Nevermore
By Michael Massee

The Witness

 

             I saw it.  I saw what happened.  I saw the whole thing and I know who was responsible.  I tried to tell someone about it and I tried again all the other times it happened but no one would listen to me.  I tried.  I really tried hard.  I wanted to help. 

 

The Renovator

 

             It was such a beautiful fire.  Better than I had imagined.  It was on all the news channels. The Miller building had been abandoned for so long and was such an eyesore that it had to go.  And go it did!  Nothing left but bricks and ash after the firetrucks spent five useless hours trying to save it.  Save what?  An ugly ninety year old warehouse full of empty boxes and crates---so wonderfully flammable---made my job very easy.  I just put a stub of a candle sitting in a nest of shredded paper.  Lit the wick with a match. No accelerants.  Accelerants leave trace evidence.  Can’t have that.
    So the beginning of my mission has been completed.  On to the next renovation.

 

The Volunteer

 

             The Miller Warehouse was located at the outskirts of town, which was fortunate.  When we got the call we all worried that it might be close to the recently-built tract houses out on Geary Road but it was far enough away.  We got to the fire fairly quickly but it had obviously been smoldering for a while before it exploded into an inferno.  Andy, who recently moved here from Nebraska, is the only full-time fireman at the Franklin Township Volunteer Fire Department and he said the remote location of the old warehouse prevented early detection.  A truck driver, who was coming down Geary, saw the smoke and called it in.  Andy activated the roof-top siren and all of us volunteers rushed over to the firehouse, got into our gear and headed to the fire.  It took us quite a while to put it out completely.  Andy figured it probably got started because of some vagrant trying to keep warm.  The place was known to be a favorite hangout for the homeless.
             I’ve been volunteering for about eight years now and my dad was a volunteer before me.  I probably joined up to keep the tradition ongoing but I think it was also because I still had that child in me that believed it would be exciting and fun and that I would be doing something good for the town.  I guess I still kind of believe that but I didn’t realize how much time and hard work it entails.
             When I joined up I went through a sort of basic in-house training and was assigned a probationary period.  I also availed myself of a lot of courses and passed my certification.  I’m rated as a Fireman One.   Andy is a fully paid fireman but the rest of us only get a stipend.  We get paid per job, meaning we get paid for each one of the emergencies we handle.  Now, there aren’t many fires or emergencies that happen in our little town so we don’t do it for the money.  However, we do get a lot of benefits; medical plan, pension, workman’s comp, property tax relief---so it’s a alright gig.  Andy lives on the second floor of the firehouse so he has free housing.
             My name is Samuel Gelser.  Along with me and Andy, the rest of the team is made up of John Oakson, Ralph Sharp, Tyler Jenkins and Carisa Gomez.  Yes, we have a female firefighter, so get over it.  We did.

 

The Witness

 

             It was the same person.  I never forget a face.   The sun was going down and I was returning home to my spouse and our babies.  I was carrying dinner that I had just picked up and there he was.  I tried confronting him but he just brushed me off.  He went into the old church and I knew he was up to no good.  I screamed again and again but the neighbors were too far away to see what all the noise was about.  Or maybe they were just scared. 

 

The Renovator

 

             Number two on my master list has been eliminated.  If it had been a good example of sacred architecture I might have been tempted to let it stand but it was just a clabbered wooden monstrosity left to rot by some Baptist bastards.  Back in 2000, those hypocrites went and built a modern new church in the next town over instead of tearing down this termite-ridden House of God and constructing a proper place of worship right here in their own township!  Now, I’m not a religious person but that seems very unchristian to me.
             I used the old cigarette and match book trick this time.  You know, where you lay a burning coffin nail on top of an open match book cover which is on top of a pile of crumpled up old newspapers and, eventually, the whole thing ignites.  This method gave me just enough time to be far enough away when the fire began to be noticed.  All that dried wood---glorious!

 

The Volunteer

 

             I had just sat down to dinner when the siren went off.  It had only been a couple of weeks since the Miller warehouse fire and that there was the possibility of another fire so soon surprised me.  I thought maybe it was just some other sort of emergency, like when the Masterson’s dog got stranded on the frozen lake and the ice was breaking up and we made a living chain to rescue him.
             Denise, my wife, was not pleased to see me rush out the door but she knew that it was my duty so she put the pot roast back in the oven to keep it warm.  For good luck I hugged and kissed her and my little Davey, like I always do.  You never know.
             When we arrived, the old Baptist church was looking like a big smokey torch with the flames shooting up through the belfry.  I was driving the one hose-and-ladder truck we have with Andy riding shotgun and Tyler and Carisa holding on to the back.  Ralph Sharp was right behind us with the emergency van.
             We tried to save as much as we could but, by the time we got the hoses hooked up, it was out of control.  It was a shame because it was a pretty sturdy old building and there had been talk about turning it into a rec center, a safe place for teenagers to hang out.  John joked that it looked like they had already hung out and accidently set the place on fire lighting up a joint or two.  John is our resident stand-up comedian and, at 62, the oldest member of the brigade.
             Fortunately, if it was some kids fooling around, they got out before it was too late.   A few days later we inspected the ruined building and, unfortunately, couldn’t find a hot spot where the fire started.  That’s the sad thing about abandoned structures. They are so vulnerable to fire and vandalism.  I kind of have this sappy affection for buildings that have been left to rot.  To me they’re like orphans that the world has forgotten.  I mean, think of all the time and effort that went into erecting them.  The bricklayers and carpenters that built them.   The workers that labored inside the factories that these craftsmen built.  The families that inhabited the homes and apartments that they constructed.  Like I said, sentimental and sappy.

 

The Witness

 

             This time I spotted him walking down the dirt road that runs close to the river, so, I followed him.  I even guessed where he was headed---the old farmhouse with the barn and the silo whose top half was leaning North when the base was heading South.  It was half-full of old corn cobs, a few, which I admit, I may have enjoyed over the years.
             I got to the site before him so I was ready for his arrival.  I called for backup but they didn’t get there in time.  He’s a big guy and outweighs me by a lot of pounds so I just resorted to screaming at him.  Didn’t do much good.  He just yelled back at me to shut up and then went about his business.  So frustrating. 

 

The Renovator

 

             This renovation was a bit trickier.  There were three derelict buildings that needed to be eliminated in order to get the land back to its natural beauty.  I could have incinerated all of them at once but that would have looked suspicious, especially if I had started with the farmhouse.  So, I chose only the barn.  Once again, the wood was old and dry and there was evidence of the structure having been inhabited by some homeless person or some rebellious juvenile delinquents---cigarette butts and crushed beer cans.  I was just going to set one of my candles in a small pile of hay that lay near one of the walls of the barn when I saw a couple of bottles on a shelf in one of the stalls.
             I couldn’t believe my luck---kerosene.  I removed the cap to double check that it wasn’t just water. I usually don’t use an accelerant but there it was, like a gift from the Fire Gods.   ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,’ right?  All I had to do was set my lit candle on a bed of hay underneath the shelf.  I didn’t even have to open the bottles or pour them out.  The heat of the fire would cause the bottles to burst and, voila, bye-bye barn!
              I walked back to the main road and got into my car, that I had hidden behind some tall Elderberry bushes.  No witnesses, no problems.  I hadn’t seen anyone.  I had the whole place to myself.  Wait, that’s not exactly true. There was this annoying bird, a fucking crow, that kept screeching and flying around my head.  If I had only I had my rifle!  Anyhow, I got away safely.

