The first time they fell, I thought something had died up there.
I should have just left them there.
Maybe nothing would have happened.
I need to tell this to someone, I think I'm going crazy...
I moved into my dad’s house less than a month ago.
The drive there was as boring as the town itself. He had to live more than half an hour away from anything.
I still remember the town sign:
“Welcome to Brackenwyll”
“Hope you like fishing!”
I wish I’d never read it.
After hours of driving, I finally arrived at my new, permanent home. A wooden structure that looked like it was trying as hard as it could to be habitable. A two floor, mold stained cube, with a small dock stretching out toward the water for a one man fishing boat.
It felt like the house couldn’t decide if it belonged on dirt or sand. Pressed between a river on one side and dense, dark woods on the other. Everything drowned in a thick white fog.
The boat wasn’t there. And neither was my father.
But I have to admit... he was trying, in his own way. Even if he was almost never home, I could tell he wanted things to be different. I felt it when I found the note stuck to the door:
“Hey Alex, I’m out fishing. Happy you’re here. Second floor is all yours.”
I stepped inside and it took less than a second for the smell of fish to fill my lungs. It took a while to get used to that.
I went upstairs, expecting the same mess as the first floor.
But it wasn’t.
It was clean. Spotless.
A wide open space, with just enough room set aside for a bathroom. Already furnished, like it had been prepared years ago. Like a small chair in front of a television, and an old console hooked up to it.
My heart sank when I realized he had been waiting for me to come for a long time.
I wish I'd known.
The first nights were the hardest. I was used to the sound of cars honking, people yelling at all hours, and suddenly there was just silence. Broken from time to time by the river hitting either the house or the dock. And some animal scratching its claws somewhere in the vicinity. The worst sound was the pecking. Slow. Heavy.
I should’ve been grateful for how quiet it was.
One morning, after eating breakfast with my dad and helping him fill his boat with nets and crates, I tripped on a loose rock and slammed into the side of the house.
I barely registered the pain before something gave way above me. A soft sound.
Like something collapsing. Then...
Feathers.
Dozens at first. Then hundreds. Thick, black, and heavy enough to knock the air out of me as they came down.
After cleaning and bandaging each cut I got from those sharp feathers, I started collecting them to put them in the trash.
That was when I noticed another one still on the roof. I searched everywhere for a way to get up there, finally finding it outside of the window in my bathroom. A small metal ladder, all covered in rust.
I climbed it and found the almost flat roof completely covered in the same black feathers.
I picked them up and cleaned the roof. I don't know why.
That evening I asked my old man why he never cleaned the roof, telling him it was completely buried in feathers.
But he just said, "Why would I? I never go up there. Also black feathers? Like from crows? Or ravens? There isn't any of those around here. The cats scared them away a long time ago."
That was all I could think about that night. I'd never seen cats for the entire time I've been here. Didn't even hear a faint mewing in the distance. All I could hear was the scratching and the pecking. Slow. Heavy. And never coming from the same place twice.
A couple of days later I checked the roof again, and it was once again covered in feathers. I cleaned them. The next morning, the roof was covered again.
I asked him if he had ever seen something moving on the roof when he comes back from fishing.
"I don't think so. But it's not really easy to see on the roof with the fog and the darkness."
I felt dumb wasting his time with my strange obsession.
So I decided I had to see it happen. I cleaned the roof once more and placed down a chair and a heater. Planning to stay up all night to catch whatever was placing those feathers down.
As the moon came out, the river was the only thing making noise.
No scratching. No pecking.
Just silence.
Then a single peck came from behind me.
I turned.
Nothing.
Then again.
Still nothing.
The scratching followed, louder than usual, just out of sight.
I could feel it getting closer each second.
Until...
I felt it on my neck, small claws, for a short, but infinite, second.
Then... silence.
I thought it was gone. I thought I'd scared it away.
But not long after...
I heard it...
"Sleep"
My body shut down before I could even react.
I didn’t try to run.
I didn’t even think to.
One second I was standing... the next, I was on the ground.
The last thing I saw was a thin blue edge in the dark.
Too faint to make out. But close.
Too close.
I woke up right where I fell, still on the roof, but I wasn't buried in feathers. They were arranged all around me. But none touched me.
I ran down and searched everywhere for my dad, but he had already left for work.
I stood still on the dock for hours, water kept striking my legs, but that sensation was better than what I felt that night.
The more I waited, the worse I felt. What would he have thought of me? Something attacked me, and I ran. I didn't even try to fight back.
He would have never surrendered.
I couldn’t just leave it like that. I went back on the roof and cleaned it once more.
Then I took some duct tape and fixed an old camera in place on the roof, recording every moment. I needed to know what was up there, and clearly it was too smart to just get caught by me in person.
In the morning I recovered the camera from under all the feathers, hooked it up to my laptop and watched the footage.
One moment, the whole roof was visible.
The next, the lens was covered in feathers.
Not falling. Already there.
As always, I saw nothing. Just feathers.
I turned up the volume. At first, just wind. Then something else.
Low. Close.
"We saw you first".
I shoved my laptop away and stayed seated, looking straight out of a window, my eyes filling with tears.
I couldn't think straight, and then...
A heavy thump came from the roof. I never heard anything during the day.
Curiosity blinded me. I had to know.
I went back to the roof and found something I still struggle to understand.
It was… wrong.
Too tall. Too black. Crooked in ways it shouldn’t be.
Its eyes…
They never left mine. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t move.
Its beak... too sharp.
Its wings… Not whole.
Bent in places that didn't have joints.
It didn't move. It didn't need to.
That silence was unbearable. Even the wind didn't dare to touch it.
I didn't scream or cry. It would have been useless.
So I ran back inside.
Finally the silence ended as that thing screeched as loud as it could.
I closed myself in the bathroom. Hoping it would go away, but it didn't.
Glass shattered. Wood cracked. Claws dragged across the floor.
That's all I could hear.
Until it stopped again, its shadow filling the bathroom from under the door.
Then those strange blue lights shined in my face, as a raven came through my window.
It perched on the sink.
Watching me. Not blinking. Not moving.
Then...
"Sleep"
My body fell again.
I woke up a few minutes ago.
I can't see them now. Not the raven. Not the shadow.
But I keep hearing noises coming from the ground floor.
And I'm sure my dad isn't home, it's too soon.
I'm scared to go look. I don't wanna leave my bathroom.
I'm not opening that door.