In the days of yore, birds were utilized as messengers of important information. Carrier pigeons come to mind. You think this to yourself as a raven lands on a bench next to you. It’s your lunch break and you only have twenty three minutes until you have to go back. You try to ignore the raven as it looks at you with its black, beady eye. It cocks its head and then caws at you. You shift slightly in your seat, trying not to acknowledge the bird. Crows are fairly rare in this area, especially after the breakout of West Nile virus a decade ago. Perhaps the population was making a comeback, natural selection and whatnot, you decide. The cawing is more insistent now, the bird hops closer to you. You hear a clanging sound on the wooden bench slats. Curious, you glance over at it. The sunlight catches on metal and you notice there is a brass skeleton key at the raven’s feet. It caws again, flutters it wings, then hops toward you. Peeved and a bit territorial, you move your bag closer to you. While reaching for the strap, you notice the raven has a note tied to its ankle. “Whaaa..?” You mutter confused. Looking around you, you find you are the only person in the park. It is early March, and while the snow has almost entirely melted, the winds are still brisk and seem to keep the public away from the park. The only sound is of dry leaves scraping along the brick pathway. Then the raven caws at you again. It picks up the key and hops over to you, onto your lap and drops the key. It taps its foot on your leg. Hesitant, you reach for the note on its ankle, waiting for it to go after your hand with its beak. It doesn’t, but you untie the note quickly anyways. It’s a small note, but when you unfold it you find there are directions written in elegant calligraphy. A small map is included, to your amazement. You immediately recognize the map is of the small downtown area near the park. On the map, the starred spot is where the graveyard is. It’s only a five minute walk from the park. There are now only eighteen minutes left on your break. Curious, you look at the raven and the key again. You pick up the key and with a flutter of wings the raven flies off. You stand up and feel a sudden rush of excitement. Grabbing your bag you make your way to the graveyard. As you leave the park you hear a caw in the distance.
The wind rushes at you as you approach the graveyard gates. Stone columns tower over you and the rod iron gates groan as the gusts blow them towards you, beckoning you to enter the hallowed grounds. You read the note again and follow the instructions. The riddle indicates that you need to find the town founder’s grave. You know the founder has a memorial at the very center of the graveyard, as everyone in this small town has an intimate knowledge of the founder and all that involves him. The memorial is not quite a mausoleum, as there is no entrance, but it is roughly the size of a mausoleum. You glance at the key in your hand. You didn’t need it to enter the graveyard and you don’t need it to enter a building or mausoleum either. Whatever could it be for? You study the founder’s memorial. Under the birthdate, which was only a few days away you realize, was taped an envelope. It had the same style of calligraphy as the first one and should be a clear indicator that the note is intended for you. However, you’re still not entirely sure, so you look around the graveyard again. No one is there. Just you. Without needing any more clarification you decide to take the envelope. Inside is a pastel pink colored paper carryout menu for the local diner. Inside the menu the only words inscribed are “eat the pie” in dark ink. The diner is a mom and pop style eatery with vinyl booths and a soda counter. The specialty of the diner is the rhubarb pie, the note must refer to this pie. You now have nine minutes until your break is over. You decide to make your way back to work because there is not enough time to visit the diner.
You muddle through the rest of your day mystified by the strange scavenger hunt you have been subjected to. As soon as you punch out you make your way over to the diner. When the building is in sight you hear a caw overhead. You look up into the burning grey skies of the overcast day. No raven in sight. The bell jingles when you open the door and the warmth of the diner greets you. You sit at the counter like a regular. An elderly woman comes over with a coffee pot. “Decaf or regular?” “Just pie, thanks.” You respond as you look at the dessert counter. The pie is sitting on a cake stand under a glass dome. A few wedges are missing from the pie by now, and you watch with anticipation as the waitress goes over to the dome. Someone calls her from the back kitchen and passes a white box through the window at the serving station. She comes back to the counter and sets the box down. “Here you go, hun. This one’s on the house.” Your name is written in dark ink on the top of the box. Mystified you look inside the box and see a whole pie in there. Embarrassed and a little confused you ask for a bag to take it with you. She complies and before you know it you’re on your way back to your place.
Forsaking dinner, you dig into the pie when you get home and shamelessly shovel the soggy rhubarb bits into your mouth. The anticipation and the adrenaline have made you starved so you can’t help but eat the whole thing. Among the crumbs and pie filling remnants at the bottom of the foil pie tin you see a message in the same handwriting. A riddle. “My spine stiff, my body pale, I’m always ready to tell a tale.” This was followed by a series of numbers and letters. “977.345 SMI” You stare at the wall in your kitchen evaluating how engorged you feel after eating the pie. Confused, you make your way over to the living room couch and collapse on its plushness. You decide not to move for a long time and close your eyes. When you wake, the sun has set and the room is dark. You get up to turn on the light and knock something over. The sound of heavy things falling onto the hardwood floor startles you. You curse a stubbed toe as you flick on the light. On the floor is a fallen pile of once-stacked books, some have opened and lay spine-up on the floor. The image of the spine of the book links with your memory of the pie riddle. Curious, you walk into the kitchen. You read the riddle again. You walk back to the books and look at their spines. One is a library book and the catalogue number is on the bottom of the spine. The number and letter pattern is similar to the one in the riddle. You glance at the clock and see the library closes in twenty seven minutes. It’s a short walk to the library from your place so you grab your things and leave the house.
Several young children loudly leave the library as you arrive. After waiting for them to get through the doors you rush inside and search for the next clue. The stacks are quiet and dusty, but you soon find the correct aisle. You are in the reference section specific to the town’s history. The item you seek is a large ledger regarding properties of the first landowners that eventually became your town. Interested and puzzled, you leaf through the pages looking for another clue. It’s not until you reach the index that you find a small note tucked into the crease of the book. The note only reads “here” and there is a small arrow pointing to a family name. Not the founder’s name as you might have guessed, but someone else’s name instead. You flip to the page and study the images before you. They are blueprints and artist renditions of an older house. You recognize it instantly as the abandoned house in an older part of the town. It’s a longer walk but you decide to check it out.
The wind is relentless but at least it is beating your back. You consider turning around and going home when you are met with a submerged sidewalk, then think better of it and keep on going forward instead. The house looms above you when you finally arrive. It seems dark and eerie. You grip the skeleton key in your pocket. As you walk up to the house, you hear the clatter of metal on stone coming from the back of the house. You walk around the side and notice the light is on in the basement. At the back of the house, a cellar door is propped open and warm light floods out. The metal chain from the opened door rattles against the stone pathway as the wind sways it slightly. Against your better judgement, you descend the cellar stairs and enter the abandoned basement. You instantly feel a change in atmosphere once you are underground. You see a small box in the middle of the stone floor and do not hesitate: you pull out the skeleton key. This must be what it’s for, you think as you spot a lock on the box. The single light bulb sways above you. You fit the key into the lock, it fits. Turning the key, you hear the tumblers moving and then click as the lock is released. The lid shifts open slightly. Frozen for a moment, you wonder what could be waiting for you inside. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears. You lift the box lid and inside is another note. You open it hastily. It’s an invitation to a friend’s birthday party at the Buffalo Wild Wings next weekend.
The caw of a raven shatters the silence.
