The last bit of sun was flaring over the Georgian cornfields as Jonathan stared out the grime covered window. His tall figure seemed to dominate over everything else set in his room, making the items placed around appear smaller than they were in real life. The desks, the cabinet, even the toy bear he had shoved aside against the closet door – he had stopped paying that bear mind after his thirteenth birthday – appeared to cower in his presence. He had felt different that morning, though the morning had been the same as always.
He had awoken to a silence within the house that was heavy and foreboding. When he pushed the covers off of his boney form and fumbled in the light of the rising sun for his glasses he had strewn across the room he realized how hot the air around him was. The window had been left open in an attempt to clear out some dust that had begun collecting, and in return the humid temperature of the upcoming Georgian summer had crawled its way into the tiny shelter like some unwanted resident, where it smothered over his sleeping form. His fingers had clasped around the thin wires of the glasses frames and he slid them on before getting up and walking as silent as possible – the floorboards still creaked with every step – to the window, where he shut and locked it back up. He had noticed, with a small bit of amusement, a tiny brown spider spinning a web in the upper right corner of the windows frame. At least someone feels at home here.
He had dressed himself in a slow and meticulous motion. His dress shirt was done up with care but he noted in the mirror how his fingers shook a bit with each button. He chose simple black pants that were a size or two too big on him, but then again no store really had pants that were his size unless he went in the woman's section. When he was dressed he reached up and attempted to fix his unruly hair, before allowing the ghost of a smile to cross his pale lips.
Today is the day.
He crept down the rotting stairs in the main hall with the silence of a mouse, which alone was a feat for an individual his size. He credited his lack of weight for his ability to be so stealthy. That and he had learned long ago as a young child where to step in order to not wake the slumbering beast. He eventually reached the kitchen which might've been impressive back in the 20's or 30's. Now it was merely a ghost of the heyday of Southern charm, with faded wallpaper and a cracked ceiling. He fumbled around in the cupboards before moving onto the fridge. Pulling open the heavy steel door he glanced briefly to the far back where a bowl sat covered in tinfoil wrap. Jonathan paled a bit. He grabbed the bowl and hastily walked to the backdoor before throwing it open and dumping the bowls contents against the side of the house. A red fluid oozed down the shingles and seeped into the dry Earth below it, leaving chunks to rest on the brittle grass. Jonathan observed them for a moment before stepping back inside and pulling the door close.
He had just set the bowl into the sink when the telltale sound of footsteps on the upper floor rang out. Ah, so it awakens. Jonathan mused to himself as he turned on the tap and watched the brown sludgy water fill the bowl up. Mixed with the red, it made it look like Jonathan had attempted a poorly thought out murder on some innocent rodent. That assumption wasn't far from the truth, but it wasn't the truth. He had finished scrubbing down the bowl when her presence seeped into the kitchen, followed by the sound of a dress dragging across uneven floor. Jonathan could barely contain the smirk that fought to appear on his face.
"Good-morning, Grandmother." He said softly, not looking up from the bowl he had now moved on to drying. He received a hum as a reply as she brushed past him – her perfume smelt like peonies, he noted – and entered the adjourning room. The scraping of a chair as it was pulled away from the table was soon heard, as well as a sigh, before silence. Jonathan flicked on the stove and grabbed the rusted kettle before placing it upon the heating flame, and folding his hands behind his back.
"Jonathan." Her voice was sharp like nails and dug into his ears. He clenched his jaw.
"Yes, Grandmother?" He forced politeness to seep into his tone.
"Have you started any of your chores?" Was the reply he received. Jonathan gripped the hem of his shirt tight and stared directly at the wall ahead. Have you started any of your chores, Jonny-boy? Have you? A mocking voice rang in his head. The kettle rang out, signifying its completion, and he grabbed it hastily. He poured the boiling water into one of the filthy cups scattered across the counter before adding a tea bag and stirring it with much vigour. As he walked into the room, he acknowledged her question with a slight tilt of his head.
