I wouldn’t say she’s ‘mean’ to me, because that would imply she has thetimeto act the part. For years, Vanessa’s entire focus has been on academics and dance. And if, by some miracle, she manages to scrape up any free time, she spends it with her friends.
Last month, I saw her for a combined total of an hour.
Honestly, I just miss my big sister.
I had hoped that, with my now-vacant schedule and the lack of schoolwork, she and I could find some time to hang out, but our stepmom has been glued to her side whenever she’s home.
And with them both walking out the door, I find myself completely and utterly alone.
Usually, I’d go on my morning run, but with the lie about my ankle, it probably wouldn’t look too good if I ran into…well, pretty much anybody, at least for the next week or so. And since I only have my learner’s permit and no adult passenger, I can’t go anywhere.
Seems like it’s back upstairs to Leslie Knope and the good people of Pawnee, Indiana.
I snatch up a couple of cinnamon rolls and a can of soda—the breakfast of champions—and return to my room, flopping back down on the mattress. Before I can so much as lick the icing from my fingers, something drops down from the top of my armoire, swoops across the bedroom, and lands on my thigh.
I go still, finding beady little eyes and a beak peering up at me.
Common grackles are known for congregating in the treetops right behind the house, and with the bottom half of my window still wide open, it shouldn’t be too surprising to find that one may have flown into my room. Hell, you can hear the constant cooing from here.
But this isn’t a grackle or even a crow.
It’s a raven.
And a giant one at that.
Its front feathers appear torn, and various scars mar its body, the worst one so close to its eye.
My brain barely has time to process what I’m seeing as I react on impulse, and let me tell you, my instincts leave much to be desired.
I shriek and swat at the bird, tossing my food and drink aside as I scramble sideways. The effort has me tumbling off the bed and hitting the floor. I expect the raven to make a play for my abandoned cinnamon rolls, but oh, would I be wrong.
It comes to the side of the bed and practically dive-bombs down on me. I don’t hold back my scream as I scuttle across the floor, hearing the rush of wings right by my ear. I’m not sure if it’s using its talons or beak, but something repeatedly grabs hold of my hair with a rough yank. When I feel feathers brush my forehead, I don’t bother with critical thinking, too terrified by the prospect of this damn thing pecking out my eyes!
I thrash my hands above my head, not caring that I likely just swatted the bird right in the face. The second I feel it knocked away, I dart into the closet, collapsing on the floor. That doesn’t seem to deter the raven from its mission, because even after I’ve shut the door and curled up into a ball in the corner, I can hear scrapes and pecks and the flurry of flapping wings along the doorjamb as it lets out shrill caws.
Seriously, is this thing possessed?
And how do I get it out? Animal control?
I can’t even call them, because my phone’s currently on my nightstand, ringing!
Further noises ensue, and they’re not just coming from outside the closet door. It’s deeper in my room, and it sounds like something is knocked over.
Holy shit!
Are there more of these things in here?
Is my bedroom being invaded?
I can only imagine the Hitchcockian scenario playing outside when my closet door is abruptly yanked open!
What the fuck?
I grab the first thing I can find—a travel pillow—and fling it out in a wide arc at the entrance. It does strike something, just not what I had envisioned.
Instead of feathers and wings, the pillow smacks into a face. A veryhumanface.
There’s a grunt of surprise, followed by a laugh. “That’s one hell of a thank you.”
