Estimated reading time — 11 minutes

Hello everyone. I came here to write this because I genuinely don’t know who else I can tell. My name is David. I’m a man in my mid-thirties who’s recently divorced. Well, I guess not recently, it’s been nine months. I was married to Lauren for five years. The divorce was pretty much what you’d expect. The relationship wasn’t abusive and there wasn’t infidelity, but one day she just decided she didn’t love me anymore, she had had enough and didn’t think she could keep going. I spiraled pretty hard after that and things pretty much just collapsed.

I started to avoid going out anywhere because I didn’t want to run into our old friends or anyone who would ask what happened. The loneliness was almost preferable to the social interactions I knew would leave me uncomfortable. I didn’t usually like going out anyway, that was what Lauren liked to do and I just tagged along.

After a couple of months, work moved my position to fully remote. I work in IT, so that didn’t affect my day anyways. I still only mainly talked through email or text, and now I got to do that from the comfort of my living room instead of the endless maze of cubicles. At least now, I wouldn’t have to deal with the socially expected pleasantries and fake concern of those around me. Being able to get groceries delivered eliminated the trips to the store, and eventually I had run out of any reasons to leave my house. My only semi-regular interaction was with Tim, the grocery delivery guy, and even then that came sparingly because sometimes he’d just leave the groceries on the porch.

When you never leave the house or really interact with another human, you stop caring. It didn’t take long before I stopped taking care of myself. I stopped showering every day, stopped caring about how much I drank or what I ate. At some point, the house started to follow my example. Mowing the lawn started getting put off. “I’ll get to it tomorrow” turned into, “I’ll do it in a few days.” Eventually, I just stopped doing it entirely. The yard grew like a jungle. Shutters started to lean and sag. Paint peeled. Kids started to slow down when they’d walk by the house. They started to stare and point; one day I even heard one call it “the haunted house.” Thirty-five years old and somehow I’d become the creepy old man down the street.

One morning, while having a coffee on the porch, I noticed a crow in the tree in the yard. He just sat there and stared back at me. He was there the next day too, and the next. After a while, I started to enjoy having the company during my morning coffee. One day, as he was sitting there, I couldn’t help it.

“Morning,” I said as I watched him.

He cawed back. It was the first time I heard him make a sound since he arrived.

“I’ll take that as good morning.”

The next morning, I brought a small bowl of peanuts out with me. I don’t remember ordering them, but who would? It’s one of those random things you add to an order because you’re hungry when you’re shopping. The crow watched me take a handful.

“What?” I asked.

He tilted his head.

“You want one, Jerry?” I asked, as I tossed one onto the sidewalk. He looked down at it, but he never moved.
“Suit yourself,” I said as I walked back inside.
Later, when I looked out the window though, the peanut was gone. The next day I decided that I would bring some more out for him. He would never take them while I watched, but he would always take them eventually. One day, as I walked outside, I noticed a small red button left where I had left his snack the day prior. I picked it up and rolled it between my fingers.

“Thanks, Jerry,” I said. “Don’t expect me to start buying the expensive stuff though.”

He just cawed at me.

This went on for weeks. I would leave out a couple of peanuts and Jerry would leave me a small trinket. First the button, one day it was a bottle cap, a coin, a small piece of colored glass, even a cheap earring. I started to collect them. I put each little offering in a small bowl on the windowsill that looked out over the tree so he could see I kept them. After all, he was the only one I really talked to anymore. Somewhere along the way, I started to talk to him more. Just stupid stuff at first. I’d talk about work, complain about the weather, even ask him what I should do for dinner. He’d usually just stare at me, occasionally tilting his head or giving me a caw like he had an opinion on the matter. I knew how ridiculous it was, but after months of barely speaking to anyone, it was nice having someone to talk to. Even if that someone was just a bird.
One morning, as I sat there with my coffee, I got a text from Lauren complaining about the house. She had come by the day before to pick up some of her crap and gave me an earful.

“Ten months later and she still finds a way to piss me off.”
Jerry just cawed and tilted his head. I spent another ten minutes bitching to him about work before I finished my coffee and went back inside. The next morning, Jerry left me a rusty washer. Not exactly his best work, but into the bowl it went.

For the next couple of weeks, nothing really changed. Then a couple of the neighborhood kids finally worked up the courage to get closer to the house. One evening, after a particularly painful meeting with work, I was startled by the sound of something repeatedly hitting the front of the house. As I walked out the front door, I saw three of the kids take off running down the street. My house had been covered with rotten eggs. I yelled after them, but they were already halfway down the street. I was absolutely furious. I grabbed a bucket and started cleaning up; leaving the eggs would only make the house look worse.

