SHORT STORIES: ‘The Rooster Haunting’

Inspired by true events

Two little roosters seem harmless. Each day Ann would walk outside with her little bucket to gather the eggs from the chicken coop and the two roosters would stare at her with their beady black eyes, turning their little black heads with white feathers as she walked by, keeping their stare on her. There was something about the way they stared at her. She was clearly a superior creature compared to them. She took them in as orphans; unwanted by anyone. She provided them with shelter and food. They should have respected her. But, they wanted more. So they would stare and stare, waiting for any chance to make their move. Their names were Dill and Basil.
She would walk past, look them in the eyes to show them she was dominating, and continue walking. Then, she would hear it. Pat…pat…pat…pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. She would quickly turn around, and the two roosters who were now closer than before, would quickly stop and look elsewhere or start pecking at the ground as if nothing were going on. Ann would turn back around and start walking and then hear it again. Pat…pat…pat…pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. She’d turn around and they would be standing right behind her. “Shew!” She’d say and kick her foot toward them. They would back up a little. Ann would turn back around and continue on her pursuit for the chicken coop. There it would be again. Pat…pat…pat…pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. This time, before she had the chance to turn around, she heard wings flapping and felt a beak hit her back. She turned around and the rooster flew up in the air toward her. She yelled, “Shew, you stupid rooster!” And put her foot up for protection. This time, it flapped its wings and flew up in the air toward her again. She picked up a rock and threw it to scare the rooster off. It finally backed off.
Ann entered the coop, closed the door behind her and retrieved the eggs. Exiting the coop and returning safely back to the house was the same routine. “Those damn roosters.” She told her husband. “You have to show them who’s in charge,” he responded nonchalantly. The daily threats and attacks by the roosters were the third strike in Ann’s book. They had been banned from the chicken yard for beating up the hens. Strike one. Then, they began pooping their goopy little piles of waste at both back door steps of her house where they had to walk out of the house every day. Strike two. Now this. Something had to be done.
The next day, Ann went out for the eggs. Once again those two sets of beady black eyes attempted to stare right through her soul. She walked past and demanded, “Stay away you roosters!” They didn’t listen. Pat…pat…pat…pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. She turned around; they flew up in the air, wings flapping, beady eyes glaring, sharp beaks glistening in the sun. “Get!” She threw a rock. She turned around and they followed her with a run. So, she turned around and walked the rest of the way to the coop backwards, facing behind her toward the roosters. She had to keep them at a distance. The walk back to the house consisted of more feet kicking and rock throwing by Ann, and relentless rooster wing flapping, open sharp black beaks, and beady eyes trying to intimidate her. Kicking and rock throwing were not working.
Another day came and her young daughter went out to fetch the eggs to be helpful to her mama. Within minutes Ann heard the hysterical cries from outside. She looked out the window and saw her daughter running to the house with an empty bucket. She cried and told her mother she tried to get the eggs but Dill and Basil wouldn’t let her. Those cocks! It was one thing to mess with Ann, but not her little girl. Together they went outside. Her daughter was holding the egg bucket and Ann was standing as a shield between her and the roosters. They moved in sync toward the coop. Ann kept the roosters at a distance by throwing rocks and kicking her feet at them to protect her daughter. She stood guard at the coop as her daughter gathered up the eggs. The roosters stood staring at her. She stared back at them; her superior human eyes glaring into their measly small black chicken eyes. This is going to end, Ann thought to herself.
Ann was a nice person. She did not want to harm animals. Her first attempt to get rid of the roosters was simple and kind. She placed an ad in the newspaper: “Two Roosters. Free to a good home.” A few days went by and there was no response. Not a big surprise. So, she came up with an alternate plan; it was the “nature’s course plan.” She told her daughter that Dill and Basil wanted to go on an adventure. She filled a bucket with feed and began walking toward the chicken coop. But, they just stood staring at her. There was no pitter patter of their ugly black feet following her when she walked. “Come on, I have some food for you.” She said as she tried to lure them toward her….and the back gate leading to the open field. They didn’t follow her. They knew something was up. The roosters were very hesitant, but after about ten minutes, despite their suspicion, their puny brains allowed them to take one little step at a time toward Ann. She finally had them outside the gate and in the field where she poured them a pile of food. “Enjoy your last meal.” Ann said with evil in her voice and she locked the gate. Ann was relieved as she walked away. No more threatening roosters.