 

The Volunteer

 

             When the call came in about the third fire, we had all just gathered at the firehouse for the monthly clean-up and equipment check.  This usually takes place the last Saturday of the month.  A kayaker on the river had spotted smoke and called it in to 911on his cell phone.
             We couldn’t believe it.  Three fires in one month.  We jumped into our coveralls and threw on our jackets and leaped onto the truck as Andy careened out the driveway and headed for the river.
             I was pretty sure the fire was at the old Jensen homestead.  The farm had been empty for years.  The two Jensen boys, Fred and Tommy, opted to give up farming for careers in the city and had put the property up for sale after their dad died.  However, no one was very interested.  They got a couple of nibbles, one from a chemical manufacturer which, thankfully, didn’t pan out, so the place had been sitting empty for at least ten years.
             Once again, by the time we arrived at the scene the fire was blazing away in full technicolor.  Part of the barn roof had fallen in and flames were licking at the side of the silo, half-full of corn.
             “If we wait long enough,” John joked, as he hooked up the hose to the truck’s pump, whose other end was dangling in the river, “we can have us some popcorn!”
             The heat from the fire was too intense to allow us to get very close.  Ralph and Tyler had their hoses aimed at the barn while Carisa was concentrating on the silo.  Andy and I checked out the farmhouse which seemed to be okay since it was far enough away from the blaze.
             By the late afternoon the barn was completely gone, just smoldering charcoal.  The one side of the silo nearest the barn had been eaten away by the fire.  The rest of the tired old thing was still standing, sort of.
             “We should probably pull it down, Sam,” Andy recommended, “before it falls on someone.”
             “I think just a little nudge from the truck,” Ralph suggested, “should do the trick.”
             As we were discussing the various pros and cons of ways to demolish the structure I glanced over at the silo in time to see Carisa give it a good poke with her pike and, with a sound like a hundred kettle drums, it finally went South.  As it settled down, it looked like a giant pile of barrel staves with cobs of dried corn thrown in all directions.  There was a row of crows perched on a telephone wire near the house that you just knew would be feasting right then if we would only move out of the way.  But, they would have to wait since we couldn’t leave until we were sure there weren’t any embers hiding in the smoking ashes.  Didn’t want them blowing around starting more fires.
             All the following week we kept talking about the outbreak of fires.  We met for beer at Tansy’s one evening to share our thoughts.  Tyler, the youngest and newest member of the brigade, was still a ‘probie’ and anxious to learn.
             “What if this wasn’t just an accident?” he asked.
             “What do you mean?” inquired Andy, nursing his Heineken.   
             “Well, could it be intentional?”
             “You mean someone started it on purpose?” Carisa asked, cracking open a peanut shell.
             “Yeah.  I mean, I grew up in the projects and we had a fire scare almost every week.  It was usually some angry bro lighting up some trash left in the hall.”
             “Well, that’s always a possibility,” replied Andy, “but, in this case, it’s hard to tell.  To begin with we don’t know how the fire started. So far we have evidence of an accelerant but whether it was brought to the scene or was there already we don’t know.  I mean, there was probably a lot of flammable stuff left in there, oil-soaked rags, insect spray, bags of fertilizer.   And whether someone, a homeless person maybe, caused it accidentally or on purpose, we’ll never know.”   
             “It’s kinda weird that these last three fires all began in abandoned buildings,” piped up Ralph.  Ralph’s other occupation is as produce manager at our local super market.  We all have other jobs.  Tyler is a clerk at Modell’s sporting goods at the strip mall, Carisa is an instructor at the local Tae Kwon Do center and John was an insurance salesman but is retired now.  I work at home as a Customer Service Representative.  Yep, I’m the person you yell at when what you just purchased doesn’t work.  I’m not going to tell you the name of the company I represent because you’d hunt me down and kill me.  Anyway, all our employers understand that we are obliged to drop everything when there is an emergency.  There has never been a problem with that.
             “There seems to be some similarity between each of the fires,” Ralph continued, “All three of them were in buildings located out-of-the-way---you know, isolated.  And the fires were in the evening when it was getting dark.”
             “Not out at the Jensen farm,” interrupted Tyler.
             “It was mid-morning,” Carisa added.
             “Yeah, right.  But still---”
             “I think, for now, we should shelve the arson angle,” Andy advised, “and try and uncover what really happened by looking at the little bit of evidence we have.  Okay?”

             Later that night, as I was in bed just drifting off, I found myself wondering if Ralph was onto something.  Could these fires be cases of arson?  There hadn’t been any examples of someone starting a fire on purpose, in our little town, that I could remember.  Maybe those kids out in the projects.  My dad did talk about the time, when he had just joined the brigade, that there was some evidence that the fire that destroyed Mr. Donner’s hardware store might have been started by an arsonist.  The gossip was that it was done in order for Donner to collect some insurance money since his business was failing.  My dad said nothing was proved and that Mr. Donner took the money and moved to Alaska.

 

 

The Witness

 

             Now, I’m really concerned and very angry.  Yesterday evening, that two-legged monster came into my neighborhood.  Even though we are located way above the other houses, as my spouse and I built our home on the top of the highest tree in what the two-leggers call ‘The Park,’ the chances of one of the monster’s fires spreading into our woods was very possible.  Dressed all in black, like he thought he was one of us, he crept along the back alley, in the same sneaky way Coyote does. He snuck into the backyard of a house that some other two-leggers were repairing.  By the time I had alerted my clan, and we had gathered together, he was inside doing whatever magic he does to create fire.  However, when he finally came out, we were ready for him.  We screamed and shouted and dive-bombed him but he got away before any of the other two-legger neighbors saw him.  They saw us, however, and when we tried to tell them to follow us they just threw things at us.  One two-legger even waved a bullet banger at us.  Why is it we, the crow family, can understand their language but they can’t understand ours? 

 

The Renovator

 

             I really took a chance tonight.  It was probably pretty stupid but, except for one hitch, it worked out all right.  I had chosen the target a few months ago, but, as it was in a heavily populated neighborhood, I kept putting off.  It was a big old two-story four-square house that was being renovated by a couple of smart asses that were flipping it for profit.   They were taking forever and the job they were doing was shitty.  I decided it was time to put the eye-sore out of its misery.  I knew they had a guard dog chained up in the kitchen but I also knew it was a barker not a biter.  I threw it some hamburger I had brought in a baggie and that quickly silenced it.
             As I suspected, they were doing a lousy job on the electrics and they hadn’t yet replaced most of the ancient wiring.  I found one of the old original wires riding up the side of an exposed wooden stud.  It was already frayed in spots which made my job that much easier.  I found the fuse box and removed all the glass fuses so that I could be sure the wire was dead.  Didn’t want to get electrocuted.  Then, using an emery board, I abraded the woven asbestos-covering in a couple a places until the copper wire was exposed.  I then jammed a wad of colored tissue paper between the bare wire and the stud.  Tissue paper is very flammable, especially if it is dyed.  Didn’t know that, did ya!  I then let another loose wire, with its end cut and exposed, hang close to the worn-away sides of the wire I had worked on.  The slightest breath of air would swing it against the stationary one and ZAP!
             I screwed the fuses back into their receptacles and, using my handy dandy voltage tester, made sure the wires were live.  They were and I could see, with the light from my phone, that there was an almost invisible wisp of smoke arising from one of the frayed wires.  In all honesty one never knows if these setups are going to work; the candles, the matchbooks, the frayed wiring, but one can hope.
             I slipped out the way I had entered and thought it was safe to walk away when, suddenly, I was attacked by a bunch of birds.  It was then I remembered the dog in the kitchen and I should have let him out but the bird ambush kept me from going back inside.  It was very weird that, in the dark of the alley, I was being pecked and stabbed by this flock of, I don’t know, Starlings maybe.  Anyway, I fled like the proverbial ‘bat out of hell’ and made it home without, I hope, being seen.  What happened later was not my fault.

