things, I took the train to London to become a policeman. One of my supervisors talked me into taking the test to become an inspector. I was proud when I got my badge.

It didn’t take me long to find out that being an inspector meant you were the one to get stuck cleaning up the mess everyone else left behind. And it seemed like the messes got worse and worse as time went on.

The paramedic put the bodies into the ambulances. Lights flashing and sirens wailing, the ambulances pulled out of the narrow alleyways.

“This seems to be a pattern.” Mumford shook her head as we walked back to our vehicles. 

“It’s beginning to feel like it.” I light a cigarette to help me calm my nerves. I watched Detective Mumford drive away in her Sunbeam. Smoking my cigarette, I put my foot on the floorboard and let the mist air surround me. Somewhere out there some sort of fiendish crow lurked in the shadows waiting for her next victim. With this thought floating around in my mind, I tossed my cigarette into a puddle. Hissing as it hit the puddle I climbed into my patrol car and drove away. 

Once again I eased into bed where Angela was already asleep so I thought.

“What happened?” She asked without opening her eyes.

“Two more victims.” I put my arm around her.

“Those poor girls.” She whispered.

“No, these were blokes.” 

“Are you joking?”

“I wish I was.” I turned over laying on my back staring at the blank ceiling.

“This killer sounds dangerous.” She sounded pensive.

“I believe so.” I professed my biggest fear.

“You best be careful.” She sniffed as I could tell she had tears rolling down her rosy cheeks.

“I will love.” I promised.

My dreams were about walking the fields with my father. I had a stick resting on my shoulder while my father carried his shotgun in his hands. It was a beautiful day. The sky was raging blue as the birds opened their wings to the gentle breeze. Just as we came up to our chicken coups, my father groaned as if he had been hit in his stomach.

“Don’t look, Broderick.” He put his hand out to prevent me from moving forward.

“What, pa?” I asked.

He just stood there, with his mouth open. When I saw what he was looking at, I could not believe my eyes. All of our thirty chickens had been slaughtered lying in blood and feathers.

“Bloody Hell!” He exclaimed, “It was them damn crows it were.”

He fell to his knees among the ruins sobbing, “How could I’ve let this happen?” 

“Inspector Haley.” Chief Grayson called me into his office the next morning.

“Chief.” I entered.

“I want you to have a look at the St. Thomas Cathedral. There have been some strange goings-on.” I raised his gray bushy eyebrows.

“What sort of goings-on?” I asked.

“Same as last night.” 

A sudden taste of bile filled my mouth. “I see.” 

“There is a clergyman who claims to have heard strange noises in the choir loft.” His mouth was hidden by a silver gray mustache that matched his eyebrows. “You may decide to check it out.” 

“I will.” I nodded. “I thought St. Thomas was closed down.” 

“It is.” He nodded, “Perfect place for a haunting. Doncha Think?” 

Yeah, much to my discontent, St. Thomas was a great place to haunt. No doubt she would be there.

St. Thomas had been constructed a century after Christopher Wren’s famous cathedral, but it was known for his impressive array of gargoyles that lined the roof line. Their ugly impish faces were supposed to scare off any possible intruders, but apparently they were not doing their jobs up there on the roofline. 

Entering the St. Thomas Cathedral which had been abandoned since 1789, I was nearly overcome with the musty smell that permeated everything inside the gothic structure. Much of the once ornate decor was now encased in spider web catacombs and layers of dust. On the altar was a Bible and a golden crucifix buried in over a century of debris. The floor creaked with each step I took. I could not get over the feeling that this is what Edgar Allan Poe had in mind for the settings of many of his horrifying works. 

Nevermore quoth the Raven.

Realizing the lantern I held was nearly out of fuel, an uneasy feeling overcame me as I continued to proceed from the nave to the sanctuary. The door behind the altar was bolted shut to prevent anyone from accessing whatever was behind it with a rusty chain and lock. Tugging on the chain, the lock gave way without much resistance. Opening the heavy wooden door, I saw a staircase that led toward the roof of the flying buttress. Somber music was playing from an organ above. I began to scale the steep stone stairs. As I climbed, I bushed away cobwebs that brushed against my face.

When I came to the end of the stairway, I saw a woman sitting at the ancient organ with her back to me.

“Enter Inspector Riley. I’ve been expecting you.” She struck a few keys creating a heavy chord.

“And whom do I have the pleasure of acquaintance with?” I asked taking a couple more steps toward her.

“You know who I am.” She turned to me with a wide grin on her face.

“Willamena?” 

“Correct.” She was dressed in a formal black evening gown. Her face was pale, but she wore dark eye makeup with blood red lipstick that made her appear as a demon.

“What can I do for you? You have gone through great lengths to find me.” 

“Ah yes, the thrill of the chase.” She laughed. 

“Your reputation precedes you.” 

“Such flattery.” She put her chin on her shoulder. “I am a shapeshifter.” 

She batted her eyes and smiled all part of the act of seduction, luring me into her lair where she would play her deadly game like a cat toying with a mouse.

I watched as she transitioned into a crow, her long straight nose became an elongated beak, the rest of her face morphed into the sharp features of a crow. Her arms twisted behind her back until they were no longer arms at all. They were wings covered with black feathers. Her long legs became skinless as they substantially shortened into razor sharp claws. After five minutes she no longer resembled anything human. Spreading her wings, she surrounded me by completely folding them over my entire being making me feel as though I had become a part of her. 

“Let him go!” I heard Detective Mumford’s voice from beyond the prison I had found myself engulfed in. Turning to face Detective Mumford, Willameana hissed at her, opening her beak to aggressively attack Mumford who had her service revolver pointed at Willameana, but I could tell her hands were shaking as she held her revolver. I, on the other hand, was unarmed as I had left my revolver in my vehicle. 

At that moment, I heard three shots. When I looked up I saw the large crow stagger as Mumford’s eyes were wide open. The crow fell to the ground.

“I shot it.” Mumford held her smoking revolver, dropping it with revulsion.  

Kneeling down next to the wounded crow, I watched as she began her transition back to human form. As soon as she was Willameana once again, she looked up at me and smiled, “We could have had a great life together.”

“I rather doubt that.” I shook my head.

“You always dreamed of flying when you were a boy.” Her raspy voice was just a faint whisper, “We could have flown as far as the crow flies…you and me.”

Her eyes fluttered and closed as she took her last breath.

“I had no idea.” I bowed my head as I heard the sirens echoed through the night.

Later I would find out that she had been cursed by a witch as a child. She became a companion to the witch who had cursed her gathering an abundance of souls for the harvest in the autumn.