That evening to her dismay, she looked out the window and there they were; Dill and Basil roosting on the playground! Ann pleaded to her husband. “I have enough on my plate right now,” her husband explained to her at dinner. “If you want them gone, you know where I keep my gun. You know where the shovels are too. You shoot them. You dig a hole and bury them.” That was that.
Ann and her husband raised meat poultry, so taking the lives of chickens was not unfamiliar to her. However, she had never shot anything but a paper target with a gun before. Shooting and burying the roosters just seemed too harsh an act for her to commit. So, she decided to give them one last chance for redemption. She walked out with her egg bucket to fetch the daily eggs. They spotted her right away and began darting across the backyard right toward her. She stopped and faced them. This was it; the final face-off to determine their fate. One rooster lifted up its wings and went toward her feet as the other one flew up in the air toward her face. She threw the bucket to protect herself and create a distraction. It worked for the moment. She was able to get back to the house safely. But, her mind was made up. She marched to get the keys to the gun safe.
Ann set herself up in the yard with her gun. She sat and watched the roosters from a distance and waited for them to settle. When she finally had the chance, she unloaded a couple rounds of bullets. She had terrible aim. Finally, after two dreadful minutes, a few chunks of lead found their way into Dill and Basil’s mean little rooster bodies. Ann felt exhausted and a little ashamed. Their sad rooster lives were over. They would not be threatening Ann anymore. She dug a three foot deep hole in the back field, tossed the limp pile of white feathers in and filled it with dirt. The deed was done. She walked back to the house without hearing a pat, pat, pat, pat following behind her. She smiled.
A week went by and life had gone back to normal. She and her daughter happily skipped to the chicken coop each day to gather up the eggs. Until one windy fall night, Ann was awakened from a deep sleep. She could hear the wind blowing strong through an open window, so she got out of bed and closed it. Then, she heard a familiar sound. Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. It sounded like it was coming from the back deck. She assumed it must be the cat. She went downstairs to let it in. She turned on the deck light and was surprised to see there was mud all over. Confused, she scanned the yard searching for the cat. Suddenly, she was startled by a shadow near the glass door. It was the cat. Relieved, Ann opened the door and let the cat. She chuckled to herself over the fact that she as startled so easily.
Just as she was closing the door, she looked down and saw a horrifying image that caused her heart to start pounding, the hairs to rise on her neck, and her breathing to become a struggle. Standing before her were white feathered wings drenched in blood, the muscles of the neck exposed by wounds, a small muddy head with a sharp black beak and petrified eyes stood looking in at her. It flapped its bloody wings, flew up in the air and smacked into the window, streaking it with blood and mud. Ann stood frozen with shock and horror. The bloody rooster smacked itself into the window over and over and over again. She finally mustered out a scream, ran to her room, and cried in her pillow until she fell asleep.
In the morning, the deck was still a mess with mud, blood and white feathers. But, there was no sign of a dead rooster. She told her husband what had happened and he concluded that she had not buried the roosters deep enough and a wild animal must have dug them up to eat. But the following night, it happened again. She heard the pitter patter of chicken feet and the flapping of wings. Through the glass window was the same horrifying site of the bloody, mangled rooster. This time there were two. Together the roosters flew themselves into the glass window while she cried in torment. This continued to happen every night. Each morning, she would be forced to wash the glass door streaked with blood and dirt and sweep the deck of feathers.
There were no signs of the roosters during the day. Her daughter was fine gathering the eggs from the coop without a threat. But, at night Ann and her husband were tormented by the dead roosters at their window. Every night, they would put their pillows over their heads in attempt to drown out the sound of the bloody roosters flying themselves repeatedly into the window and dread the mess they would have to clean up in the morning. A continuous reminder of how she killed both roosters in cold blood. Dill and Basil would continue to intimidate and frighten Ann for the rest of her life.