"No. I was planning to do them shortly, though." She watched him through narrow eyes as he slowly made his way around the long table, glancing briefly at the cupid statue set in the center. His posture was slouched as he walked, like it usually was in her presence. He set the tea in front of her and noted how her hand clenched, like she moved to lash out at him. He dared her to try it.
"Go on then, boy. I want at least a third of them done by noon." She hissed. He fought off the urge to curl his lip at her. She was foul, she was, but luckily she wouldn't be a harrowing presence to him for much longer. He kept a polite and attentive expression, before nodding his head at her and turning to leave.
"Jonathan." She called from behind him. He paused and glanced back towards her. Her expression was the same stern one as before.
"No fooling around." She ordered. Jonathan smiled.
"Of course not."
The rest of the morning had passed as an uneventful blur. He examined the budding crops in the fields and noted that they all looked dead and burnt. Often this would worry him but now he just felt a sense of indignation. Let them burn let them burn let them burn – a voice chanted gleefully in his mind. Jonathan reached up and pressed his fingers against his temple, a scowl appearing on his face as he squinted against the sun.
Silence. He demanded, and the voice obliged.
He then moved on to weeding in the garden, a task he found dull and monotonous, before mowing the ridiculously spacious lot the manor resided on. The grass too was dead and burnt, and Jonathan scoffed as he pushed the mower over top of it. He was merely cleaning up corpses rather than doing the killing. As he pressed through the meaningless tasks he was sure he was assigned just for the hell of it, he noted two things. One was that his Great- Grandmother had not left her upper story window. She watched him with a cold gaze, one hand still holding the tea cup he had brought her at breakfast, and the other assumedly resting on the window sill. He did his best to ignore her, but couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand when he turned away. The other thing he noted was the Aviary. He often noted it when he did chores outside, but now it stood in a whole new light and way. Rather than create its usual sensations menace and sorrow, Jonathan found himself looking rather fondly at the old decrepit building. In fact, if he studied it long enough, he might even come to appreciate the beaten down and weathered old hell shack. But for now, as he turned away and reassumed his mowing, he felt nothing towards it.
When evening announced its arrival with the setting sun, Jonathan felt giddiness well up in his stomach. He stood in the kitchen, observing the outdoors with a smile as the sounds of movement from upstairs sounded out again. His Great-Grandmother had retired for a rest and was likely getting into her evening wear right now. He didn't understand why she had evening wear – it wasn't like they were getting company any time soon. Perhaps she was still caught in the motions of the era she was born in, when women wore three dresses a day and men were nothing short of generous. He thumbed eagerly at the brim of his shirt and his eyes darted from the window to the ceiling in anticipation.
Easy there Jonny-boy, or you'll give yourself away before the surprise even happens. Jonathan grimaced and pressed his fingers against his temple again.
Silence. He ordered again, and the voice obeyed.
When his Great-Grandmother finally made her way down the steps, she wore a dark gown that was buttoned up all the way to her neck. This was her usual wear and exactly what Jonathan had anticipated. She brushed past him again – he noted that now she smelt like a mixture of roses and a subtle chemical scent – and entered the adjourning room. The scraping of the chair sounded out again but a sigh did not follow suit. Jonathan was practically shaking with eagerness at this point.
"Jonathan!" Her voice was cold and callous. Jonathan felt a small laugh well up in his throat, but forced a blank expressed as he slowly crept into the adjourning room. His Great-Grandmother stared at him with the ferocity of hellfire as she pointed a boney finger at the empty table.
"Did you not make dinner?" She seethed. Jonathan tilted his head and looked at the white tablecloth before allowing himself a small shrug. He glanced at her with an expression that screamed naivety.
"No, I suppose I didn't." He replied lightly. The older woman lowered her hand, and Jonathan could've sworn the temperature dropped a good twenty degrees with the motion. When he was younger he might've been scared of her meek attempts at power play but now at eighteen he only found himself further amused.
"Jonathan." Her voice was soft now. He knew what was coming next. "Go get your Sunday suit."