 

The Volunteer

 

             It was almost midnight when we got the call.  It’s weird how one minute everything’s the same and okay and a second later it’s all changed.  I think this was the worst night of my life.  Tyler is lying in the hospital over in Fairview in a coma and they’re trying to save his leg.  We’re all in shock.
             This time the fire was in the middle of town.  It was the home on Maple Avenue that George Olsen and his son are renovating.  When we got there the fire had gotten a good start on the southern side of the house. Ralph and John concentrated their hoses on the flame-free side that had not caught fire yet.  Carisa and Andy kept blasting away at the actual fire while Tyler and I went around to the back to see what was going on there. We were about to report back to Andy when we both thought we heard a faint sound rising above the roar of the fire.
             “It sounds like a dog barking!” I shouted, “or howling!”
             “Yeah!  Oh, fuck!  Sam, there must be a dog trapped inside!” Tyler yelled back at me and then, without a moment’s hesitation, ran up the steps to the back porch and, opening the screen door, pushed through a pile of tarps and paint cans.  I started after him but I was stopped by the sound of glass exploding.  Looking up at the second floor, I saw a row of windows spraying down shards of glass, as each casement blew out from the excessive heat.   I halted for a few seconds to allow for the deadly rain to cease and then radioed Andy and headed for the porch.  Before I got to the first step I saw Tyler coming out through the doorway carrying a big black mutt. The dog leapt out of his arms and took off towards the alley.  Tyler took one step onto the porch and then, like a scene out of one of those disaster movies, the whole back of the house and most of the roof collapsed on top of him.
             By this time Andy had run around the side of the house and joined me, followed by Ralph with his hose going full blast.  While he kept dousing the rubble covering Tyler, Andy and I tried to pull the kid out from under the smoldering beams.  We finally got him free enough to carry him further out into the backyard and place him gently on the grass.  Mercifully, he was unconscious, still breathing but out of it.  His lower left leg was twisted in such a way that I knew there was something very wrong.  We found out later that it was shattered and it had separated from the knee. We also learned that, even though his helmet had stayed on, he had suffered a massive concussion.
             We’ve been taking shifts sitting with him in the hospital.  His mom, who works nights as an office cleaner, stays all day by his side.  She is a very sweet woman and I feel so bad for her.  Anyone who has children can understand the nightmare of seeing your kid injured or lying in a hospital bed close to death.  I’m trying not to imagine my little Davey in the same situation.  We, here at the firehouse, all have children except for Carisa---and I guess Tyler.  John is a widower with a son in the Marines.  Ralph has three kids, a teenage boy and two young daughters.  His wife Ginny is a dental assistant at the Happy Smiles office.  At the moment, there are no ‘happy smiles in this hospital room.
             The State is sending down a couple of fire inspectors to see if they can figure out what or who caused this tragedy.  We’re pretty sure it’s a case of arson.  Some very sick son-of-a -bitch is getting off by burning down things.

 

The Witness

 

             I know we’re smarter than most of you two-leggers.  I see it every day. I watch someone picking through a metal trough for their dinner and they always miss the best morsels.  I watch a two-legger about to step out in front of four-wheeler and if it wasn’t for me, screaming and flapping in her face, she would have become road kill.  It’s like you’re all walking around blind to the world, which, by the way, you are overcrowding, staring into those flat little boxes that glow like fireflies in your hands.
             You know, we crows have a undeserved reputation for bringing doom and destruction wherever we go.  It’s been like that forever but it’s only because, long ago, you two-leggers needed someone or something to blame when bad things happened---the plague or a flood or an earthquake.  The irony is we were usually showing up with the intent of helping you two-leggers get out of the way of an oncoming disaster.  Instead, we earned the title of a ‘Murder’ of crows. Not a ‘flock of’ or a ‘bunch of’ but a MURDER of!  Really!

             It all comes down to communication.  We have learned your language.  Why can’t you have the decency to learn ours?  I know, we can’t speak your words because we don’t have all of the right vocal equipment but don’t get me started with your argument about the abilities of Parrots or Parakites, of Mynas and even my cousins the Starlings.  Those birds are only repeating what you have taught them to say.  They don’t know what the words mean.  If you ask a Parrot what the time of day is it’ll say, “I love you.”  If you ask it what color it’s feathers are it’ll reply, ”I love you.”  It doesn’t know what the words mean.  It’s just trying to please you.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Parrots are very smart but just not in verbal communication.
 
             When you speak I know most of the words you’re using.  I’ve been eavesdropping on you two-leggers for hundreds of years. My crew and I sit in the trees and listen to you talk about your work, your loves, your hates, your dreams and even your sins (that’s great fun.) If only you were willing to pay attention, you would be able to understand my response to whatever you might be saying.  It’s to be found in the volume and tone of my voice and in my body language.  Soft clucking and head nodding---I’m in happy agreement.  Loud cawing and wing flapping---we’ve got a problem. And I know how to laugh when I see something amusing.  I’m sure you’ve heard me.  I don’t hold back.
             So, you can understand my frustration at not being able to have someone listen to what I’m trying to say about the two-legged monster who’s causing these buildings to burn.  I know who he is and where he lives.  And just now I’ve heard that he has injured or maybe even killed another two-legger.  He has to be stopped.  Please, just listen and follow me!

 

The Renovator

 

             It seems I messed up a little.  I certainly never meant to hurt anyone.  My only mission is to remove the useless abandoned buildings that are cluttering up our community and to therefor make room for more efficient and up-to-date examples of better architecture.
             I’m going to take a brief hiatus from my undertaking while I plan the next cycle of renovations.  I already have a couple of targets in mind.  Places that are once again out of the way so that, hopefully, no one will be harmed.  I’m truly sorry about the young firefighter who was injured.  Sounds like he was very brave but maybe a little foolish.  Anyway, he was doing his job and he knew the dangers.  You have to admire these men who put their lives on the line.

