The Brief and Exciting Life of Chickens

She visited Maine every summer with her husband and hoped to miss the torture of black fly season. This summer was no different and as she pulled into her dad's driveway she saw the new chicken hutch he'd built for the chicks. The old hens were muttering and clucking in their coop like old ladies gossiping at a church social.

After hugs and hellos they walked around the house to see the chicks who were already past that puff ball stage. Some of them had rudimentary combs and they pressed against the door chirping excitedly. There was a flat board propped against the bottom of the door and Dad explained about one of the chicks going missing. The plywood floor sagged slightly in the middle which created a gap at the bottom of the door. The chicks took turns sticking their heads through the gap as they watched. Probably it got out through the gap and wandered into the woods that edged up to the house. All sorts of things lived in those woods and many of them happy to make a chicken dinner among the dense foliage.

Two nights later she woke to the sounds of excited chirps. The guest bedroom had a window over looking the hutch and the sounds drifted through the cracked window. Usually they were quiet at night and the thought crossed her mind that perhaps she should go downstairs and have a look. The warmth of the bed was comfortable and the idea of stepping out into the cool evening air didn't appeal. After a few moments the chicks quieted down and she drifted back to sleep.

"Something got at one of the chicks," Dad said the next morning while she sat at the kitchen table blearily enjoying a cup of coffee.

"Oh," she said thinking about the excited chirping.

"Yeah," he said taking a sip from his coffee cup.

The next night she woke again to the sounds of excitable poultry. It was 1:30 and the sounds crescendoed in volume. The green light of the digital clock still left her fumbling in the dark for her reading clip lamp. The LED light, bright though it was only reflected off the screen and obscuring the ground below. The chirping was punctuated by a squawk and she padded downstairs in bare feet. Her shoes were by the back door and she turned on the back light to help her pick a path around the side of the house. The pool of light ended at the back corner of house and the hutch was just a dark shape among a host of dark shapes. That reading light would be useful now if she hadn't left it in the bed room. The birds chirped more sedately now and every thing seem still. Was it really necessary to go see.

Maine seems to foster a quality of darkness more palpable than that found in Atlanta. It was something that a person waded through and right now, for her, that hutch was in the middle of the ocean. She looked back at the back door, things seemed quiet, whatever it was was over now. The chicks flapped around in the hutch. When she turned back to peer into the darkness something was different. A shape missing in the darkness. Something thrashed through the underbrush. She waded into the darkness and peered at the ground around the hutch. Dark feathered globs littered the lighter colored ground and the board at the base of the hutch was pulled aside.

She turned and hurried back inside and up the stairs. She stopped outside her fathers room. "Somethings after the chicks," she said in what passed for a normal voice after all-night horror movie fests. Lucky light sleeping was a family trait. Her dad was up and down the stairs within seconds. Together they went out and surveyed the ground. There was blood on the ground and long mangled wing feathers. The remaining chicks were quiet now so they replaced the board and went back indoors.

The bed was inviting and the predator, whatever it was, probably wouldn't strike again. Still, even though she knew this, sleep was elusive. She lay in the dark and listened to the normal night sounds and eventually she drifted off.

She was awake, suddenly. Why was unclear. She had the sense of a noise. Something loud and brief. The clock said 3:30 and she sat in the darkness waiting. The chicks were moving around outside but were otherwise silent. She listened and waited for her heartbeat to slow. It was a dream, not surprising given the earlier events. Her head sank into the pillow and she resolutely closed her eyes. There was a loud squawk and the sounds of feathered bodies flapping in the hutch. She sat up and listened. Behind the panicked sound of chicks was something else.

This time she remembered to grab the reading lamp on the way downstairs. She hurried out to the hutch plunging into the darkness with the inadequate LED lamp providing a sense of security. Something crashed away into the woods. There were three feathered corpse in front of the hutch. One was laying next to its dismembered head. The crashing stopped and she froze in front of the hutch.

*and this stuff actually happens in Maine, it's no wonder so many horror writers are based here*