Screams of children reverberated throughout the walls of the house. Trying to shake their sleep, Greg and Norma raced down the hallway to their children’s room. They swung open the door and fumbled for the lights. A click and the room flooded in that warm tungsten glow from light bulbs that hadn’t been replaced since they’d moved in. There, each on their own beds, under their flower-patterned doonas, were their daughters, Bethany and Kate, both up right and staring wide eyed at the two parents as they caught their breath.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong,” said Greg calmly as to hide the panic beating in his chest.
Immediately Bethany broke out in tears and pointed at the corner of the room. Between her tear-filled wailing and heavy breaths she said, “Someone- was- was- in the- in the- corner.” And the end of her saying ‘corner’ transitioned smoothly once more into her wailing.
Greg went up to sit on her bed and comforted her. “Hey, now. Don’t you worry, we’re here now. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”
Greg looked with a confused expression at Norma, and they scanned the room. There was nobody obvious looming about the corner. Norma looked at kate who had not made a peep at this point despite having screamed all the same as her older sister.
“Did you see something too?” The mother asked.
Kate shook her head and in her five-year-old voice gave a prolonged, “No.”
“Why did you scream then baby?” Norma sat beside Kate and ran her hand through her silky blonde bob.
“Because- because beffany screamed.” The girl’s bright blue eyes looked at her sister still terrified and weeping.
Greg stood up. “Tell you what, we’ll check the room over and make sure nobody’s in here and then you girls go back to sleep. Deal?”
The sisters nodded, Bethany sniffling away.
The parents went over the room, checking the wardrobes, behind the door, and under Bethany’s bed. As Greg went to check under Kate’s bed, the five-year-old stopped him.
“Daddy!”
“What, hun?”
“It’s ok,” She smiled, “There’s nobody under my bed.”
“Okay, well you go back to sleep then.”
He ruffled her hair, the two parents went back to the door. “Goodnight girls,” they said as the flicked off the light and returned to their bedroom. Bethany lowered herself under her covers as far as her eyes, so that she might peak around the room as her eyes adjust to dark navy colour it took on in the dark. With only a sliver of moonlight that slipped in through the edges of the curtain, she dared to glance at her little sister. The little girl still sat up right, staring at Bethany with a smile. Bethany knew better than to let her eyes glance to the dark space beneath her sisters bed and so she simply rained the covers over her head and choked on her fear induced tears until morning.
‘Just one large cheeseburger meal with a coke for the drink, please.’
The standing speaker crackled across from Henry’s idling car as he awaited a reply. Slowly, the warm air so persistently produced by the air-con was escaping into the night through the wound down window. Goosebumps pricked across Henry’s forearm as it patiently rested on the steering wheel. He didn’t mind the wait. Even though it was late and he’d worked a long day in the quarry, he always reached a threshold where the extra time taken from him hardly made a difference in the grand scheme of his day. The day was already lost to his job, he supposed, so he became oddly calm, rather than frantically chasing those fleeting final hours that were supposedly his. Besides, it was late, the guys in the shop had probably had a long day too, no need to take it out on them.
Finally, a buzzing man’s voice emerged from the slanted box. ‘Sorry, got none.’
‘None of the items?’
There was a long crackly pause once more and there were distant sirens somewhere a few blocks away.
‘No.’
That was fine, he could just order something else, no biggie. Honestly, the voice was oddly nice, Henry thought, and it made it very easy to move on from this small inconvenience.
‘Okay, how about a chicken burger deluxe meal?’ he asked, with the hope he might drive forward.
‘I’ll check.’
He’ll check? He doesn’t know if they’ve got chicken burger deluxe meals? What is going on here?
There was a popping noise from the box as if the mic had been unmuted. The voice returned, ‘Nope, sorry, no chicken deluxe meal.’
Henry tapped his finger on the steering wheel. ‘Okay, well, this place is called “Burger Central” so what do you have?’
It was silent for a moment, dry leaves rustled across the empty car parks next to the building and the street light dimmed intermittently.
The voice spoke once more, ‘I dunno.’
‘What the hell do you mean you don’t know? You work here don’t you?’ Henry felt this interaction beginning to grate on and yet the voice was so strangely soothing.
