Not Your Average Monster, Vol. 2: A Menagerie of Vile Beasts by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Bloodshot Books
Published: 2016-02-28T18:30:00+00:00

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The birds have gone disturbingly silent. The agitation they had just a moment ago, their fear and panic, all of it's gone. Instead the sack sits motionless beside that heavy concrete slab. I stare at the cloth, refusing to blink, looking for signs of their breathing, but the sack is still. That's not right. They have to be breathing still. I still have twelve more birds.

I feel hot suddenly. The perspiration pours down into my eyebrows and I wipe it across my arm. I've half a mind to leave that basement alone and let the birds go, but that's nonsense talking. Those birds are nothing to me. I can snap their tiny necks with a twist of my wrist. So why does this feel so strange?

I've been controlling birds for decades, ever since Candace started gardening. Each week I emptied that crow trap and killed at least a couple of crows. I know how birds behave when they're frightened. They panic, they struggle, they might claw or peck at some skin if you let them catch any, but they have trouble gaining leverage inside the sack. They're all crowded inside, one on top of the other, and they don't know what the black gloved hand is doing when it comes in for their scrawny necks. When they do attack, it's a desperate, blind act. This one, though, dug its beak into me like a knife. Picking up the injured glove again I feel the puncture with my bare fingers. There was no hesitation with this attack, no uncertainty at having the rubbery material in its beak; it was a bite of anger more than desperation. It was as if it knew I was inside.

I turn to the sack again, and my breath catches. The sack has fallen flat; it's as empty as an unused grocery bag and I place my bare hand flat on top, only to feel the cool concrete on the other side. I pull the sack flat, pressing my hand all along it. Twelve birds ought to be waiting for their necks to be broken, but there's only empty air. The concrete block wasn't the problem. It hasn't moved. They couldn't have crawled out that way. I pull the sack free and feel inside it, but there are no holes.

With a heavy arm I wipe at my forehead. My arm feels like it's been dipped in a warm river. I drop the sack back to the ground and look around the dark basement. Did they get free when that bastard bit me? Did they climb loose when I went to examine the glove? I haven't heard a damn thing though, and that's what makes me nervous. If they escaped, then they should be in a full panic, screaming and searching for an escape. No bagged crow is this quiet.

I climb to my feet and a caw as loud as a firecracker erupts behind me. My heart thunders in my chest and I turn in a fury to see the sack on the ground where I dropped it.

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