 

The Volunteer

 

             Tyler is awake and feeling better.  The concussion has left him with double vision, which they say will eventually go away but he has these reoccurring migraines.  The really bad news is that they couldn’t save his leg.  It was too damaged so they had to amputate it below the knee.
So far he has handled the news pretty well but I think the reality of the situation hasn’t had a chance to sink in yet.  At the moment Carisa is more upset that he is.
             The State Arson Inspectors have concluded that the fire was not an accident but was arson started by the manipulation of electrical wiring by person or persons unknown.  Ralph’s money is on the Olsens, “insurance fraud,” and he’s ready to go after them.  The rest of us are a bit cooler.
             “It could just be a crazy fire bug getting his jollies,” opined John.
             “Or someone with a grudge against George Olsen or his son,” Carisa added. “How the hell are we going to find the s.o.b.?!”
             “Well, first of all,” Andy answered, “we aren’t going to find the perpetrator, that’s the inspector’s and the police department’s job.  Secondly, it’s going to be next to impossible to track down whoever did this.  Any DNA or other evidence has been burnt away, turned to ash, so the authorities are going to have a very hard time finding the person responsible for the fire.  The statistic for solving a case of arson is, I believe, somewhere around six percent.”
             “Shit!” exploded Ralph, “I know I’m right!  I know all these fires are connected. This last one chinches it.  What’s to not stop this madman from keeping on?”
             I had to side with Ralph.   It was pretty clear there was a serial arsonist loose in town. Of course, it could be someone from out-of-town but I doubted that.  And he, or she, (mustn’t be sexist) would probably keep setting fires until they were caught.
             “Whoever it is,” I assured everyone, “they will slip up eventually.”  And I almost believed that.

 

The Witness

 

             It has been very quiet here for quite a while.  Too quiet.  The two-legged monster has not gone anywhere but to places that have food and medicines.  Sometimes he’s up all night.  I’m sure he’s plotting his next event.  
             My spouse and I are busy teaching our little ones the things we were taught as fledglings.   We are working with the other parents in our ‘Murder’ (I do hate that term.) The lessons we are passing on to the youngsters are about things like; using tools such as sticks and bent straw to poke around in holes for worms, learning how to develop facial recognition in order to tell the bad two-leggers from the good and, most importantly, identifying and evading predators.
             One of the reasons we moved from the country into the town, fifteen seasons ago, was to get away from the owls and the hawks and the two-leggers who were killing us off with their long-nosed bullet bangers.  The other reason was the blessed overabundance of food that we found on every town street.  There were the garbage cans, the trash bags, the yards of grass, cut short, that were dotted underneath with plump juicy grubs, the big metal troughs, behind the eateries, full of the cast off food from the two-leggers.  Just talking about it makes me hungry.  It’s a good thing we’re going to a party, after this, down at the town dump.  The whole crew will be there.  We do love to party. 

 

The Volunteer

 

             It’s been very quiet here for the last month.  Really quiet.  That should make me feel relieved but it doesn’t.  It’s like that old saying about ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop.’  I’m convinced, and I’m sure everyone else here believes the same, that the arsonist is going to strike again.  Don’t know when or where and that’s what so frustrating---and scary.
             Carisa is trying to be proactive and has been doing all kinds of research on line and at our local library.  Her brother Joseph happens to work in the sheriff’s office over in Fairview and she got him to look up convicted arsonists who had served their time and were back out on the streets.  However, there weren’t very many, which went to prove Andy’s point about so many arsons going unsolved.  There were only three who were caught, convicted, imprisoned and released within the last ten years.  Two were located hundreds of miles away in opposite sides of the state but one was living over in Clinton which is only a hop, skip and a jump from here.  Carisa was ready to track the guy down and hang him by the balls in the town square but I convinced her that we needed to check a few things out first.  I volunteered to accompany her to Clinton to interview what she called ‘the suspect’ and to also keep her from killing what was probably an innocent man.

             Ivan Neubert was mowing his front yard.  Actually, it was his parent’s yard, that ran along the front of the split-level house, where they all lived.  He looked to be in his thirties, was tall but stooped over like he felt he wouldn’t be noticed if he lowered his head.  He had a slight paunch that was emphasized by the tight dirty tee-shirt he was wearing.  A pair of camouflage cargo-shorts had pockets that bulged out over his knobby knees and hairy calves.
             “Mr. Neubert?” I shouted, as we approached him.
             Startled, he replied, “No sir, that’s my daddy.  He’s inside.”  The mower made rattling sounds like a cement mixer full of rocks.  
             “Ivan Neubert?” I bellowed over the noise of the mower.
             “Oh, me---you mean me.”
             “I believe so.  We’re from over in Franklin Township and we’d like to ask you some questions.”
             “Questions? What about?” He finally turned off the mower so we could speak without yelling.
             “We’ve had some unwanted fire activity in our town and we wondered if you would know anything about that?”
             Neubert went as still as his shut-down mower.  He lowered his head even further as he mumbled, “I don’t do that no more.”
             “This was a couple of months ago, Ivan,” Carisa said, with an unpleasant edge to her voice, “maybe before you stopped doing that sort of thing.”  Neubert just kept shaking his head.
             “Excuse me,” came a voice from the shade of the front porch, “What’s going on here?” Carisa and I both turned at the same time to see a figure stepping out onto the lawn.  It was an older version of Ivan with a larger paunch and less hair.
             “Good morning sir,” I uttered as he approached where we were standing, “We’re from the fire department over in Franklin Township and we just wanted to ask Ivan about some---incidents that happened---”
             “He had nothing to do with anything that occurred in your stupid little town.  Now, get the hell off my property---”
             “Pardon me, sir,” Carisa interrupted, “We just want to make sure that there is no connection between your son and the series of fires that occurred in Franklin during the last two months.”  Carisa is an Amazonian athlete and quite formidable when her temper is rising.  Mr. Neubert stepped back a pace.
             “Okay, alright, I think we can clear this up very easily.  You say you had some, what?, unexplained fires, during the last two months?”
             “Actually,” I responded, “the last one was about a month ago.”
             “Okay, well, Ivan rejoined us just three days ago after spending six months in rehab.” This statement was followed by a moment of silence.  Mr. Neubert put his arm around his son’s shoulders.  “You know, we’re really tired of having people like you showing up, every time there’s a fire, accusing him of being responsible.  My god, the one time it happened was over eight years ago!  He’s paid his debt to society.  So get the fuck out of here and leave us alone!”

             In the car, on the ride back to Franklin, Carisa was uncharacteristically quiet.  I talked to her about what we had learned and how careful we had to be.  She only said one thing.
             “What do we do now? It could be anybody.”

 

The Witness

 

             This time he was wearing a mask but then so are so many other two-leggers.  The reason for this is that on this one day, and night, of the two-legger year, they celebrate death and evil.  It is the only time we crows are accepted and welcomed since we are, in their uneducated eyes, a symbol of the black arts.  
             There are a lot of little two-leggers running around and a lot of candy. The tradition, as I understand it, is to don various disguises and travel from house to house and threaten the inhabitants with evil spells if they don’t give you candy.  My family and I follow these terrorists around and pick up any sweet bits they may have accidentally dropped along the way.  It is a holiday much loved by young and old alike and we are fond of it as well.
             On this special night there is a very big bonfire blazing on the village green, an intentional one, not one created by the monster. It consists of logs from dead trees and all kinds of discards; crates, broken furniture, wooden signs, paper, anything that will burn easily.
             The monster was there.  I’m sure the big fire excited him.  He was all in black from head to toe and he was putting on his mask.  It was shiny red, like fresh blood.  He was wearing, on the top of his head, a red cap with a bill, like one of those that two-leggers wear when hitting a ball with a piece of wood and running in a circle.   It had a white symbol on it of an owl.  I stayed close to him most of the time but, when I stopped to pick up a little bag of orange-colored pretend-corn, I lost sight of him.
             I had wisely alerted my crew to keep their eye out for him so I’m not panicking since I am sure one of my cousins will eventually come across him.  I figure that he will make his move on this special night and I’m sure I’m right. 