The next morning, Jerry was right there as I looked over the dried eggs that streaked down the front of the house. “Can you believe this? All of a sudden I’m Boo fucking Radley,” I said as I continued to scrub the side of the house. After scrubbing for what felt like hours, I simply stated, “Screw it. I’ll finish the rest later.” The next morning my gift was right where I expected it to be. It was a small bracelet made of colorful strings and a couple of plastic beads. “Okay, this one is pretty cool, Jerry,” I said, and into the bowl it went. Later that day, there was a knock at my door; it was Tim.

I opened the door as the thin man stood there, my groceries in hand. “Hey David, just need to scan your ID for the alcohol, you know the drill.” I fumbled with my wallet, attempting to get my license out as he just stood there.

“You doing okay?” he asked, adjusting his striped blue shirt and glancing over at the streaks of egg still running down the siding. “Oh yeah, just great, Tim,” I said sarcastically. Just another typical interaction between the two of us.

“Seriously, man. You look like shit,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t really see you out much anymore.”

“No shit, Tim. You deliver my groceries, why would you?” I thought silently to myself, as Jerry cawed.

“That thing always here?” he asked.

“That’s Jerry.”

Tim just stood there staring at me. “You named it?” he asked.

“Yeah, he comes around a lot,” I said as I grabbed my bags from Tim and thanked him as he walked back to his truck.
The next morning, Jerry was in his usual spot while I drank my coffee. “Apparently I’m the weird one,” I said to him. He cawed. “Guy delivers booze to a shut-in for ten months and apparently naming a bird is where he draws the line. What an asshole.” I went about my day like normal, answering email after email. Nothing too exciting, another mandatory meeting, someone forgot their login info, and another who can’t seem to map a printer. A couple of days later, I wake up to a message from Lauren. Great.

Lauren: “I need to come by Saturday and get the rest of the boxes from the garage.”

Me: “Fine.”

Lauren: “I’m bringing Mark to help.”

Me: “Who’s Mark?”

Mark, as it turns out, was her new boyfriend and they were moving in together. I went outside and sat on the porch, my usual coffee replaced by a glass of whisky. What did it matter anymore at this point anyways? “Ten months, Jerry,” I said, taking a long pull from my glass. “We were together for years, and she moved on in ten months. She doesn’t give a shit anymore. I’m tired of her bullshit. I’m tired of hearing about her. I’m tired of her finding reasons to keep intruding back into my life.” Jerry just cawed as I picked up my latest gift. A piece of blue striped cloth. “Thanks, Jerry,” I said as I walked back inside and tossed the piece into the bowl. As the week inched painfully towards Saturday, I drank more and more. When my grocery order showed up, I was surprised when some new guy stood there on my porch. I presented my ID to scan and didn’t even say bye as I closed the door. I just needed to be drunk until Saturday was over.

I woke up Saturday, already in a bad mood. I had dreaded this day so much that drinking every night seemed like my only escape. I checked my phone, expecting a message from Lauren about when they would be showing up, but there was nothing. I texted her asking if she was coming or not. No answer. I waited another hour before sending another.

“I’m not sitting around here all day waiting for you.”

Still nothing.

“Unbelievable,” I said, looking up to Jerry in his usual spot. “Makes a big deal about needing her shit and then doesn’t even bother showing up.”

Jerry cawed from his branch.

“Yeah, exactly.”

By three o’clock, I had enough. I locked up the garage and went back inside. If she wanted her stuff that badly, she would have to figure it out herself. The rest of the day was uneventful. I ordered takeout, sat down with another glass of whisky and fell asleep on the couch watching TV. I woke the next morning with my neck stiff from sleeping on the couch and a headache that felt like someone was driving a nail through the side of my skull. The TV was still on. My glass was lying on the floor beside me, thankfully empty. I checked my phone and there was still nothing from Lauren.

“Whatever. Fuck her,” I thought.

I made some coffee, grabbed a handful of peanuts and walked outside. Jerry was already waiting on me.

“Morning,” I muttered, my eyes glancing over to whatever piece of junk he brought me this morning. There was something lying near the edge of the porch. The thing looked like a piece of sausage. I stared for a few seconds trying to figure out where the hell he found it.

And that’s when I saw the fingernail.

“What the fuck!?” I exclaimed as my mug dropped to the porch, shattering and sending pieces across the boards. I stumbled backward until my shoulder hit the front door.
It was a damn finger. I ran inside, grabbed my phone and started to dial 9-1-1, but I paused before I could finish dialing. What would I say? Hello, police, there’s a finger on my porch that some bird brought me? That’s when I looked to the tree. Something about it looked wrong. At first I wasn’t sure what, but then I saw it. Jerry wasn’t alone. Another crow sat next to him. Neither of them made a sound.

I just stood there in my kitchen, wondering what the hell to do about the finger. The cops wouldn’t believe me. Hell, I barely believed it myself. What was I supposed to tell them? The crow I had been feeding for a couple of months had started bringing me human remains? I couldn’t leave it there either. Eventually, I grabbed a plastic bag, wrapped the finger in it and carried it inside. I don’t know what made me choose the garbage disposal, I guess I just panicked. I just knew I wanted it gone.

