The Murder of Crows
The Murder of Crows scary stories
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The murder of crows. They tormented him.

The Murder of Crows

The murder of crows.

They tormented him.

Following him home.

Squawking and cawing.

He ran as fast as he could.

But they were faster.

He got there, and hid inside.

But he could hear them still.

They kept up until late at night.

Then at last, they were quiet.

He slept, tortured dreams.

Dreams of what he’d done.

His arm sore from stabbing.

How many had it been?

He’d lost count.

The he awoke.

Squawking and cawing.

They were there.

He left his house.

They followed.

He took a bus.

They followed.

The train.

Still.

They followed.

Reminding him of his sin.

Of what he had done.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks to months.

His mind began to falter.

Scared to leave his house.

The constant sound.

He could sense their hatred.

At last he could stand it no more.

He went to the police,

and confessed what he’d done.

They put him in a cell.

But he heard no birds.

Blessed silence.

He went into the prison yard,

expecting them.

Dread filled him.

But they were gone.

All but one.

It watched him.

Burning a hole into him.

Exposing his corrupt soul.

Yet it was silent.

He spent his life there.

Behind bars.

Always when he went outside,

the bird was there watching,

reminding him of his crime.

He feared it all his days,

and avoided the outdoors.

Preferring his cell.

His cellmate was changed.

His new one had tattoos.

Many tattoos. Black. Crows.

He cried, and wept, and begged.

They never gave in.

Until the day he died.

Always there.

The crows.

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