‘Attempted Murder’ by Leslie Wibberley

I peered through the windshield of our ancient Buick. Dark clouds of birds filled the twilight sky in an undulating stream, wings beating with singular intent as they headed to their nightly roosting spots. Many more perched on rooftops, along wires and fences, and in the trees that lined the street. 

Blue-black demons disguised as crows.

Goosebumps erupted across my skin and a cold sweat trickled down my back. My breathing changed tempo, becoming shallow and rapid. The muscles in my chest tightened as my heart rate accelerated. Nausea danced through my belly.

Holy shit, Agnes, pull yourself together. You’ve been driving through this same neighbourhood twice a week for two months. Get over it. 

I wondered if it was finally time to see someone about this phobia of mine.

Reading my mind, Frankie, my fifteen-year-old daughter, asked, “What do you suppose they’re thinking about?” 

“The crows?” 

“Yeah. They seem so intent. They must be thinking about something important.” From the corner of my eye I could see her hands waving expansively at the front windshield and passenger-side window. 

The roosting birds stared down at us, their beady eyes filled with malevolence as the Buick limped along the street. 

“Probably about who they should murder.”