Avian Night

by Thomas Koperwas

It was well past midnight when the flickering shadows in the corners of the bedroom congealed into pools of black jelly. The drone of chirping crickets outside the curtained window slowly faded away, leaving a palpable stillness and quietude, filling eight-year-old Tommy Federchuk with a sense of dread. It was always deathly quiet just before he heard the heartbeat of the big bird stirring to life in the fiery emptiness of the octopus furnace, downstairs in the cold, unfinished basement.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. The terrible sound went round and round inside his head. The bird came to life every night, ever since he'd found the tiny pile of feathers on the floor near the furnace's pilot light, and realized it was living in there.

Tommy pulled the bedsheets tight over his head and cried aloud. But his sobs couldn't keep out the sound of the bird's thin, reedy voice as it called out to him from the darkness in the basement. "You're all alone… boy," it whispered with malevolent intent. "Only you know about my hiding place. And I can't allow that… can I?"

Tommy held his breath and listened as the furnace fired up and the ducts began to bang and pop. Bang, bang, bang — up through the long, snaky ducts flew the bird, to the door at the bottom of the stairs. The basement door creaked open; then the bird began to hop up the stairs, expanding in size, growing bigger with every step. Thump, thump, thump — all the way up to the first landing, where the front door stood closed under a long glass window. Thump, thump, thump — up the final flight of stairs to the main floor, and Tommy's room. Sharp talons scratched the parquet as the bird, now as big as a man, inched up next to the partially-open bedroom door. Then everything fell silent again.

But Tommy wasn't fooled. He knew the big bird was standing there, waiting. The terror- stricken boy gripped the sheets of his bed. Outside the door, the bird ruffled its feathers and breathed heavily, fitfully. Any moment now, it would enter his room and...

Tommy screamed and kept on screaming. There was the sound of the front door opening, then a blinding flash of light. His mother stood in the doorway of his room, her hand on the light switch on the wall. "Was it that nightmare again, Tommy?" mumbled his mother, leaning unsteadily against the doorframe, rubbing her bloodshot eyes. "The one about the stupid bird in the furnace?"

"He's real, Mom!" shouted Tommy, angrily wiping the tears from his face.

"We have to get a babysitter who can stay longer," muttered his Dad, an inane grin on his florid face. "Or it's no more nights at Jake's Happy Tap for us."

"We'll get a new girl for tomorrow night. An older one," said his mother, switching off the light. Tottering down the hall, she muttered, "Now go to sleep, Tommy boy."

* * *

Gail Pendergast's eyes grew wide with surprise when she saw Tommy sitting alone outside the front door of the Federchuks' suburban home. Walking up to the forlorn-looking boy, she said, "Hi. I'm Gail, your new babysitter."

"I know that," he replied. "My parents told me you were coming."

"Well, why aren't you inside waiting for me?" she asked curiously.

Tommy looked at the ground.

"You can tell me," she continued, stroking her long blonde hair absently. "I'll understand. I'm sixteen years old."

Tommy looked up at the girl's disarming smile. "I'm afraid to go in," he admitted, hesitantly.

"Why?" she asked, grinning suddenly from ear to ear. "Are you afraid of that big bad bird that lives in the furnace? Your parents told me all about it."

"I'm not going in," insisted Tommy, staring nervously at the darkness inside the house through the long glass window over the door.

"That's silly," said the babysitter adamantly. "There's no such thing as a bird that lives in a furnace."

"Quiet," whispered Tommy, turning his face from the window to the thick shadows on the grass. "It might hear you." Then his eyes widened, and he shouted, "The crickets have stopped singing!" Tommy jumped to his feet and moved quickly away from the house.

"I wouldn't run away if I were you," warned Gail. "The coyotes might eat you. My mom says the neighbourhood's full of them. I'll just stay here and tell your parents that you ran away, okay?" Chuckling, she turned to go inside.

Tommy was running as fast as he could when he heard an ear-shattering explosion, and the ground trembled, causing him to stumble a little. He kept on running.

* * *

The young policeman slipped under the strip of bright yellow caution tape and walked over to the edge of the debris field where the detective stood waiting. Bending down on one knee, the officer examined the mess of glass, plaster, wood, and blood on the ground. "Gas?" he asked.

"Right," said the detective, with a pensive look on his tanned face. "It doesn't take much to ignite it."

The policeman looked up at the detective in the grey suit and tie. "The report says the Federchuks had one of those old gravity furnaces."

"Uh-huh," replied the detective. "They were in the process of converting it to gas. There must have been a leak, then kaboom! Up it went."

"Nasty business about the babysitter," grunted the policeman, getting up from his knee.

"Yah. It's a good thing the boy ran away from the house before it happened. Evidently, he was close enough to hear the explosion."

"Strange," whispered the policeman, curiously eyeing the tiny pile of charred feathers on the ground near his feet. "The boy still won't tell us why he ran away."

"Even stranger is the fact that we can't find any traces of the girl's body," muttered the detective. "Except the blood, of course."

Looking away from the house toward a small, wooded area, the policeman said, "Maybe the coyotes got hold of her remains. There's quite a few of them in town now, you know. "