A Raven at My Door

A knock on my door woke me from my slumber. It wasn’t like I minded, not really, I just spent four mind blowing days working on my novel-still full of blank pages mind you- and as it comes to mind I look over at my desk. It was staring at me, reminding me of my inability to create. Still, I get up and wrap my robe around my waist. It was no use leaving a poor man on my doorstep; lord knows I don’t need a lawsuit.
I walk over to my perfectly restored oak door and open it, trying not to fall back asleep. Four days spent writing drained me and now all I wanted was to go to bed and pray my novel would be done by time my agent called. But I knew my prayers would be said in vain, unless of course some fairies come to my desk and magically wrote in purple ink and solved all of my problems.
Rain poured into my living room and soaked my carpet. A raven lay on my doorstep; dead. I rolled my eyes and closed my door, and prayed for sleep. Getting under my blankets, I realized raves can’t knock on doors. I started reciting Edgar Allen Poe in my mind and turned on my lamp. It was still raining, (no I didn’t believe it would stop as soon as it created a mess in my living room) and I couldn’t stop Poe’s poem running in circles in my mind.
I got back up and looked out my windows to see if anyone was stalking me, or pulling some kind of prank, even in pouring rain. After a few minutes I went back to bed, still reciting Poe and turned off my lamp. My mind wandered until it found its way to a legend I remembered from a college course. In Ancient Greece it was said ravens were an equivalent of a grim reaper, a messengers of sorts. I curled myself into a ball and wondered if a dead raven meant….
No, it was just a coincidence. Birds always get trapped in storms, it was just unfortunate circumstance. Still I could see it, laying before me, even after I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. A raven, laying in front of me, its cold eyes mocking me. I couldn’t stand it anymore; I got up and got dressed, preparing to bury it. I put on my boots and my rain coat, grumbling.
But as soon as I opened my door it was gone, my doorstep was soaking wet, as it always gets in rainstorms but no raven. I looked all over my doorstep, trying to find it, to see if it was still alive, but I doubted it. Finally I gave up and went back inside, soaked and freezing towards a fire I started before I left to warm me. I took time to look around. I got my lovely abode years ago, at an auction. It was said to be a living museum of restless spirits. Of course I didn’t believe in spirits (unless you count the bourbon in my basement sitting next to my wine collection) and so it was a moot point.
In a daze I barely noticed knocking on my door. It wasn’t until my fire went out was I fully awake and was about to go back to my bed room did I notice. Again, I go to my door and pray someone is actually outside, and not just leaving more dead ravens on my doorstep again.
Wanting to go to bed I stared at empty rain and was about to close my door; before a raven swooped in and flew in circles near my ceiling. Its wings casting eerie images on my walls. It tried my best to remain calm as I went to get a broom and a cage. It’s eyes captured mine in a mesmerizing glance and I admired it’s beauty. I began to tremble as I understood it’s intention.
It was staring at me. It‘s cold, empty eyes, mocking me.
I felt my fingers go numb and my mind go blank. A raven, a raven knocking on my door, bringing a gift only it can bestow.