The Crows Are Coming

The crows are coming.
They've been around since you were a kid, but now there are more than ever before. Your brother keeps telling you not to worry, but you do.
The crows are coming, and Rose is less than helpful. The only thing she says when you bring it up is to remind you of the tie-in crows have with death, and to ask if you've been thinking about death. You weren't.
Not until she brought it up.
You try not to think about it, but there are a lot of crows, and now you can't really help but to think about it. You can't open the windows anymore, and you can only leave the door open for about ten seconds at a time or the crows try to come inside. Bro has already killed three, and the neighbors are starting to complain.
They don't follow you to school, though. Aside from a select few, they stay at home and wait to swoop down at you. You haven't been able to strife for ages, because your personal winged entourage isn't the friendliest bunch. You and your brother are both getting stir crazy, but the only reason you both still have eyes is because you wear shades all the time and run pretty fast, so you have to deal with it and try to keep them away from your neck.
You haven't told anyone besides Rose and Bro, though. No need to worry them over it.
The crows are coming.
You don't know why they're coming now, but they are. You don't know where they're coming from, either, because when they first started showing up, they came from every direction. Now a couple more show up every day, still from all directions.
The crows are coming, and you're surprised it hasn't made the news yet. 'Crows inexplicably drawn to Texas teen', you can see it now. They'd have to come inside for interviews, but hey, when has that stopped an intrepid reporter?
The crows are coming, and you will not admit to fear. They make you nervous, not afraid. It's not like you've started dreading leaving the house because of the damn things. It's not like you nearly peed yourself when you heard a screech and a thud against your window last night.
And you're so caught up in running from the crows, in being very specifically not terrified of them that you don't notice the guy who's been watching you for a few weeks.
The crows are coming, and they're now the least of your worries.
You don't mention the guy to anyone, you can probably handle him. Bro managed to pull some strings, and you're allowed to carry a sword to school as long as you leave it with security during school hours.
But you forget to pick it up one day. Forgetting about your stalker, you decide to take a short cut you used to use all the time. It became a non-option for a while, but now is not the time to worry about tripping over a junky. You just need to run from the crows.
But it's not a junky you trip over. You don't actually trip, just stop in your surprise.
You've stepped on a horn, one of those annoying ones on kid's bikes, the kind clowns carry around. You only stop to wonder about where it came from for a moment, that's all the time you have before the crows resume their pursuit.
You keep running, and you step on another one. Then another, and another.
And when you get home, there's one sitting on your bed. You'd think Bro put it there as a joke, but it just smells so strange and so strongly that you know he didn't. You open the window just a crack to toss it out, and the rush of black feathers as you close it reminds you why you really should not open windows.
Because the crows are coming.
You pick up your sword the next day, feeling a little stupid and paranoid, and forget all about the horns.
But two weeks later, one is delivered for you to the front office.
And that afternoon, as you walk home, you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched.
You step on another one.
Add to your list of completely ridiculous fears: clown horns honking.
And then, after another week, on a sunny Tuesday, the crows leave you alone. You're relieved, but the paranoia you felt on the day you left your sword behind? It's back in full swing.
And you take the same short cut you took that day.
And you trip in about the same spot, over a little wire.
And you reach for your sword, and it's gone.
Your name is Dave Strider, and the last thing you see before the crows swoop in is a man with a mess of curly hair driving your sword down towards you.