 

The Renovator

 

             If all goes as planned, this should be one of my best restorations.  I’ve been working on the details for weeks.  The site is the former forestry lookout tower that sits on the highest hill around here, which is located three or four miles north of Franklin Township.  It was built in the 1930’s when the town was surrounded by a thousand acres of forest.  But now, almost a hundred years later, the woods have been replaced with highways, malls, parking lots, car dealerships, truck stops and fast food drive-buys.  There are actually more trees now in the city park than in the so-called forest.
             The old wooden forestry tower hasn’t been occupied since 1972 so it has decayed to the point it could collapse at any time.  There’s a chain link fence around it but that doesn’t stop folks from getting over the fence and climbing forty feet up the crumbling stairs to the top platform.  I know this because I’ve been there a few times, the last time was to set up my ignition device.  There was evidence of the cabin having had lots of visitors over the years; spray-painted obscenities on the walls, initials carved into the woodwork, condoms and beer cans scattered all around and even a deflated air mattress.  A lot of partying going on.  But not anymore.  One of the good things to come out of this demolition is that, not only, is an eyesore being removed but a danger is being eliminated.  I’m probably preventing some serious accidents and maybe even a death or two.

             I’m going high tech on this one.  Because of the distance involved, and my not wanting to be on-site when the event happens, I’m going to control the ignition remotely.  I’ve built an incendiary bomb (the things you can learn on YouTube) and connected it to a cell phone (thank you Google,) one of the two ‘burners’ I picked up in Fairview.  Yesterday afternoon, I set the armed device in a pile of rubbish under a counter that stood in front of one of the lookout’s windows, the one facing the town.  Now, all I have to do is use the second ‘burner’ to dial the number of the first ‘burner’ phone and, BOOM, the tower goes up in flames!  I’ll then toss the ‘burner,’ I’ve just used, into the bonfire.  It will truly be a burner then.
             I know, there will be all kinds of evidence left over when they inspect the bomb site but I don’t care.  They will finally know that there is a serial arsonist in the area but they will never be able to trace anything back to me.
             I was a little bit concerned about someone visiting the tower platform between yesterday and today so, on my way descending the stairs, I broke up each step with a hammer. It wasn’t that hard considering the condition they were in.  Now, no one can get up there, including me.
             And so tonight, Franklin Township is about to experience the best Halloween trick and treat, ever!

 

The Volunteer

 

             Tonight, I’m trying to relax and enjoy the silly madness surrounding me.  It’s Halloween and every werewolf and vampire is chasing after every ghost and superhero, while Beauty and the Beast are dancing with Cinderella and the Prince.  There’s Woody from Toy Story and somebody in a rubber mask that resembles the former President.  Ugh!
             The whole firehouse crew is gathering here with me because we are on duty monitoring the bonfire.  Setting a sky-high pile of discards on fire is a Halloween tradition in Franklin that goes way back.  I remember standing here when I was only five or six and feeling the intense heat, even though I was at least twenty feet away from the fire.  We’re all going to be here to keep everything under control.
             The gang has gotten into the spirit of the holiday and dressed appropriately, even Tyler.  He hasn’t received his prosthesis yet but there he is, sitting in his wheelchair, dressed as a pirate and wearing a fake wooden peg-leg.  Sadly, he won’t be back with us as a ‘probie’ but we’ve elected him team mascot until he moves on, which he will do, eventually.
             Carisa has taken on Wonder Woman.  She looks great.  She is Wonder Woman.  John, however, is just wearing a suit and a tie, a fedora and carrying a leather briefcase.
             “What the hell are you supposed to be, John?” Ralph asks, as Rusty the clown, and as he adjusts his red fuzzy wig.
             “I’m pretending to be a life insurance salesman,” John replies.
             “Wait a minute,” interrupts Carisa, “You’re cheating.  You are a salesman.”
             “Was, darlin---I was a salesman.  These working clothes are now only a costume” John explains, “and what in heaven’s name is going on here?” he continues, indicating me, “Sam, You look like a giant purple eggplant.”
             At any other time I would have felt like a stupid idiot but there are lots of other stupid idiots running around in costumes weirder than mine.
             “I took Davey trick-or-treating earlier this afternoon and he was dressed as a Power Ranger, he watches that show all the time, and he wanted me to be one of the villains, Ivan Ooze.  So, Denise dyed these sweats and my sneakers purple and made me this green cape.  This nasty purple makeup you see on my face and hands finishes the look.”
             “I bet you’ll have purple stains on your face for weeks,” Carisa predicts.
             “Thanks.  Anyway, Andy is over on the other side of the bonfire. John, he said for you, and Carisa to join him on the that side and for Rusty the Clown and I, the giant eggplant, to set up camp on this side. Tyler, I think it’s time for you to meet your mom in the parking lot. Un ah, no arguments. See you tomorrow.  The rest of you, the hoses are set up and ready to go if, god forbid, there is an emergency.  Right now, we’ve just got to keep the overly-enthusiastic celebrants from falling into the flames.”
             “You mean like that kid,” asks John, as he points to a youngster who is preparing to toss a roll of toilet paper into the flames.  He is teetering right at the edge of the fire with sparks and embers flying around his head.  I start to run in his direction but Wonder Woman is way ahead of me and scoops the kid up and runs back to us like something out of a DC comic. It’s going to be a long night.

 

The Witness

 

             It’s been a very long night.  I’m usually in my nest by now, surrounded by my family, but not this night.  A lot has happened, some bad, some good and it’s not over yet.  It all started when one of my crew called out to me that they had spotted the monster.  I flew over to the field of grass that rests behind the building that the fledgling two-leggers enter every day and there he was, or at least it looked like him at first, same black garments and that red billed hat with the white owl on top.  But then my cousin yelled for me to join him at one of the big windows of the structure and when I did and I looked in I was amazed to see all these young two-leggers moving around, jumping up and down like grasshoppers happy in a corn field.  There were three older two-leggers in a corner beating on drums, plucking at strings and singing a very loud, very unpleasant song.   And here and there were the same red hats with white owls on top.  There was a big red rag hanging on the wall with a picture of a giant white owl on it and some words I couldn’t make out.
             With so many white owl-topped red hats running around there was no way I could find the monster.  He was so smart.  He knew no one would spot him in a crowd.  I didn’t know which way to turn but I wasn’t going to give up.  I figured if I could only see his face---and then I remembered that he was wearing that blood-red mask.  At first I was disappointed and then I realized---the mask would make him stand out from any other black-dressed, red-capped person, unless they were also wearing a blood-red mask which I doubted would happen.
             So, I took off to continue my search for the monster.  What I was going to do when I found him I hadn’t quite worked out yet.

 

The Renovator

 

             It is so hard not to make the call, to punch in the numbers that will cause the lookout to burst into flames!  But I want to wait for the perfect moment, when the crowd is at its largest and is having the best time.  It’s amazing the number of adults who go crazy over Halloween.  I was reading somewhere that Halloween is more popular than Christmas.  It is said that many companies find they make more of a profit off of Halloween merchandise than off of Christmas crap.  It makes sense.  Christmas is about having to find the right gift for Aunt Fanny, where-as Halloween is all about getting to dress up scary or funny or sexy and eating too much candy.
             Even though it’s getting late there are still a lot of little kids running around.  Probably high on sugar.  Excited by the bonfire and all the wild costumes.  Well, just you wait, junior.  You ain’t seen nothing yet! 