‘Look, uhh, drive forward, please.’
‘What? I haven’t even ordered!’
Nothing.
Henry sighed and gentle accelerated to the window. A handsome man stood on the other side of the glass, but he wore not the uniform he expected of the workers here. The man slid open the window and leaned out.
His voice was even nicer unfiltered through that dreadful speaker, ‘Look, I don’t actually work here. I’m a travel agent. I just came in for food and the place was empty and I panicked when I heard someone at the drive-thru.’
Stunned, Henry simply replied, ‘Oh, okay.’
He nearly drove off, but then stopped, there was just something about that voice that made him dare, ‘Are you still after a meal? We could grab something together?’
The man blinked at him and smiled, ‘Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.’
Henry shrugged and drove off to the next closest fast food place, Pizza Time.
There was a scratching noise from down the hall. Jean held her breath. It was uncomfortable under the bed, with the wire mesh against her back and with the bolt-action rifle pressing against her chest. The grey dust and sand clung to her sweaty face as she stared out into the gloomy room. She hadn’t managed to close the door in her panic, and she was regretful now that she saw the iron latch lock on it that she might have used to secure it shut. Intently her gaze remained on that gap in the doorway and into the hall where rubble weighed over the top of a soldiers torn fatigues, draped over dried bones. The only light barely reached this room, or even this far down the hall. It from a beam of sunlight that filtered in through the hole she’d fallen through in the ceiling. Dust kicked up into the air through that slim window Jean had into the hall. She felt her heart beating against the ground and shrank herself as much as she could, jostling the creaking steel bed above her. Her eyes never ceasing to watch on. Footsteps, uneven, sounded against the sandstone floor of the building, claws scratching with every movement. This never would have happened if she’d just filled up petrol at that sketchy fuel-station, she thought. A low, fleshy and guttural growl bounces off the walls as the things shape came into view. It was hulking and hunched and glisten with blood, either it’s own or that of something else. Jean could not tame her trembling as it stopped there, and her lungs felt tight in her chest. Yet there it stayed, in that gap right where she could see its shape, twitching and… listening. Did it already know she was there? Was it just toying with it prey before claiming it. It clicked it’s tongue as it moved it’s head about in an odd way, looking for her. Her lungs— Can’t hold—
Pwahh!
Air and dust rushed down her windpipe all the same and the creature snapped it’s head at room, it’s beady eyes staring but not seeing. It’s stained claws reached around the edge of the door and it’s hinged moaned as it pushed through. Jean quietened her breathing as best she could, her heart pounded and her sides were sore from the rifle digging into her ribs. The creature raised it’s head sniffing. It wouldn’t be long before she was uncovered. She slowly shifted and aimed the rifle at the damned things head.
There was a screech and Jean’s ears were ringing. She bolted past it as it writhed and thrashed around the room, albeit her vision blurry. She ran for the front door and pulled it open and fell out onto the sand. She turned to her back and watched the creature slam into the wall of the hall as it scrambled to chases her. The sun blazing in the sky, she pulled the bolt-action mechanism on the rifle and fired again. The creature fell back and squealed before scattering to it’s feet and retreating down the hall and disappearing into a hole in the wall.
Jean decided she’d rather try her luck against the dessert sun, rather than seek refuge in a place with a creature like that. So she ventured off, hot sand underfoot, into the dunes of the desert.
Beginning:
In storming weather, fishermen pull in and curse their empty nets. It was a desperate dash for food and they knew the risk. The sea serpent rises from the water and sinks their boats.
In the starving coastal town of Ghopsea, Rin waits for her father to return. He never does. She begs her mother to let her go to find him, but she is denied. She had never been showed to sail and would surely perish.
Soon pieces of wood wash ashore, and the fate of the fishermen is known and the docks remain untouched, full of unused boats, the townfolk too afraid to take to the sea as their ancestors.
Middle:
Rin resents her mother for not allowing her to go and find her father that night, believing somehow she might have rescued him. She resents her father for never teaching her to sail. Growing tired of her attitude, her mother sends her to work with the foreshore foragers.
She reluctantly works along side the group and is made to forage the nearby woodlands for food, as all fishing has been abandoned. Even though she gets along with another forager, Kris, she still purposefully strays from the group. One day she notices a hermit on the beach, coming in on a small boat. She begs him to teach her to sail. He refuses after she tell him she wants to slay the sea serpent.
