It began one night while driving home at dusk. One swooped low, gracefully tucking its wings and spreading its legs to land on the guard rail on the right side of the exit ramp. The large, black bird perched, watching her silently with its head cocked to one side. As she passed, she noticed a whole flock of them loitering, clustered on the embankment on the opposite side of the road. A chill ran up her spine as she was briefly reminded of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven trying desperately to remember how that story ended. These seemingly over sized black crows were ominous. In that brief moment, she became a little perturbed, but that was all… until she began to see them everywhere. It was as if they were following her, always watching, waiting – but for what she could only imagine. Again, driving home one night she looked up into an old oak, barren with winter. It’s branches were plentiful, spread out in hundreds on directions, supported firmly by its broad trunk. She was admiring the stark contrast of the black against the crystalline sky – the kind of crisp sky brought on by freezing air. And, there they were again. The whole tree was full of them, hundreds of them sat perched, blending in with the black of the branches – watching, waiting their feathers unruffled, their bright eyes shining glossy in the moon's light. The whole tree was dripping with birds. She strained her neck to look out the passenger window and continued to watch them in her rear view mirror as she drove. There was something about them that made her catch her breath. It felt like a bad omen. She tried to remember if crows were scavengers and thought, of course they are. To thrive in the city, they must feed off of something. Her flesh. The idea forced itself into her mind before she even had time to think. It was as if someone, something was planting it there as a suggestion or perhaps a warning. She shuddered and continued on her way.