 

The Volunteer

 

             So far things are going okay.  Folks are having fun and any hard-cider drinking is taking place somewhere else.  We usually have a drunk or two that the sheriff has to take away to his office to dry out, but not this year.  The only concern we have at the moment is the arsonist.
             “Do you think he’s hanging out around here, Sam?” Ralph asks, as we sit on the bumper of good ole Engine 95, watching witches and scarecrows dancing in front of the fire.
             “Probably. I imagine he would be drawn to it like the proverbial moth.”
             “So he could be anyone in this crowd,” Ralph continued, “What a depressing thought.”  He passed me a sandwich his wife had made, that he had retrieved from a hamper by his feet. “I think it’s tuna fish.  That okay?”
             “That’s fine.”
             “I think there’s a ham and cheese in here---”
             “No, this is fine. Thanks.”  We began eating, not in silence but, in the roar of the fire.  One doesn’t realize how thunderous the sound of a fire can be.  It can be as loud as a hundred Niagara Falls.  What starts out with as a whisper becomes a symphony of booms and crashes, snaps and rumbles.
             “Why do you think Andy was so resistive to the idea that the early fires might be cases of arson?” 
             For a moment I was taken aback.  This question came out of nowhere and I took a breath before I spoke.  “Well, he’s a very careful guy and not one to jump to conclusions.  He emphasized the need of clues, of proof.  Remember, he told us how hard it was to prove a fire was started by an arsonist,” I explained and then I asked, “What caused you to think about Andy, right now?”
             “The bonfire, I guess.  It’s just that every time I brought up the possibility of arson he shot me down.  I admit it made me kind of angry and especially since I know my theory was right.”
             I was about to agree and congratulate him when his cell phone rang.  “It’s Ginny, I’m going to take this.”
             “Sure,” I replied and turned away slightly to give him some privacy.

             “Hi, hon------It’s okay.  Things are fine.  How about you?------What?  He what?!------That stupid   little fucker!------Sorry------He knows he’s not------Yes, yes!  Don’t worry------Okay.  I love you.  Bye.”

             He ended the call and jumped up in a state of controlled but obvious agitation.
             “What’s going on?” I asked.
             “My son Todd.  He told his mom he was going to a party with his friends.”
             “So, is that so bad? It’s Halloween, after all.”
             “When she asked him where the party was he told her it was up at the old forestry lookout!”
             I knew the abandoned lookout had long been a popular place for teens to escape to. However, it had been condemned years ago as unsafe and the State had put a fence around it.  But, of course, when has a chain link fence ever stopped a teenager!
             “Jeez, Ralph, that’s not good.  When did he leave to go up there?”
             “I’m sure he’s up there by now.”
             “Do you want to go up after him?”
             “Yes—no, I’ve got to stay here and do my job with you guys.”
             “Go on.  I’ve got it covered.  The lookout’s not that far away.  You can go get him and come back here after you drop him off at your place.”
             “After I tan his hide and tell him he’s grounded for a month!” Ralph replied, as he paced back and forth. “Nah, I’ll just call him on his cell and give him an earful.  I’ll scare the shit out of him.”  He hit a button on his phone and walked away to find some quieter place to converse, and chastise.

 

The Witness

 

             I think I see him.  I’m on top of the belfry of the church at the north end of the village square and I have a clear view of the bonfire.  He’s standing with a small group of two-leggers and they are like shadows against the flames but I can make out his red hat.  One of the two-leggers is female although it seems to have the muscles and tendons of the other gender.  Maybe it’s a mle two-legger in disguise. It’s hard to tell the color of the plumage on its head but it appears to be black and long.  
             Anyway, I’m going to take a quick soar over the crowd and particularly over that little group of three to see if the one in the owl hat is the monster.  I’ll have to be careful not to get sucked into the fire.  It’s such a big fire.  The flames are as tall as a house.

             It’s him!  He’s in all black and wearing the red cap with the white owl and---the top half of his face is covered in what looks like blood, a bloody mask!   Now all I have to do is keep watch and when he leaves, to go do his evil fire magic, follow him.  The rest of my crew is on alert and when I give the signal we will attack him with the full force of a ‘Murder’ of crows.  He won’t get away this time. 

 

The Renovator

 

             The time is close.  I need to detonate the bomb before the crowd starts to head home.  It’s kind of ironic that I have Wonder Woman here at my side and she hasn’t a clue about what is going to happen right under her nose.  And good old John there, along with the others, doesn’t appreciate all that I’ve done for him.  Yes, for the good of the town I’ve been removing useless eyesores but, more importantly, for my team I’ve been giving them ways to practice their skills and at the same time earn more money due to their participation in these fire emergencies.
             When I arrived in this little back-water berg, to take over as fire chief, they had only had one fire last year, a pickup truck.  The other two emergencies that year were rescuing a dog off a frozen lake and, how cliché can you get, getting a cat out of a tree.  Oh, and don’t forget helping Mrs. So-and-So get back into her house after locking herself out.  Come on, that’s not fighting fires.
             Over the last few months I’ve watched my guys become real firefighters and all because of the opportunities I’ve provided them and will continue to create for them.  I am truly sorry for what happened to Jenkins but it wasn’t my fault.  Fighting fires is dangerous work and what happened to Tyler could have happened to any of us.  There is a big lesson there.
             Ralph just radioed me that he has to leave for a little while---family emergency.  I okayed his request but I’m not happy.  There is a volatile element in Ralph and I don’t think he’s someone we can depend on.  We may have to look for two replacements instead of just the one for Jenkins. Anyway, Ralph’s going to miss the big show. Or maybe he’ll see it from his house.

 

The Volunteer

 

             The bonfire is diminishing a bit.  It's still very impressive but in about an hour it will have died down enough for us to start dousing it.  We can’t leave it until we know it's completely out.  John and Tyler stayed until dawn last year since they didn’t have spouses and kids waiting for them at home.  I guess Andy will replace Tyler with Carisa this time around.  Okay by me. I will be glad to get home to Denise and Davey.
             Ralph decided to go on up to the lookout and confront his son.  Seems the cell signal wasn’t very strong and their conversation kept cutting out.
             “Or he just doesn’t want to hear me bawl him out,” Ralph yelled back over his shoulder as headed to the municipal parking lot. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
              I shouted, “Don’t bother!” but I’m sure he didn’t hear me.

             It’s close to midnight and the crowd is beginning to thin out.  The fire is still going but it’s more like a friendly campfire than a raging inferno.  I find myself nodding off now and then and wishing I was home in my comfy------SHIT!--------What was that?!  There was this flash of bright light just now, and then, a few seconds later, a distant booming sound.  I’ve just climbed up on the bed of the truck for a better look and I can see smoke rising from one of the hills.  Oh, my god, it’s the lookout!