I didn’t bring Jerry anything the next morning. He was still there and so was the other crow. Neither of them cawed when I walked past the window. They just watched. The next day there were three of them. Then five. More started to appear on the power lines, then there were some sitting on my neighbor’s roof. None of them made a sound.

Eventually, I stopped opening the curtains. A few days later, I noticed something on the porch, and I almost didn’t go outside. By then, opening the door had become something I had to work myself up to, but I eventually did.
It was a phone.

The screen was cracked near the bottom, but otherwise it looked fine. Then I turned it over and immediately I recognized the case. It was Lauren’s. I looked toward the tree and there was Jerry, quiet as ever. I was still standing there, Lauren’s phone in hand, when I heard the sound of a car door shut. I looked down the street to see a police car parked along the curb, and the two officers were already making their way towards the house. I don’t know why, but I shoved Lauren’s phone into my back pocket. That’s a lie, I did it because I knew how it would look, same as the finger.

The two officers introduced themselves and asked if I was David. I told them yes and they asked if I had seen or heard from Lauren. Apparently, no one had heard from her since Friday and her sister had reported her missing. I told them everything I knew, or at least, almost everything. I explained she was supposed to show up to get her stuff, but she never showed up. I even showed them the messages I had sent to her.

“Was she supposed to come alone?” one of them asked.

“No. She was bringing her new boyfriend Mark.”

The two officers gave each other a glance before one of them asked if I had met him. I told them no, I didn’t even know he existed until a few days ago. That’s when they explained that he hadn’t been heard from either.

My mind immediately went to the phone in my pocket. They asked a few more questions about Lauren, whether we had spoken recently, whether we had been fighting, things like that. I told them about the argument about the house and about the new boyfriend, but no fights. I figured there was no use in lying about that; I’m sure she told half of everyone she knew about that anyways. Eventually, they gave me a card to call in case I thought of anything or heard from her. I watched as the two officers got back in their cruiser and drove away.

That was a few hours ago. Lauren’s phone is sitting on the table beside me as I write this, and the more I look at it, the less any of this makes sense. I didn’t tell them about the phone or the finger. I know I should have, but how the hell do I do that now? I already destroyed a human finger and hid my missing ex-wife’s phone from two police officers. Walking into a station and saying, “Hey, I know I didn’t mention this earlier, but a crow gave this to me,” I doubt would make this sound any better.

Since they left, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the bowl on the windowsill. It’s still sitting there, filled with all the little pieces of junk Jerry brought me over the last couple of months. At least, I always assumed he brought them. I never actually saw him do it. I dumped everything on the table a while ago. I peered over all the stupid little things I had collected without giving them a second thought.

Then I found the bracelet.

I hadn’t thought about it since the morning Jerry brought it to me. It was just some cheap thing a kid made at summer camp or school, just string and plastic beads, nothing special. Except now all I can think about are the kids running away from my house the night before it showed up.

Then there was the piece of blue cloth.

I held it for a while before I remembered Tim standing on the porch in his blue striped shirt. I hadn’t seen him since that day. Someone else has delivered the grocery orders I have placed since. I called the store and asked if Tim still worked there. The lady put me on hold for a couple of minutes before coming back to tell me she couldn’t give out information about employees. She wouldn’t even tell me if he was still a driver. Maybe it’s nothing, it probably is. That bracelet could belong to any kid for miles around and blue striped shirts aren’t exactly rare. Tim could have just quit or got a new route. Lauren could have dropped her phone anywhere and Jerry could have found it. There have to be explanations for it all. The problem is, I have been trying to remember last Friday night.

I remember drinking on the porch. I remember talking to Jerry. I remember going inside and pouring another glass. I remember being angry at Lauren. After that is when things get fuzzy. I have been drinking a lot lately, and there have been plenty of times I woke up on the couch without remembering going to bed. So, that shouldn’t mean anything either, right?

But there’s something else I can’t stop thinking about. In all the months Jerry has been coming here, I have never actually seen him bring me anything. I’ve seen him sitting in the tree, I’ve seen the things on my porch, but I’ve never actually seen him leave a gift.

I don’t know what happened to Lauren or Mark. I don’t know where Tim is. I don’t know where the finger, the phone, or the bracelet came from. Maybe Jerry brought it all or maybe I’ve spent so long talking to a bird that I stopped noticing I was the only one answering.

I looked out the window one last time. There are more of them than I can count, scattered across the tree, the power lines and the neighbor’s roof. Jerry is still sitting on the same branch where I first saw him months ago.

“Jerry?” I asked.

For the first time since all of this started, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to answer or not. He didn’t.

He just stared back at me.

Credit: CT Remy

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