So, she watches him everyday, as he sails off and returns, noting his technique from afar. Then she constructs a crappy raft and tries to set sail herself. Her raft fails. She nearly drowns but is saved by the hermit.
He concedes that he cannot stop her from putting her life at risk, but he could teach her to at least not drown herself at sea. So he trains her on the open water. She learns that he avoids the serpent by quietly line fishing rather than using large nets, which cause a great disturbance in the water.
End:
Rin decides she had learned all that she can from the hermit. In the night she steals a boat from the docks and makes for the open sea in high winds. She waits in the water a long time when at last she spots the serpent. It doesn’t attack her. But she throws a net in the water and at once it chases her. With her learned sailing skills she leads it through a rocky reef where it crashes against the rocks, but it doesn’t die.
I don’t know what happens after that.
The first incident had been thirty years ago; a middle-aged man by the name of Patrick had been stabbed to death and left on his lawn. That had been at the house Leon had grown up in, and it was a story that had haunted their family from the moment they’d bought it. The killer was still loose and the talk of the town. His family couldn’t go a week without someone asking what it was like living in that house, the house of the first of many. What could his family do? His folks had a modest income and the place was dirt cheap. But the papers always wanted interview and Kids at school never shut up about it, ‘What if the killer comes back?’ they’d tease, trying to frighten him.
The way the town stirred when a new body showed up annoyed him the most and it was murder of their school nurse, Tabitha was her name, did Leon finally decide that he’d put an end to it. He was going to uncover the killer and set them to justice, if not for the victims than at least for the peace he’d wished he’d had in childhood. After he graduated he enlisted to the police force immediately.
He was on duty in the city when he received the call from his father, it wasn’t raining, or dramatic. ‘Mum’s dead,’ the old man said. He cursed himself, he’d been lost in the bureaucracy of it all. Going through the motions to become a detective. Only four years into his general duties, with one more to go before he could apply for detective training—Yet weeds still grow when one isn’t paying attention.
He returned to his home town at once and attended his mother’s funeral. There he met someone he didn’t know.
‘I pay my respects to all the victims,’ the grizzled man said.
Martin was the detective that’d been on the case since the beginning and once he’d learned that Leon was a young officer himself, transferring to the area, he took him on as an assistant, despite his personal attachment to the case. He shared with him the case files and everything he knew about the murders.
‘There ain’t no connection, no motive, we’ve never even found a finger print at a scene,’ he told the young man, ‘but there is this.’
He handed Leon a print out of some blurry CCTV footage that showed a hooded figure, jumping a fence with a hiking backpack.
‘This was captured only moments after…’ he paused, considering whether to continue, ‘ after your mother.’
Leon still was yet to become a detective himself, and so still had general duties that he carried on with in town. He had patrols to do, and on one such patrols he stopped his car outside a house. He’d glanced a shady figure down the side, fiddling with the kitchen window. Was this the killer?
He stopped the car immediately and jumped out on to the street. He hopped the residential fence and pulled his taser from it’s holster.
‘Don’t move!’
The figure froze. Leon couldn’t make out his face under the hood, but they had a man’s build.
‘Turn to face me,’ Leon demanded.
They didn’t respond.
‘This is your last chance.’
In a burst of movement, the figure sprinted down the side of the house, rounding the corner into the backyard. Leon fired the taser, but it bounced off the weather boards. He glanced up at the glass to see an elderly woman staring at him, confused.
Rodney looked at the clock; 3am—Ten minutes had already passed and the woman hadn’t left. She stared in through the wide glass window, printed with an energy drink promotion, “Buy one, get one free!” it said. He wasn’t sure if her being obstructed by the printed glass helped his uneasiness with her as she stood under those white LED lights, which made the sheen of red smeared on her all too vibrant.
He tried not looking at her as he spoke again, ‘Look lady, I’m not lettin’ you in.’
Her voice was playful, but scratchy, ‘Just let me in, Rodney.’
Rodney down at the button that manual opened the sliding doors—the automatic system was always switched off after 10pm—he shifted away from the button for fear of accidentally pressing it.
