Hen pecked

Horror short story. What happens when your Hallmark movie romance goes sour?

I told her not to do it. She had everything here, she really did. But that was her all over. Got an idea in her head and boom – that was it.

Honestly, I blame the guy. The one from her high school. What was his name? Bruno? Barnaby? Something beginning with a B.

Anyway, he’s the one who whisked her off her feet on that trip to her hometown, and I get it, old flames. But to drop a good job and a place in the city and a £60k-a-year boyfriend for a Bradley, a Bruno, a Barnaby or whatever?

Not my life, I guess.

Haven’t heard from her, no, not for a while. We did try and keep in touch for a bit. But that’s how things are. Life gets in the way.

So, have you heard from her? What’s she up to? Do you know?

#

Chickens are born with the desire to peck. It establishes hierarchy.

#

Benny and I argued about the hens again.

He reminded me that it was my idea to keep them. That he was the one who said, just because we live in the countryside doesn’t mean we’re farmers. And what I wanted to say, but didn’t, was no, because at least farmers have a work ethic and don’t live in their mother’s old house playing video games for sixteen hours a day.

Instead, I reminded him of the facts. The chickens were ours. You agreed. We agreed. You’re allergic to dogs and cats, you’re scared of rabbits and rodents, and you don’t see the point of fish, but you liked the idea of chickens because eggs would be nice, you said. And birds aren’t too much trouble, especially if they stay outside. They’re manageable. Interesting.

But I’m the one who feeds them, who cleans them, who buys the chicken feed, who put up the coop and the run, who fenced off the roses so they didn’t peck them, who collects all those damn eggs, which you’ve now decided you don’t like anymore.

And I don’t mind; like you said, it was my idea. All I’m asking you, Benny, is that you do this one little thing for me, and help me mend the coop.

The rant left me breathless and Benny unmoved. I remembered waking up that morning and finding holes in the coop’s wooden wall. Visions of foxes flooded my head; not the mangy bin raiders of the city but copper furred creatures with wild yellow eyes, fangs stained with blood. I imagined the smell of their meaty maws, their bloodied yelping as they stripped our helpless birds to shreds just for the hell of it.

I didn’t mention these terrors. Instead, I changed tactics and started pleading. Come on, Benny, I cajoled, it’ll be fun. We can get out in the garden, fix the coop together. You were always saying how much you wanted to try out your tools.

All I got in response was a half-hearted mumble, and the sound, the inarticulate murmur, ground my teeth like too much grit.

Chickens love grit. It’s how they digest.

I spat the grit right back in Benny’s face. I raked over old ground, old arguments, smearing our mutual wounds with dirt the way chickens clean themselves, leaving us both filthy and smarting. But then I went one step further, one jab too far.

I mentioned Nathan.

My ex’s name had hardly left my mouth before Benny stormed out of the room, slamming the front door behind him. By the time he came back, hours later and reeking of Doom Bar, I was in the garden, my hands covered in wood dust and splinters. Everything stank of bird poo and sawdust, and I could hear the chickens in their run, clucking softly at me, like laughter.

I shut them up in their repaired coop, snapping down the door like I wanted to snap their necks in that moment, because right then they irritated the hell out of me, the fussing birds, Then I sat down in the middle of the lawn, unsure whether to cry or scream.

It wasn’t always like this. I used to wake up every morning to kisses and pet names. Benny and I would watch films together on the sofa, his arm snaked around my shoulders, twirling a strand of my hair in his fingers. ‘You’re so gorgeous. I’m so lucky to have you. I love you.’

What happened? The gaps in compliments grew. The little touches, the kisses on the cheek, the cups of tea and gifts bought “just because” got further and further apart. His silences became longer. My words got harsher. We dug our trenches in, and remained there.

Perhaps it was inevitable. Perhaps high school crushes should stay in high school, posing on their imaginary pedestals, their names written over and over on lined paper in bubblegum scented pens. They shouldn’t be right next to you, scratching their balls and their backsides, their paunches growing year on year while their prospects progress in a backwards trajectory.

If only I could go back, and start all over again.

I looked down at my phone contacts, my thumb already hovering over Nathan. They say you should never text your exes; that it only leads to a whole world of pain.

But I was already in pain.

You’re being stupid. Don’t do it. Don’t.

My fingers were already typing. I read back the garbled essay, deleted it, retyped half and deleted it again.

I pressed send.

#

The birds strutted, pecking at a dead patch in the soil, where no grass grew. This patch seemed of particular interest to them, for reasons only a bird brain can comprehend.

That wasn’t an insult. I wished I could be so easily focused.

Two days. Two days and the message to Nathan still sat there, sent but unread. Perhaps he was busy. Perhaps he was loved up and moved on, ignoring this intrusion from his past. Perhaps he wanted to punish me.

I tried to busy myself with hen care. The coop repairs had held up, thank goodness, but some of the birds were acting rather oddly. They kept scratching at the same bits of earth, almost as if they were digging. If I tried to stop them, they would go very quiet and still, and look right at me for several minutes. At first, I thought they were scared. But a frightened chicken typically tries to flee, and these birds held their ground. Just staring.

Nathan, Nathan sitting 100 miles away with your perfect life, please answer. Even if you hate me. Even if you never want to see me again. Just tell me that part my life used to be real. That I exist.

#

That night, I sat in bed, waiting for a message that wouldn’t come. Benny lay next to me on his phone, playing some stupid game.

Scratch, scratch, tap.

‘Do you hear that?’

Benny grunted. I paused, listening harder. The noise was coming from the window, I was sure of it.

Scratch, scratch, tap.

