With the cough came the crows.

Three of them; to be exact, though sometimes six perched in the tree outside my hospital window.

Nurses were too frightened to scare them away, and kept the curtain firmly closed, as if that could somehow prevent the illness from killing me.

My family came to visit a lot, a brood of scared grandchildren with worried parents to complete the set.

“It’ll be okay, mum. You’ll beat this…”

My son tried to comfort me, but I saw the little ones peeping outside and whispering the legends.

“I hear that every crow is a week that you have to live…” whispered one grandchild.

“They are spies for death!” Hissed another.

The parents shushed them, but I heard them talk at the other end of the ward where they thought I couldn’t hear.

“The crows… I don’t think she’s going to make it through this one. Maybe scare them away? Buy her until Christmas?” My son asked his partner.

“Are you insane! Apparently they hunt you down and lead you to death faster if you do that!” Came the reply.

Most mornings the curtains were open, and I could see the dark shapes flitting about on the branches, beady eyes turning in my direction.

One afternoon when they had forgotten to close the curtains a crow landed right outside the window, perched on the stonework.

No nurses were around, but they came running when the machines around me started wailing.

One of the younger nurses screamed when she saw the big black bird out the window, but it was too late.

I sat up in the bed, pain gone, shedding my mortal form like a heavy cloak.

The bird outside the window had someone floating next to it.

“Petey?” I whisper.

The figure walks through the wall and spreads transparent arms wide. There’s a thin lead connecting him to the crow that still perches outside.

I walk into my late husband’s arms, and as I rest my head on his oh-so familiar shoulder, I see the tree outside still has crows perched on the branches.

Each and every one holds a person I have lost, my mother, father, brother…

I hold petey’s hand and the bird takes us over to the tree that holds my loved ones that had found me again.