He didn’t look at her through the glass, but he could see her on the security surveillance screen. Four boxes: one of the entrance, one of the six fuel bowsers, one of the inside of the store, and one of the front of the store where he could see her figure; dressed nicely and business-like in a black suit.
‘I don’t know you,’ Rodney said, ‘I’m asking you to leave the premises or I’ll call the police.’
He didn’t like how her laugh was muffled through the glass, lending it an even more unnatural quality.
‘Aw, You look scared, Rod. If you’re scared you can call the police if you like, I don’t mind.’
There was a glimmer of teeth in the corner of his eye; she must have been smiling. He decided he wasn’t going to speak to her anymore and a few minutes passed and he checked the time again: 3:06am; the shift was going slowly. There was a thud against the glass and Rodney jumped. Her hands were pressed against the glass.
‘Go home, lady.’
‘I thought you weren’t talking to me anymore,’ she said in a pouty voice.
‘I’m not.’
There was a beam of light that passed over the store. In the cameras an old ford falcon ute pulled up to one of the bowsers.
‘No hard feelings, I have someone else to talk to now.’
Rodney turned to the glass and through the blurred promotion print on the glass saw only the back of the woman’s tangled blonde hair as she ambled over to the ute. He saw an old man had stepped out of the car and was making for the pump. Rodney tried waving him down.
‘Get back in your car!’ He shouted.
The old man paid him no mind and picked up the pump handle, he looked over to Rodney waiting for him to enable the bowser, but clearly noticed the strange woman coming towards him rather than Rodney in the background. He looked confused, but then concerned and began walking towards her.
Rodney heard him say, ‘That’s a lot of blood! Here, I’ve got a first aid kit in my car.’
‘Thank you so much,’ replied the woman.
Rodney watched on in horror, his finger hovering over the button to open the door. If I open it, thoughts flicked through his mind, she might leave him be… but. The old man reached through the door of his car and as he was bent over, back turned, searching for his first aid kit the woman lunged. There was a terrible wet tearing noise and the windscreen inside the ute was flushed with blood. Rodney’s hand snapped away from the button and he ran into the back rooms and locked the door. He called the police and they said they were on their way. Hours passed. No police arrived.
‘Let me in.’
‘Let me in.’
He heard her calling from outside as the hours passed. Soon his shift would be over and he thought perhaps he might quit.
The engine of the moon-buggy had gone cold, and the windows had begun to frost over—it was miraculous they hadn’t cracked in the crash. Samantha and Walter sat in the interior staring out through their space-helmets out at the grey crater surface of the moon and the other crumpled buggy. Walter tossed the radio aside and gave the dash a firm punch of frustration.
‘It’s all dead,’ he said.
‘Even them,’ replied Samantha, gesturing at the other buggy, ‘…undead really.’
‘That’s not funny.’
Inside the crumpled buggy across from them, they could see the squirming and writhing figures inside. The blue glow of their dashboard still casting light on them; which meant their radio was probably working.
‘You remember when we used to joke that space zombies would be the most useless zombie?’ said Samantha.
‘Yeah, because of the low gravity, you could just kick them away… either that or they’d have helmet on and wouldn’t be able to bite you anyway.’ Walter sighed.
‘It’s funny, out of all the people on the moon that we happen upon the only two zombies that are strapped down, ready to bite with no helmets, right where we need to go.’
‘Yep.’
‘So who’s gonna do it?’
Walter side-eyed her. ‘Rock, paper, scissors?’
‘Are you kidding? You always cheat!’
‘I do not!’
‘You do, you always go on “scissors” instead of “go”!’
‘Fine, what do you propose then?’
Samantha groaned and undid her seat belt. ‘Let’s just both go.’
The misshapen doors of their buggy croaked as they forced them open and they made their way over to the zombie buggy. As they got closer, the zombies had their arms outstretched, reached through the smashed windscreen but they were held in by their belts. Samantha and Walter glanced at each other, grimaced, and then looked back at the buggy.
‘The radio is… where again?’ said Samantha.
‘Right in the middle, between them.’
The zombies clacked their teeth as the bit at the open space, swivelling their heads weakly.
Samantha frowned. ‘How far back’s the station anyway?’