 

The Witness

 

             I’ve been perched in this oak tree, all this time, watching the monster, waiting for him to make his move.  He and the other two-leggers have been sitting on one of the benches and, one by one, they’ve been taking turns walking along the edge of the bonfire.  I guess it’s to look for any place the flames might be trying to spread.  Fire is so sneaky.
             Now the monster stands up and pulls one of those little firefly boxes, that all two-leggers carry, out of his pocket and turns away from the bench.  The female two-legger is getting up and joining him.  He pulls away and he seems very angry.  She is shouting something at him. Now he has raised his arm and is pointing the little box straight up into the sky. What does he see?
             I’m distracted by a sudden flash of lightning off to the right.  Must be a storm coming. Yes, there’s the sound of thunder. Wait—In the moonlight I see smoke rising from the hills.
             I turn back to see the monster and the female wrestling, fighting.  It looks like the female is trying to take the firefly box away from the monster.  He seems to be trying to throw it somewhere, to get it away from the lady two-legger.  This female needs help.  I think he’s hurting the lady. This not acceptable.  I make the call and then take off towards them at full speed.
             As I approach the struggling couple I am suddenly surrounded by my brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, cousins and nephews and even non-relatives.  The air is vibrating with wing-sound and the light from the fire is blacked out by our feathery bodies.  The monster doesn’t know what is about to hit him. 

 

The Renovator

 

             No, no, no, no!  This is wrong!  Get away from me!  These fucking birds!  Ow!  I can’t see anything!  Ow!  Stop!  What the hell---that interfering bitch!   It’s too late!  The fire has already started!  Ouch! How did she know what I was going to do?  Get these god damned birds off of me---now!  Shit!  I’ve got to throw this phone in the fire!
             Why don’t they understand I’m doing all this for them, to make them better firefighters!  Help!  I’ve got to get to the truck.  I’ve got to get to the fire---got to put it out!  It’s my job. Help!

 

The Volunteer

 

             Carisa came barreling around the other side of the bonfire yelling for me to get ole 95 ready to head off to the lookout fire.  I had already disconnected the big hose that ran from the fire hydrant to the truck’s pump and I was winding up the other hoses.
             “Where’s Andy?” I shouted, as Carisa joined me and started climbing into her overalls.
             “He won’t be joining us,” she replied, “You’re in charge for now.”
             “What? And where’s John? Are they alright?”
             “John is fine.  He’s staying on to monitor the bonfire.  He’ll work from the fire hydrant.”
             “And Andy?”
             “Andy is a little indisposed.  John is monitoring him as well.”
             “What the hell is going on?  This is crazy!  Do you know Ralph is up on lookout hill?”
             “What? Oh, my god!  Why? Is he working the fire by himself?  Carisa asked, as she joined me in locking down the hoses, “Wait!  The fire just happened!”
             “Long story.  He’s looking for his son,” I explained, “I’ll fill you in on the way!”
             And we took off, with Carisa at the wheel while I got into my work clothes. Wonder Woman and Turnip Head to the rescue.  I just hoped Ralph and his boy were alright.  Please god!

             As we bumped along, with our red lights flashing, I quickly filled Carisa in on the lookout situation and why Ralph had gone up there to confront his son.  It was then that she hit me with what had just happened with Andy back at the bonfire.  I was momentarily stunned.
             “He was rambling on about the positive side of the three fires and I thought ‘what is positive about Tyler and the loss of his leg’ and knowing Andy was responsible for---”
             “What do you mean responsible?  It was an accident.  I was there.”
             Carisa paused, as if deciding what to say, or not to say, next. “I should have told you sooner, Sam, but I did a little investigating into Andy’s life over the last few weeks and I discovered some things that really disturbed me and now, with what just happened with him, I feel my findings were correct. Just now he got up and pulled out a burner phone.  It wasn’t his usual phone so I tried to see who he was calling and he got nasty and then he aimed it at the sky.  And that was when the bright light went off.”
             “What’s going on, Carisa?” I asked, starting to dread what she might be about to say.
             “I believe Andy is our serial arsonist.”
             “You’re kidding.” I responded, as I felt this large cold lump start to grow in my stomach.
             “Don’t I wish,” Carisa answered, “but I think the phone is somehow connected to what has just happened up at the lookout.  I tried to grab it away from him but he started to throw it into the bonfire.  That was when the birds arrived!”
             “Birds? What birds?” I asked, feeling like I was listening to the plot of a very bad movie.
             “I know it sounds crazy but suddenly out of the dark there came all these birds, black birds or crows, I don’t know, but they were swooping around and attacking Andy.  I mean they pinned him to the ground!”
             “Did they go after you?  Are you okay?” I asked, looking for the evidence of peck marks.
             “They didn’t touch me or John.  Only Andy.  John and I tried to get them off of him. He was screaming and flapping his arms around but there were too many so I told John to stay there and keep an eye on Andy and the bonfire and I ran to get you.”
             “Jesus!”
             Carisa continued to talk as she turned off I 80 and onto a dusty gravel road that would eventually end atop Lookout Hill.  I could see the moon trying to push through waves of what I took to be smoke.
             “As I said I did some investigating,” Carisa confessed, “I went over to the Town Manager’s office.”
             “Why? What made you think it might be Andy?”
             “I don’t know.  It’s just that something felt---off, about him.”
             “Like what?”
             “Well, like, how much he enjoyed the fires.  How excited he was about each one.  And then how cold he was about Tyler’s injury.”
             “Carisa---”
             “Wait Sam!  Just let me tell you what I discovered.”
             “Okay, but this had better be something more than just rumors.”
             “Listen, you know how he talks about being a Fire Chief out in Nebraska? In that little town called Lowell?”
             “Yes.”
             “Well, I looked it up on Wikipedia.  It is an unincorporated community with no fire department. Never had one.  Okay, that’s strike one. Then I went and I checked out his file with Millie in Human Resources.”
             “You can’t do that!  That’s totally illegal!”
             “Well, I didn’t actually physically look at the file.  Millie would tell me what was there and I would ask her questions.  Millie and I go back to grade school.  She’s a great gal.”
             “So what did you, and Millie, discover?
             “He claimed on his resume that he was a member of IAFF.”
             “The International Association of Fire Fighters?” So what?  That’s his Union.”
             “They have no record of him as a member.  I checked.  That’s strike two.”
             “I’m afraid to ask you if there is a strike three.”
             “Oh, yes, and four and five.  But three sort of cinched it for me.”
             “And that is what?”
             “Don’t tell me---they don’t know him from Adam?”
             “Correct.”
             “God damn it!  Strike three really pisses me off.  I took on-line courses at the Academy to improve my rating and he just---”
             “Faked it.  Sam, I don’t think Andy ever trained as a fire fighter and that’s a very scary thought!”
             “Yeah, if all of this is true then for the last year we’ve been working with an arsonist masquerading as a---wait a minute!  How the hell did he get hired by the town with a resume full of false information?  Didn’t they vet him, didn’t they check all his references---his job history?!”
             “Well, Millie said Town Manager Ferris was desperate.  Remember, Sam, Chief Mickelson had just died unexpectedly and he needed to be replaced and no one was applying for the position--"
             “I applied.” I had and I had been turned down by the search committee for reasons I never understood; ‘Lack of experience’ and ‘doesn’t meet the criteria’ being two of them.
             “I know, Sam.  It was stupid on their end.  I think they were looking for more diversity, maybe a person of color, whatever.”
             “Well, they couldn’t have found anyone whiter than Andrew P. Smith---if that is his real name.” I was getting ready to start on a rant about Andy’s Oscar-winning performance when we both saw the glow of the lookout fire on the ridge ahead of us.                                                                                    
             “There it is!  About a quarter of a mile more!” I pointed out.
             “Oh, please let Ralph be okay,” Carisa whispered, as she switched on the siren.

