A Man Called Raven

The two boys danced around madly, trying to corner the raven. They shouted at each other not to let it get away. The raven gave off metal screeches and hissed at them.

The boys had been hitting the bird with broken hockey sticks and now its wing was dragging. It half skipped, half waddled behind a pile of boxes stashed in their neighbor’s garage.

Chris squinted, “Where is it? Where’d it go?”

Toby answered, “Dunno. It’s gotta be in that corner somewhere. Go find it!” There was a big pause.

“I’m not going to find it. Forget that. You go find it!”

“No sir, you first!”

The raven used this moment of confusion to roar its way between the two boys and out into the driveway. Feeling the thunder of wings, the boys yelled and grabbed at each other. They spun around and the raven was gone.

Standing in front of them, however, was a huge man. And he was angry. “You kids!” he boomed. “What were you doing to that raven?”

Chris started to edge away, pulling his brother by the shirt, but the man blocked them. “We were trying to help it fly,” Toby said. “It was hurt and…”

“Silence,” the man roared. “You lie. Do you know what you have done? Can’t you see what a great crime you have committed?”

“Hey, man,” Chris started. “Take it easy. It was just a raven. Those things get into our garbage and spread it all over our street.”

“Enough!” the man said. “Who are your parents?”

The boys winced. They knew they were in big trouble. The man towered above them. They knew they could not lie to him. He motioned for them to come forward, out into the sunlight.

It was Toby who finally answered. “Our folks are Gwen and Ken Greyeyes. We live three doors down.”

“Bring me to them,” the man said. And they lead the stranger to their house.