Walter leaned over, checking the horizon. He shrugged. ‘Maybe a kilometre that way.’
‘Walk it?’
Walter looked at the zombies and then back at the horizon. ‘Yeah, walk it.’
Roberto squeezed through the so-called “Devil’s Canal,” which was a narrow passage in cave that hadn’t been explored since 1948 according to most sources, yet there had been signs of life, too much life—burned candles that lay in waxy globs, scattered bones with gnaw marks, and worst of all, the sporadic skittering that came and went somewhere behind wherever he went. Roberto scoffed.
‘Not explored since 1948,’ he mocked as he strained forward, ‘enough people have been through here that the rats have moved in to clean up the fucking mess.’
The thought of rats running around down here sent shivers down his spine; he hated rats—the sooner he finished up, the better. He shifted himself forward through the tight, rocky walls, wide enough only for one person to crawl through at a time. According to the old maps, there was an area ahead where the channel opened up and he would be able to turn around and begin the arduous journey back out; back to his wife and kids.
He paused. There it was again; that skittering, bouncing off the wall. He listened to it, impossible to tell exactly where it was, but it got closer. Then closer still. Then, all went quiet.
A droplet of water somewhere in the cave system echoed throughout. He took a breath of relief…
He jolted.
Something touched his foot—No, was touching his foot.
‘Fuck off you fucking rat!’
And he kicked his feet hoping to scare it off or kick its little head in—the walls restricted him from looking back. Then the touch turned to a full hard-handed grip, this wasn’t a rat. Suddenly he was tugged back with a great force and his shirt rode up his chest which was scratched by the jagged surface of the cave floor. His head torch slipped off his forehead in the struggle and saw the little light get further from him.
‘Fuck!’ he cried as he squirmed and writhed, trying to break free.
At last, his boot slipped off of his foot and he was free of what ever gripped him. He scrabbled ahead as fast as he could, bumping his head, grazing his elbows. There was no way to look back and only one direction he could move. He made it back to his head torch and held it in his fist as he kept scrambling.
Finally, he pulled himself through an opening and fell down into a large cavern, stalactites and stalagmites reached up and down the space like bars. There was enough room to stand and with his chest heaving for breath, he got to his feet and immediately turned to the hole he’d just emerged from, anticipating what ever that thing was to burst out and attack him.
Nothing came. No more skittering either.
He spent some time there, regaining his breath, waiting for his legs to stop shaking. That hole was his only way out. Maybe it was gone? Maybe he imagined it? He looked down at his socked foot; maybe it just got snagged on a rock? Either way, he couldn’t stay down here forever. He wanted to see his daughter again, his wife, go to work again—he was just promoted after all. The way he’d came was his only option to get out. He felt a sense of resolve come over him.
He approached the hole, with the head torch strapped to his forehead once more. He got closer and peered into that narrow black abyss, sucking up the light from his head torch like water down a drain hole. But there was something…
He focused his eyes on the shape. Maybe it was it his boot laying there in the tunnel? But what was that wrapped around it?
Fingers. And behind it, a face—his own cheerful face with hollowed eyes.
Ah, he thought, that’s why the skittering stopped.
‘You won’t let me go, will you?’
Shrouded in the dark, lit only by faint torchlight, the copy of his face deliberately and slowly shook its head.
Roberto moved away from the hole entrance leaving the thing in the dark and he sat. Before his light ran out of battery and despair set in, he had one last thought sober of fear, I’d probably have preferred the rats.
Big Hat Bill a big dirty grin and enormous hat pittle spurting across his grotty whiskers. Don Whisker his tuxedo rimmed in orange light - it was Don Whisker, no doubt.
Bill’s hand trembled against his pistol under the table—everything rested on killing his host. He’d been lucky out west, rather than killing him, the ranger gave him a chance to make amends.
‘Do this one thing and you’ll be a free man,’ they said.
Well, here he was, practically shitting himself. He was in way over his head. This was no small town bank robbery. No drunken street standoff. This was the most powerful people in the world. He was at the top of Mt. Wolford in the Blue Palace for god’s sake.
