The Vault of Heaven

The Murder have carried me on their blackened wings and brought me impossibly high, dragged me into the clouds. I have seen citadels of thunderclouds and floating rock high above the earth.

In the voice of the lightning, they have told me the name of the place up there: the Vault of Heaven, a world far above our own where the only source of light is the lightning that rides the Murder wherever they go.

When the Murder inside me fill me with their power, I feel the lightning ride me too.

Haunted

A thunderstorm destroyed my place of work. That was the thunder and lightning from last night.

As I arrived, birds emerged from the burning ruins, unscathed in spite of the fire that blazed even in the pouring rain.

I heard the voice in the lightning speak once more as they flew overhead.

"Quinton Grimm. You are one of our own.
"You are our shelter, a tool for the crows."

There were no deaths. Nevertheless, I think I know why the Murder destroyed the building: they knew I hated it there, and they wanted to earn my loyalty.

They do not understand humanity, but they have ultimate power over us all.

The end of the world does not come to Atkins not because it will not come, but because it already has.

The Murder of Crows

The crows spoke to me. I swear to God that somehow, the crows spoke to me. They didn't speak in words, though. They spoke through the storm.

You see, at midnight exactly, a hundred crows cawed and thunder clapped. And somehow, I made out words in the sound of thunder that echoed from lightning that must have been miles away.

"Quinton Grimm," it said. "The Murder of Crows is coming."

I can feel something shifting inside my skin. Its talons are cold and sharp.

I'm a worm in the claws of something so much bigger than myself, and I am so scared.

Hunted

I feel like there's something watching me all the time. Not maliciously, not judgmentally, just waiting to see what I do. I don't know what it is, but I have an idea.

And I keep getting these feelings, like something's moving underneath my skin.

My heart is racing all the time, and I don't know why. I feel like I'm going to suffer from a heart attack or something because it's beating so fast all the time. I think people have started to notice it, the way I look around like something's after me, the way I flinch at every loud noise I hear.

But I don't know if I care that people notice something's wrong. I have bigger things to deal with.

Dark clouds

It's getting darker and darker out lately. The weather's not as cold as it's supposed to be, but the days are definitely getting shorter. Combined with the constant thunderstorms, it feels like the apocalypse itself is gonna come down on Atkins one of these days.

All these birds don't help, either. They're all crows, because I guess Atkins is just acutely aware of how much they creep people out.

Actually, I saw a giant flock of crows sitting on a telephone pole as I went to work today. All of them turned to look at me as I passed.

Their caws sounded somehow malicious, like they were laughing at me.

Little creeps.

Birds?!

Last post, I said I couldn't go outside anymore. That's true. However, the fact that we're constantly having crappy weather hasn't stopped me from having to go work at 7 in the morning and pretend to be happy despite having woken up at 6:30 and gone to work in the worst weather you can get other than snow, god, we get so much snow up here.

...Anyways. Point is, I saw my boss, Lydia, get attacked by crows on the way to work- you know, because apparently I live in a Hitchcock film now. I don't know what you're supposed to do in that kind of situation, but running did the trick. Mostly. She still got scratched up pretty bad.

Birds?

There are a lot of birds out lately. Not sure what's up with that.

And it's been storming a lot. Not the snowy kind, which is weird, given it's the Upper Peninsula we're talking about here. I've seen snow in July before up here. No, it's just been raining and thundering.

It's getting to the point where I can barely go outside most days.

You'd think the birds would've gotten the whole "flying south for the winter" message by now. Maybe they're just getting thrown-off by the odd weather patterns we've been having lately.

"The Broken Baron"

"Once upon a time, there was a wicked baron. One day, as he was watching the executions, a man called his name from the crowd. The baron thought of ordering him executed along with the horse thief who was already being hanged, but something told him not to.

"Instead, the baron looked down at the man to see that he was wearing a strange mask, one made of iron. The masked man beckoned to the baron.

"Suddenly, the baron found himself unable to control his movements. He walked to the masked man. The masked man took his scythe and cut him into pieces, and the baron was broken forever."