             When we got closer I saw the flashing lights of a State Trooper’s cruiser and more lights spinning around on the roof of an ambulance.  This was not good.  And then, what was left of the lookout platform came into view.  It resembled the bonfire we had just left but more spread out over the gravel and sand covered plateau.  This must be because of the initial blast of whatever device Andy had used.  The chain link fence was flattened with a few of the metal posts remaining upright like drunken soldiers.  Carisa and I both leapt out of the truck and began rolling out the hoses.  Fortunately, the hilltop was mostly bare, with no trees to attract an unwelcome visit from the flames, so we felt we could contain the fire fairly easily.  I wanted to find Ralph and his son, and any of the others who were here when the fire ball went off, but we had to keep working on getting the fire under control first.  Staring into that roaring conflagration, I prayed that that wasn’t where we would find them.

 

The Witness

 

             The sun is trying to shine through the haze of the morning.  I’m home with my family and I’m glad to get away from the madness on the ground.  The two-leggers who arrived in their vehicles with the blue and white lights are asking other two-leggers about what happened.  They are aiming their firefly boxes at the place where the monster was confronted.  I can see all this from our nest up here on the top of the tree.
             One of those white vehicles, that makes a sound like a female screaming, took the monster away a while ago.  He was jib-jabbering and shaking like we had hurt him badly but he was only scratched here and there.  I wanted to take out his eyes, they would have made a juicy treat, but he kept covering them with his hands.  My uncle knocked the monster’s firefly box out of his hand and he would have taken it home with him but it turned out to be too awkward and heavy to carry. Just now, one of the two-leggers wearing a bullet banger on his side picked it up and put it in a baggy.  Interesting.
             Some of my cousins came back from the smoking hill with news of more madness going on there.  There were no flames but the smoke was too thick for them to get very close.  From their positions in the trees they could see that there were lots of vehicles and many two-leggers rushing around. Several of the vehicles were of the screaming female kind although they were silent.
             I don’t know how he did it but I know that the fire-magic on that hill was his doing.

             Maybe now the two-leggers will pay more attention to us when we talk to them.  We are good at what we do and we are not stupid.  They call us a ‘Murder’ of crows.  I prefer a ‘Concern’ of crows. 

 

The Renovator

 

             How can I make you understand?   Unfortunately, I’m very tired right now.  They gave me something to calm me down---more likely to just shut me up.  But I’ve got to explain---about my mission.  Please listen and then you’ll understand.
             I readily admit to causing the fires but they were done for the good of the town.  The structures were useless, hazardous and ugly and I’m sure everyone is glad they’re gone.  And, in my defense, I chose only abandoned buildings so as not to harm anyone.  Yes, there was that one injury but that was due to the bad judgement of the individuals involved.  It wouldn’t have happened if---anyway, it was not my fault.
             The additional benefit of all of this was the use of these fires to educate the members of the Franklin Township Volunteer Fire Department.  I believe they have become much better fire fighters due to experiences they have been through.  ‘Learn by doing’ is my motto.  I became a very competent fireman by attending to fires instead of attending classes.  A waste of time.  In all the other towns, where I volunteered, I learned so much through both my mistakes and my successes.  But, I’m proud to say that most of the citizens of the municipalities, where I improved the neighborhoods, were very pleased with the results.
             I am not some depraved arsonist setting fires, for mental or sexual satisfaction, but a visionary helping to create a more efficient and beautiful world.
             NOW GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!  PLEASE!

 

The Volunteer

 

             I’m sitting, once more, in the Fairview Hospital, where Ralph is getting his burns treated.  He got them when he pulled his son Todd and the other two boys out from under some sheets of plywood that had miraculously covered them during the explosion.  The sheets were beginning to blacken and smoke from the intense heat but Ralph got them out before they ignited.
             He told me that he had just arrived at the site of the platform when he saw the boys trying to climb up the tower’s upright supports.  Fortunately, they hadn’t gotten very far.  He shouted at them to get down and they obeyed, reluctantly.  Once they were on the ground, they stood, all of them wearing strap-on head lamps, looking like guilty coal miners.  Ralph started to walk toward them, with the intention of giving Todd a good tongue lashing, when the platform burst into flame.  The force of the blast caused all kinds of debris to descend in a waterfall of fire and knocked Ralph and the boys to the ground.  The support for the platform twisted and fell like a flaming Eiffel Tower just inches from where Ralph was lying.  Plywood spiraled down slowly on the hot wind and settled atop the boys.
             Ralph said he didn’t even remember rescuing Todd and his friends.  It was when he suddenly felt the intense pain on the side of his face and down his right arm that everything came into focus.  Thankfully, an ambulance arrived within 15 minutes and he was inside there getting emergency treatment just as we drove up.  The boys had been whisked off to the hospital earlier by one of the troopers. The ambulance with Ralph left a little later while we were fighting the fire.  Thankfully, a trooper came by the truck to tell us that everyone was safe and alive. Unhappily, however, we learned when we got here, to the hospital, that one of the boys has been seriously injured.  The young man, who had invited Todd to join him and his friend, has a pelvis injury and a broken arm.  Todd and the other boy lucked out with only some bruising but I’m sure Todd is struggling with his guilt over the injuries he feels he caused his dad.

             Carisa just came back with two cups of coffee and some interesting news.  Andy is also here in the hospital.
             “They’re holding him for observation after his bizarre mad behavior.  And, I imagine they’re painting his scratches with iodine so he doesn’t contract some weird bird disease,” she added with a chuckle, “Shall we find his room and go and strangle him?”
             I wasn’t sure she was joking.  “I think we should just leave him to the authorities.”
             “Yeah, I suppose so.  I only hope they find that burner phone he had.  All they have to do is check its sim card and they’ll see that he made that call at the same time the lookout platform went up in flames.  And if that other phone didn’t get completely destroyed in the explosion maybe they’ll be able to recover that sim card and---”
             “---prove that he triggered the device,” I finished.  Carisa, still in her Wonder Woman getup but her face smudged with soot, smiled a weary grin.
             “Well, Mr. Eggplant, I think it’s time to call it a day---or a night.  John’s up on the hill dampening down the lookout fire.  The bonfire is completely out.  Tyler is manning the station. I’m exhausted and you’re exhausted.”
             “I’m going to stay a little longer.  I want to hear how Ralph is doing, what the doctor says his prognosis is.”
             “Okay---chief.”
             “Not yet.  But I guess that’s what a good chief does, you know, care about all of his crew.”

 

The Witness

 

             Winter’s coming.  That means a lot of scavenging and maybe a new warmer lining for the nest.  The season we’ve just been through was quite eventful.  I love an adventure but maybe those fires were not the kind of adventures I want to be involved in.  I think I’ll stick to just being a crow surveying my neighborhood and watching the changing of the seasons.  
             Hmmm, what’s that sticking up out of the short growth of village green?  It’s very shiny.  I guess I better go check it out.  I love shiny things.