At this point Jonathan couldn't contain his laughter anymore and he doubled over, gripping the back of a chair with one hand and his ribs with the other as he practically howled with glee. When he finally calmed down enough to glance at her, her expression was blank, but the glimmer of confusion was evident in her eye. As quick as it had started, Jonathan's laughter ended and his face fell flat and cold. He stood to his full height now – something he never did in her presence – and found himself surprised on how easily he trumped her.
"No, Granny." He said calmly. He took a step towards her and felt a thrill of fascination as he observed her take one back, her eyes looking at him with a weariness he'd never seen on her face before. "No, I will not put on my Sunday. Suit." He raised his voice with the last two words as he approached her further. The older woman continued to back up until she was against a wall. He noted how her gaze darted around the room, likely looking for any sort of weapon.
"I want you to tell me, Granny." Now he was on a rant, and he faintly heard the sound of someone else's chatter in his head. "I want you to tell me Granny, what exactly you attended to achieve tonight. Did you really wish to punish me again? Oh Granny, I've done all you've asked! I cleaned the dishes, I mowed the lawn, I tended the crops, I weeded your filthy little garden, and yet you still threaten me like a common dog." He lashed out and grabbed her arm in an iron grip and was surprised to find how brittle it was. The old woman gasped at the contact and Jonathan bent down and leaned in close enough that through the scent of the roses and his concoction he swore he could smell the stale scent of terror.
"Granny." He said softly, but the words still held an authority and menace to them. "I believe it may be time we paid the chapel a visit."
With a fluid like motion, he yanked her away from the wall and dragged her out of the dining room and into the kitchen. He was surprised on how violently she was thrashing in his grip. For a woman with arthritis and a slew of other joint problems, she clawed at his back like a bat out of hell. He ignored her howling and screeching of HOW HE SHOULD LET HER GO OR SO GOD HELP HIM and dragged her all the way outside. When the realization that she would not get away from this seemed to sink in, rather than beg and plead she fell into a state of numb silence, throwing her weight into her heels and forcing Jonathan to physically drag her to the Aviary doors.
When he finally reached his intended destination, the building seemed to no longer loom over his form like it had when he was a child. Though the moon now shone brilliantly in the sky, illuminating every crack and vine decorating his oldest companion, he no longer felt the sense of dread he had become so accustomed to. This building was to be his salvation, and to that, Jonathan smiled. He continued to smile as he forced open the ancient and rotting doors. He smiled further as he threw his Great-Grandmother into the room, listening to her stumble as she tried to maintain her footing. As she turned to face him, Jonathan allowed himself a full fledge grin and raised his hand at her.
"To learn one must be humble. But life is a great teacher." He spoke in a voice he was not sure was his own, and as he closed the doors on her and locked them tight, the memory of her terrified expression burned into his head. He stumbled back and raised his gaze to the heavens as the flocks of crows began the descend into the building, their bodies molding together to make it appear as though God himself was striking down with a dark and malignant fury. The high pitched shrieks of a woman in agony followed suit no sooner later, and Jonathan – for the first time in many years – felt the rush of freedom overcome him. He fell to his knees as listened in awe as the woman who had tormented him for all his life finally faced her due.
Well Jonny-Boy, here we are. The voice hummed. Jonathan nodded.
"Here we are indeed…." He murmured, to himself or to the figure he was unsure. Whatever spoke in his mind he could feel hovering over his shoulder, the rustle of fabric and corn sounding quite close to his ear.
What next? The bitch is nothin' but crow food now, and it won't be long before the whole town notices her missing. Though she wasn't well liked, everyone'll eventually come to realize the local cuckoo is MIA. The voice chided, and Jonathan nodded again. For once, he didn't tell the voice to be silent. There was no reason to anymore.
"We leave." He sighed as he picked himself up and brushed off his now filthy black pants. "We get the hell out of this place, and don't come back." He glanced up at the now silent aviary once more, before smiling and walking back to the manor. As he walked along, he found himself humming the chords to Amazing Grace, and chuckled at the irony. He felt like he was reborn again.