I fell asleep writing this last night. I don't really remember writing the last part, which is at least a little ominous, I think. Then again, though, I can get pretty weird when I'm tired.

"The Smith and the Devil"

This is another urban legend here in Atkins. This one reminds me of a common folklore type where a smith makes a deal with a dark spirit, hence the title I've chosen to give it. Kind of a Faustian deal, I guess.

I decided to write this one as a poem. I mean, I've already got the story, may as well do something new with it.

"There once was a man
With coal for hands.
He covered them with gloves so red and slick,
But anyone could tell his heart was sick.
He had teeth made of rust
And a mouth made of dust.
The red-handed man liked to gamble with cards
And get people to give him their hearts.
One day, the man with the glove-covered hands-
We'll call him Jack for short-
Went into his favorite bar.
He played a game of cards-
Blackjack, fittingly enough.

"He excused himself and walked away
When he saw a man drinking away
In the corner.
Jack smiled to himself.
He spoke to the drunkard,
And soon enough learned
That he had once owned the place.
Now he felt ashamed to even show his face.

"Jack hid his grin at the fate of this schmuck,
But he could hardly believe his luck.
He asked the man a simple question:
'Wouldn't you do anything to get it back?'
The man glared at him, not trusting Jack.
'That fire, that passion, that's just what I need!'
Said Jack as he patted the man on the back.
'Now, say you were in a terrible crash.
Say you were in a car and it swerved into a ditch.'
The man lowered his head. Jack's plan had caught on a hitch.
'Don't worry, my friend, it's only a thought.
But wouldn't you do anything to crawl back out?
Would you be so wary then
If a man offered you a hand?'
Jack asked as he held out his.
'All I'm asking in return is one thing.
One little thing.
You obey.'
'That's all?' the man asked, scoffing.
'I can manage that- sure thing.'
He shook hands with Jack in the corner in the dark
Of the bar with the rotting walls,
And the deal and his fate were sealed."

"Storm Chasers"

So, this blog's URL comes from the fact that I used to run a horror club at my high school. It was never very popular, and a lot of the people there were seniors, so it basically died after that year ended and they all graduated. I still have some pretty fond memories of watching the Ghost Stories dub on Halloween- which was, ironically, one of the few times we weren't actually trying to scare each other.

Here's one of the stories I did for Horror Club.

"Once there was a city called Atkins. It was a city where children told each other stories about thunderclouds that become crows to flock in black masses. Adults said they never told their children these stories, and the area was so isolated that surely the tales were the work of overimaginative children sharing wicked tales.

"One has to wonder, though, why they developed these stories of troubled minds and darkened skies that inevitably arrived in the wake of the Murder of Crows, these stories saying that when the Murder was near, you could only hope they were not watching you while you were not watching them.

"They said that the Murder entered people’s bodies. They said that the Murder nested inside humans and rearranged their brains. They said that the Murder took people so far into the air that they entered another world. They said that to the Murder, people were nothing but food and shelter.

"That, and tools."

I think I called it "Storm Chasers." I probably thought it sounded artistic or something.

The clouds outside

I don't really like fall, honestly. It makes me think of winter, and winter doesn't have rain, just snow. Rain's got a really nice sound, one you can fall asleep to, you know? You can't really do that with snow.

But if there's one thing I appreciate about fall, it's how cloudy it gets. I love the kind of darkness that comes from an overcast sky. Sunny weather all the time is boring.

Anyways, I guess I'll take a break from talking about the weather to explain the point of this blog. See, I've always wanted to be a writer, but I've never really been too great at coming up with my own concepts. So I've decided it would be neat to try and record the local folklore, like Jacob Grimm did for Germany. See, for some reason, the city of Atkins, Michigan has a bunch of urban legends that never really spread around. Even melonheads show up in Ohio and Connecticut and wherever. I'm talking about legends that are really specific to Atkins.

Fittingly enough, my name's Quinton Grimm.

One of the most enduring legends in the area is that of the Murder of Crows. I first heard about them from a friend in elementary or middle school. The way he explained it, they're these crows made of clouds that can summon thunder and lightning. No matter where you go, you aren't safe from the Murder.