He’d been poured a glass of blood-red wine and it sat in front of him as a mirror. In it he saw the reflection of his overly-large cowboy hat, once an iconic feature of his appearance that struck fear into all, now felt heavy on his head. He felt stupid and small under the life it had given him, under all the trouble it had brought, how it had led him here.
“Big Hat Bill,” what a joke, he thought.
Yet, he felt even smaller in the grand dining room he’d found himself, enclosed by walls of ornate carved wood. Right at the narrow end of an impossibly long table. The varnished surface of which caught the glistening light of the chandeliers lining the ceiling. His target and now host sat at the other end. His tuxedo was rimmed in orange light from the massive crackling fire behind him. Just what the hell was this, Big Hat Bill thought to himself? What kind of man with a bounty on his head just invites an assassin into their home. Was it some kind of power move?
Fear oppressed his every thought, his motivation wavered. His host was expecting an answer to his question—but what even was the question? Bill couldn’t get his thoughts in order, his mind was fraying, sweat beading down his temple. Calm yourself man! You can do this! He took a great big gulp of the wine; it tasted clear and distinct, like a sharp breeze.
‘S-sorry, can you repeat the question… sir?’ he uttered, wine-stained spittle spurting across his grotty whiskers.
‘Meow?’ Don Whisker replied.
‘I-I don’t understand.’
Don Whisker shook his head, disappointed.
‘Meow.’
Even though he couldn’t understand cat-like figure, Bill’s blood ran cold. Panic rose in his chest. The walls were closing in on him.
‘Wait, what does that mean?’
Don Whisker didn’t reply. He simply stepped down from his seat. He was just tall enough that Bill could see the tips of his feline ears as he walked the length of the table toward Bill’s seat. Eventually, he could see the cat’s face, he big green eyes that saw more than any man—unyielding.
‘What do you—’
He pointed down at Bill’s waist.
Oh god, he really does know, thought Bill, just shoot now! While he’s right here, point blank! Bill reached for his pistol at last—he was going to be a free man! But he gripped only his holster… empty air.
Don Whisker shook his head once more, clicking his tongue. He lifted his hand and Bill’s pistol with it. Bill’s eye’s widened.
‘How did you!’
BANG!
Bill’s big hat flew off his head. Bill whimpered but he was alive. Smoke ribboned out of the gun and the Don opened the chamber, letting the bullets clink onto the table. He chucked the gun at the pathetic mess of a man and turned back to return to his seat. As he did, two large figures came into the room and escorted him back outside.
There he stood at the peak of the mountain, shivering in the cold, hat-less. He was Big Hat Bill no more. He was free.
From the starboard side, Lieutenant Anderson stood watch at the icy plains below. The only thing standing between him and the “demons” below, was the height of the ship, propped up and frozen over. Their numbers had been slowly increasing as the days had gone on. They just stood there, their posture erect, feet planted, their faces as blank as the snow.
“Ignore the demons on the ice.” That what command had told them in their letter not two days ago. The thaw would come for another twelve weeks. Spinless as he was, the captain went along with it, but Anderson refused to endorse it—these things had persisted, reinforcing each day. What were they gathering for? What were they planning? What ever it was, it wasn’t good. He wasn’t going to endure it any further.
He burst into the lower deck, interrupting a circle of sailors playing card. They scowled as he swept past them, the blistering cold following him to the rifle locker. His fingers numb, he fumbled with the lock.
The captain glanced up from his book, a smoking pipe draping from his lip. ‘Fuck are you doing lieutenant?’
‘I’m not going to stand by and be tormented by those… things,’ he replied, hesitating before he said, ‘sir!’
Uninterested in a fight and seemingly satisfied with the line of order still in tact, the captain shrugged and returned to his book.
The lock gave way and he swung the door open. Rifle in hand, he stormed back up to the deck. Arctic winds cut through Anderson’s woollen coat as he returned to the railing, the ship groaning as the ice shifted against its hull.
He surveyed the so-called “demons”. It looked as though even more had gathered in his absence. Now that he thought of it, they never had seen any of them arrive—they simply appeared.
It was irrelevant. He was putting an end to it, a bullet at a time. He lift the rifle, the iron-sight at his eye, and aimed at the figure closest to the ship; only three metres from it. It looked like a woman, her skin a crimson red. She swayed a little in the breeze, but made no move at having the barrel of a gun pointed at her.
