The body of his best friend was dumped unceromoniosusly into the crude hole he had dug.
His best friend.
He shook his head, shaking. Perhaps his head shook because he was shaking, or because he still couldn’t believe what he had done. Things looked bleak for him now. Was there a future for him?
And what about his friend?
His best friend?
When he had killed him they were alone. No one heard those dying gurgles, which had grated upon his and his ears alone. That was the hope. It almost drove him insane–gurgle, gurgle gurgle. The sound replayed itself in his head with a vengeance.
It was like his friend wanted him to hear it, wanted him to be driven mad. After all, he had murdered his friend . . . What was he thinking?
“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I don’t know what I did. Don’t ask me why!” He groaned.
There was a flapping sound. When he looked up he met the steady gaze of a raven. It was the biggest bird he had ever laid eyes on.
“I saw what you did there. You’ll never get away with it.” The bird opened all six of its wings.
A gurgling wail resounded across the countryside before trailing off.