Staring into those onyx eyes he found himself wondering if the animal was somehow deranged. It happened to cows, did it not? A bird, trapped before a human and apparently fearless did not seem normal. The thought ignited some quick-fuse that led to another memory. It had been the night before, as they had rolled along in the darkening evening, before the cabin had begun to loom before them.
She had gazed out the passenger window, commenting occasionally on the beauty of the autumnal color-show or some mundanity she believed to have altered slightly since her last visit. Even in these comments, though, the indications were present. Repainted signs, or repaired fences that she had pointed out on that previous journey were identified afresh. There had been such duality to his thinking. Was it really such a bad way to live, he wondered. There was something comforting in the obliviousness.
The radio had played a local station, the city stations having long since turned to static and been abandoned. It had been a service announcement. Or the local news perhaps. The conscious part of him had been so smothered by his own preoccupation that the voice of the broadcaster had seemed to pass through him, unnoticed and unabsorbed. It had been background chatter, nothing more. Like some dream or suppression recalled under hypnosis though, watching the black thing in the hearth regard him so brazenly triggered some recollection of words unnoticed the previous evening. An outbreak of some illness. Something avian, human transmissible. What the hell had it been? Crypto... something. They had preached caution, he remembered. He strained to recall their words.
Dust.
The word drove home like a nail struck flush. Transmissible via touch. Transmissible via dust. He remembered the birds encountered on his morning work, their aggressive and unusual behavior. It must be the explanation! Birds mad with disease, swarming outside and now finding their way indoors. Potential infection was of little importance to him now, of course. The time for such self-serving thought was over. Yet, there were others who would inevitably come here. It would be selfish to risk those with no connection to him. Perhaps just young folks doing a job. Perhaps even children. Besides, while the bird was resident in the fireplace there would be no fire, and the day's plan involved scotch and firelight and cigar smoke. God knew he would need all of them in abundance before his work was done.
He cast a glance about the room in search of some household item that might inspire a plan. A cheap vase, a tumbler full of pens on top of the old bureau, a weathered pair of snow shoes. By his hand, the slender brass instruments used to clean the fire. A sharp poker, a dustpan and a black bristled brush. The options seemed limited to either containing the animal in a vessel whose total volume was not much greater than the bird's or to attempt to bludgeon it. In reality, either choice would likely result in the bird's death or injury. A stirring of guilt commenced in him before he stilled the emotion. A bird. In the grand scheme of things, concern for a simple sick animal bordered on the ridiculous. Still, the options seemed fallible. A better solution must exist. Satisfied that the fire-guard was secure in its position, he turned and headed for the door.
YOU ARE READING
Song, Unheard
Terror***Featured in Fright Profile*** Life has been different lately. She feels a growing sense of dread and wishes for things to be normal. His drinking is out of control. The child seems frightened and withdrawn. And then come the birds. Strange b...
