He did not see the bird approaching, nor did he hear it.
He was ambling, eyes on his feet when he suddenly spotted a flash of red and something struck his face and then his hair. Something moving and frantic. Shock and panic rose in him, some sudden sense of primal revulsion at the sensation of the unknown living thing having been in such proximity to his eyes and mouth. He stopped suddenly, hand going to his head and face, fingers frantically darting about his head and through his shaking hair, attempting to dislodge anything that might have become stuck. He looked upward and about him, eyes wide and heart thumping, when his hands found nothing. His initial thoughts were that he may be under attack from some bird attracted by his movements or a reflection from his jacket and his muscles stood primed to ward off the next wave of the assault but none came.
He stood and looked about the shore for some fallen animal as his body began to relax and his breathing and pulse slowed. He saw nothing. He had begun to move about, peering between cracks in rocks when the sound reached him. It was a call of great beauty. Vibrant and tuneful and melodious. Alluring and melancholic. But there was more. Like the birds that had seemed to call to one another across the body of the lake, this sounded like it was more than song. Its direction seemed intentional, its tone beseeching. He had no special knowledge of birds. Nor did he have any specific appreciation or understanding of their calls. Yet something in the urgency of raw song inspired him to follow it. Had it injured itself when it struck him? Perhaps it struck him because of some injury. He followed the sound now, trotting up the bank with the water at his back and the wood before him. Once he had broken the line of trees his trot slowed and he stepped delicately as the leaves crackled beneath him. It sounded close. And then it was there, right before him, a few feet beyond the initial tree line. It appeared unharmed and it stood amongst the leaf-fall of a tree, atop the bright blanket.
It was a small thing, no bigger than his hand. It's plumage was a striking orange red, near luminescent. A black mask covered the area around it's dark shining eyes and bright orange bill. A tufted red crest stood tall atop its head. The wings were dark in comparison to the brilliance of its body. He was sure he had seen some example of the breed before, but never one like this. It stood erect and regarded him intently with steady, gleaming black eyes. It seemed unhurt and fearless. He stood and watched it in silence for a few moments before truly noticing the tree whose shadow it stood in. How he had not noticed it sooner he did not know for it was equally striking as the bird. It was a relatively small thing, perhaps 8 feet tall with a dazzling spread of the brightest yellow leaves he had ever seen. He was sure the tree was not native. It looked unlike any of the others he had seen around the surrounding country. The leaves upon the branches and those encircling the trunk upon the ground were dazzling. How had it come to be here, he wondered. It was a beautiful scene, one that would have warranted a photograph had such things mattered any longer.
After a few moments he turned to leave, content that the bird was in one piece. However, as he turned his back, the bird called once again. It was that same, beseeching song and he turned toward its source once again. The bird regarded him for a silent moment and then turned and leapt into the air, glinting briefly in the morning light, before settling atop the tree's trunk, at the base of its spreading branches. Still the bird regarded him with those eyes and commenced its tuneful call. The song rose and fell, surprisingly loud at this proximity. It couldn't truly be calling to him, could it? Surely wild birds did not behave in such a fashion?
Then, suddenly and seemingly from nowhere another read blur soared through his field of vision, its passage close enough to disturb the hair upon his head. He stared about frantically, hands going to his head. Another blurred past him, and another. He dropped his head and covered it with his hands as he heard flutter after flutter, his hair stirring from the passage of the air. He peered between his fingers and saw flash after flash of brilliant orange red. He recalled the old Hitchcock movie, wondered if such a thing might truly occur and whether driven by this thought or instinct he began to edge backwards.
Suddenly and completely, the motion ceased.
He stood for a moment, hands before squinting eyes, peering cautiously between his fingers as he directed his eyes back and forth. Then, he gasped and his eyes widened. He glanced cautiously over each shoulder to be certain that the aerial bombardment had indeed ceased and let his hands fall slowly to his sides. He gazed at the tree, his features moulded in confused wonder.
He had never seen anything like it.
Where the bird had perched, there were now perhaps fifty of the same, bright red creatures in a tight cluster. They seemed to stare at him as they formed a glowing red core at the centre of the swathe of luminescent yellow foliage. The image conjured thoughts of a mammoth burning torch, posted in the wooded earth amidst the overgrowth. Then, before he could further process the oddity before him the perched birds broke into identical chorus and half of the group took to the air about the tree while the others remained in their position. The moving flock sang and circled, swirling about the dry yellow leaves, stirring them and sending them falling to the forest floor, like he was observing a colossal living flame.
He watched in amazement as the group in flight soared amongst the branches, circling at breakneck pace forming bright red blurs amongst the branches. How they completed the motion over and over without colliding with either one another or the branches he could not understand. They only seemed to touch the leaves, which stirred and rustled and fell from the branches. The effect was slow at first, then gathering pace until leaves were showering to the ground in a continual descent. And all the time, at the epicenter of the spreading branches sat the remaining birds in their luminescent glowing cluster, singing in unison. It was a bizarre and impossible act of synchronization and communication.
The swirling cloud of birds continued to tear through the branches until the last of the leaves were dislodged, fluttering earthward. Finally the tree stood naked but for that red core and moving blur. As the final yellow leaves struck the forest floor, the birds formed a single stream of blurred movement that soared from the tree and was gone, over his head and above the tree line, back in the direction of the water.
For several minutes, he stood and looked upon the dry, bare branching of the shape before him and could only wonder, has my mind finally broken?
YOU ARE READING
Song, Unheard
Horror***Featured in Fright Profile*** Life has been different lately. She feels a growing sense of dread and wishes for things to be normal. His drinking is out of control. The child seems frightened and withdrawn. And then come the birds. Strange b...