Benny’s hair fell lankly around his pudgy face as he swiped, the beard that I’d once found rugged now dishevelled and cavemanlike. I wanted to scream in exasperation.

‘Well, I can hear it,’ I snapped. ‘Guess I’ll sort it, shall I?’

Scratch, scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap.

I leapt out of bed. The sound was getting faster and louder, as if trying to claw its way into my ear.

Scratch, scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap.

I stomped to the window, grabbing the curtains. The fabric was thick and heavy, as if resisting being pulled back, and I glared back in defiance, challenging my boyfriend to say something, to do something, anything.

But he did diddly squat.

With a grunt, I yanked the curtains open, expecting to find the catch loose, or a twig scraping against the glass.

Instead, a chicken looked back at me.

I jumped back in surprise, then began to laugh. ‘What are you doing up here?’ I said with a smile, then froze as the bird placed a clawed foot against the glass and dragged it down, slowly, its beady eyes never leaving my face.

‘Benny…’

Scratch, scratch, went the chicken, then pressed its beak against the window glass with a light tap. Its wattle wobbled, wrinkled and red. The mad orange eyes stared and stared.

‘Benny!’

At last, Benny got up. He stood right in front of me, wearing only his underwear, his pale, round belly almost luminous. I’d almost forgotten how tall he was. He was always stooping, burying his body in baggy clothes, but standing straight he was almost six foot tall, and broad with it.

He reached over me and tapped on the window. With a squawk, the chicken clumsily flapped down off the bedroom window, landed heavily on the dark ground below.

My cheeks heated. The bird was fine; she’d just become confused and flown up too high, that was all. I was fussing for nothing.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

Benny said nothing.

‘You know, I think there’s something wrong with them at the moment. Maybe I should call the vet.’

Benny stayed silent. His dark eyes looked beyond me into the night, struggling with a hidden pain. A surge almost like pity flooded through me and with a gentle hand, I reached out to touch his arm.

He grabbed my wrist. His hands were huge, his pudgy fingers digging welts into my skin.

I cried out, trying to pull away but he didn’t relent. He didn’t look at me, his eyes still so dark.

‘You texted Nathan,’ he said.

His voice was loud without shouting, the words distinct and cold.

‘What?’ I said, trying to sound incredulous, but my voice sounded unbelievable and small, like a kid lying about a broken vase.

Benny’s grip tightened. ‘Nothing I do is ever good enough for you. Not like Mr Perfect Nathan.’

‘Please, Benny, that’s not true. Let me go and we can talk about this.’

A smirk rippled over Benny’s fleshy cheeks, his eyes narrowing to piggish marbles.

‘He’ll never come back for you. I made sure.’

Cold, gelatinous fear spread slowly from the nape of my neck, dripping down into my spine.

‘What do you mean?’

Benny grinned. Grinned so wide his face spread like oil.

‘Interested now, are you? That’s right. Your poor lover boy came back for you, just after you left him. Waited outside the door all day with his bunch of red roses, trying to win back your heart. He’s been waiting a while now. I think your birds like him. I see the way they try to get a taste.’

That patch of bare earth, where the grass doesn’t grow. The birds worrying it, pecking at the soil.

Benny stood right up against me, the way we used to press our bodies to each other, promising forever. I couldn’t fight him. Couldn’t run. There was only one way out.

‘Honey,’ I said, voice softening. ‘I shouldn’t have texted Nathan, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Please. I love you.’

He looked right at me then. Looked right at me, and though he still held my wrist in his grip, his other hand caressed my shoulder.

‘Oh babe,’ he said.

He shoved me. I screamed, but Benny’s whole body pushed hard against me, crushing out the oxygen. He let go of my hand to undo the window catch and as cold night air rushed over me, I tried to claw at him, to scramble, to fight my way out. My body began tipping backwards. It was too late.

‘Say hi to Nathan for me,’ Benny said, and he pushed me out the open window.

#

I lay on my back, eyes open to the night sky.

Everything was pain. Agony erupted through my spine, searing over my ribs and down each limb, intensifying with each unbearable breath.

But I was alive.

The sky blurred, foggy yet unrelenting. I held onto that, as I held onto my pain, my broken ribs ripping into my chest. I was being pulled into pieces and yet I lived. I lived.

I tried to turn my head, to see what was behind me. Moving wasn’t possible, not yet. Perhaps I was paralysed, though it felt like too much pain to be paralysed. A word bubbled in my mouth, unspoken.

Benny.

The word brought focus. Clarity. Fear.

I tried to get up, but the effort only brought deeper pain, burning molten through my spine. I gritted my teeth, and with one last herculean surge of effort, attempted to push myself upright.

It was no good. Too much was broken.

Body in shards, I lay helpless on the grass, panting and praying one final prayer.

Please, God, let him think I’m already dead.

Something hard brushed against my hand; Benny, coming back to finish what he’d started. But it didn’t feel like Benny. The sensation was strange, cool and a little sharp, though not like a knife. More like a beak.

I tried to pull my hand away but the beak only dug in harder, worrying at my skin. It drew blood and I shrieked aloud, driving the chicken away with a rustle of feathers.

Though not for long.

There was a low clucking sound, followed by the scratch, scratch, scratch of feet. The birds gathered around me, staring at me with their mad yellow eyes. Their brown necks and chest were caked with dirt, as if they had been digging.

Nathan…

With a thump, one of the chickens landed on my chest. It walked right up to my face, claws digging into my skin. With a sharp, painful inhale, I saw its beak was bloodied. The bird raised its head right over my eyeball.

And pecked.