Winter Moon. By: Dean R. Koontz

“How much snow?”

“Probably dead snails in there too.”

“Just flurries or a big storm?”

“Maybe a dead mouse or three.”

“Mom?” he said exasperatedly, entering the kitchen behind her. She

spun around, crouched in front of him, and held her hand above his

knee. “Up to here, maybe higher.”

“Really?”

“We’ll go sledding.”

“Wow.”

“Build a snowman.”

“Snowball fight!” he challenged. “Okay, me and Dad against you.”

“No fair!” He ran to the window and pressed his face to the glass.

“The sky’s blue.”

“Won’t be in a little while. Guarantee,” she said, going to the

pantry. “You want shredded wheat for breakfast or cornflakes?”

“Doughnuts and chocolate milk.”

“Fat chance.”

“Worth a try. Shredded wheat.”

“Good boy.”

“Whoa!” he said in surprise, taking a step back from the window.

“Mom, look at this.”

“What is it?”

“Look, quick, look at this bird. He just landed right smack in front

of me.” Heather joined him near the window and saw a crow perched on

the other side of the glass. Its head was cocked, and it regarded them

curiously with one eye. Toby said, “He just zoomed right at me,

whoooosh, I thought he was gonna smash through the window. What’s he

doing?”

“Probably looking for worms or tender little bugs.”

“I don’t look like any bug.”

“Maybe he saw those snails in your ears,” she said, returning to the

pantry.

While Toby helped Heather set the table for breakfast, the crow

remained at the window, watching. “He must be stupid,” Toby said, “if

he thinks we have worms and bugs in here.”

“Maybe he’s refined, civilized, heard me say cornflakes.”

” While they filled bowls with cereal, the big crow stayed at the

window, occasionally preening its feathers but mostly watching them

with one coal-dark eye or the other.

Whistling, Jack came down the front stairs, along the hall, into the

kitchen, and said, “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Can we have

eggs and horse for breakfast?”

“How about eggs and crow?” Toby asked, pointing to the visitor.

“He’s a fat and sassy specimen, isn’t he?” Jack said, moving to the

window and crouching to get a close look at the bird.

“Mom, look! Dad’s in a staring contest with a bird,” Toby said,

amused. Jack’s face was no more than an inch from the window, and the

bird fixed him with one inky eye. Heather took four slices of bread

out of the bag, dropped them in the big toaster, adjusted the dial,

depressed the plunger, and looked up to see that Jack and the crow were

still eye-to-eye. “I think Dad’s gonna lose,” Toby said.

Jack snapped one finger against the windowpane directly in front of the

crow, but the bird didn’t flinch. “Bold little devil,” Jack said.

With a lightning-quick dart of its head, the crow pecked the glass in

front of Jack’s face so hard that the tock of bill against pane

startled him into a backward step that, in his crouch, put him off

balance. He fell on his butt on the kitchen floor. The bird leaped

away from the window with a great flapping of wings and vanished into

the sky.

Toby burst into laughter. Jack crawled after him on hands and knees.

“Oh, you think that was funny, do you? I’ll show you what’s funny,

I’ll show you the infamous Chinese tickle torture.” Heather was

laughing too. Toby scampered to the hall door, looked back, saw Jack

coming, and ran to another room, giggling and shrieking with delight.

Jack scrambled to his feet. In a hunchbacked crouch, growling like a

troll, he scuttled after his son. “Do I have one little boy on my

hands or two?” Heather called after Jack as he disappeared into the

hall.

“Two!” he replied. The toast popped up. She put the four crisp

pieces on a plate and slipped four more slices of bread into the

toaster. Much giggling and maniacal cackling was coming from the front

of the house. Heather went to the window. The tock of the bird’s bill

had been so loud that she more than half expected to see a crack in the

glass. But the pane was intact. On the sill outside lay a single