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Beware the song the blackbird sings
That stirs the feet of long-dead things
They wake with glassy eyes gone wild
And hunger for flesh of mother's child

Joseph ran through the darkening woods, his heart beating fast and deep. The sun was only a dusty orange semi-circle obscured by the thick cluster of inky-black branches. His mother had warned him over and over to be out of the woods by nightfall, warned him about the blackbirds. He could hear them now, wings rustling the leaves above his head, their wings making whispery whipping sounds as they settled in, watching him, waiting for the final sliver of light to disappear over the hills. Twigs cracked under his small feet as he picked up the pace, his short legs pumping with the insistence of bone-deep terror. The semi-circle was sliding lower, only a tiny sliver remained shining salmon pink against the dusky backdrop of the sky. The birds were clustering now, the sound of their landings following him along the path leading out to the clearing where Joseph's tiny village stood. He could see it now, just a few hundred feet more. In the distance he could hear a voice calling his name; his mother, her voice high and warbling, soaked in desperation. He summoned the last of his strength and pushed himself faster. He was just fifty feet away when his foot caught a rock and he stumbled, collapsing to the ground and rolling along the dirt path. He scrambled up and got ready to run again when he heard it, the dry, flat call of the blackbird.

Joseph froze, his body's warmth seemed to drain down through the bottoms of his feet into the ground below. The sun was gone, and the woods were nearly pitch-black, only the hazy light of the distant moon filtering down to the forest floor. Joseph could hear his mother in the distance, her cries becoming frantic. She was begging the elders to let her go, let her get her son, but they were holding her back, telling her it was too late. They had heard the call. Joseph ran again, slower, his ankle sore from the fall. He had made just a dozen steps when he heard the second screaming cry, then a third. He looked up, trembling, to the treetops above. The branches of the trees were lined with blackbirds, the dull light shimmering off hundreds of pairs of black, beady eyes, all fixed on Joseph. All at once, the birds began their calls, the hoarse screams forcing Joseph to cover his ears. The birds took flight in unison, first heading into the sky, then turning and diving towards the cowering

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