Trigger pulled, the rifle blast sounded and Anderson recoiled.
He gazed down at the damage. Sure enough she’d been wounded. Hot steam rose from a hole out the back of her head. Yet she still stood. She looked up at her assailant and made an exaggerated frown as if to mock.
He staggered back down below deck, defeated. He tossed the rifle to the side and sat.
‘Get it out of yer system, lad?’ said the captain, not bothering to look up at the man.
Exasperated, he asked, ‘what are those things, sir?’
He chuckled. ‘Are you daft? I told you, they’re demons.’
Long yellowed grass swayed as he pulled the coach up to the side of the country road, old Ridley thought it odd–the old bus stop out by Gribbin Farms never had this many folk waiting to board. He shrugged it off. Maybe they’d had an event on, he thought, like hosting a wedding or having a tour. Either way, it was going to take a minute to get that many people seated.
He brought the coach to a stop and flicked a switch on the dash. The doors folded open and a peculiar dusty smell wafted into the cabin; something like the inside of a chicken coop. He sneezed and glanced at the passengers preparing to board.
He blinked. And blinked again. Had that sneeze dislodged something in his brain? He swore only a second ago the bus stop with brimming with people, but now…it was brimming with chickens? Where did all the people go? He rubbed his eyes, praying that reality might return to him. No luck, they were still there, clucking and jerking about in the way that chickens do.
He figured he’d just not gotten enough sleep and that he ought to give Gribbin Farms a call when he got back to the depot–let them know they’ve got about fifty escaped chicken on the side of the road. Stupid animals, he thought, and flicked a switch on the dash. The door folded shut and Ridley was about to get back to his route when he heard it. A simple cluck.
Reluctantly, he turned his head back to door and the steps that led up into the coach. Sure enough, one of the hens had boarded, curiously standing around, pecking at the rubber grips on the steps. Ridley sighed, this was the last thing he needed.
He flicked the switch on the dash again and the doors folded open. The chicken made no move. In fact, more of the chickens outside were beginning to close in, ready to join the unwelcome passenger.
‘Ohhh, no you don’t!’ said Ridley, opening the door to his driver’s compartment. He flailed his arms at the birds. ‘Go on! Scram, the lot of yous!’Rightfully so, this sent the birds into a panic. They erratically flapped their wings in response and bolted right past him, running down the aisle of the coach. Ridley gripped the hand rails as the rest of them started piling in, one after the other, brushing past the drivers legs in a stampede of feathers. Before he knew it, every seat of the coach was filled with birds. They eyed him suspiciously, probably wondering if he was going to chase them again.
Ridley ran his hands through his grey hair. What the hell was he going to do? He supposed he might have to call Gribbins Farm now. He leaned into his drivers compartment and grabbed his phone. Dialing the number to the farm, he watched his invaders in disbelief. There was something about the way they looked at him, something that made him think they were quite conscious of what they doing. The phone began to ring.
Before anybody picked up, a voice emerged from somewhere in the bus, saying, ‘You’d better hang that up and get back to your job, driver.’
The phone slipped from Ridley’s hand and cracked onto the floor. His eye wildly scanned up the aisle.
‘W-Who said that?’ he said.
‘Forget it, let’s just drive it our selves,’ another voice called out.
The drivers compartment door slammed shut behind him. Spinning around he saw a handful of hens taking the helm. One of them flicked a switch on the dash and the door folded shut. The coach jolted forward as another chicken slammed on the accelerator. Ridley fell back onto the ground next to his phone.
He could hear a buzzy voice coming from its speaker, calling out, ‘Hello, is anybody there?’
All the chickens glanced down at the crumpled man. One of them he was sure held its wind to its beak, gesturing “shh”.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Ridley cried, his body jostling from the slapdash maneuvers being performed by the drivers.
One of the chickens jumped down from a seat and came up to him, its expression somehow grave. It said, ‘We heard of this mad, fabled place where all of our sisters went when they came of age. We’re going there. All of us. We are going to reunite with them!’
‘What? What are you talking about? What fabled place?’
The chicken leaned in, its beady eye darkened in shadow. She said, ‘Have you ever heard of “KFC”?’