Alice stared through the rear window, frightened out of her wits. What she desperately needed sat in the shed, fifteen perilous metres from the safety of the house. Her husband’s words echoed repeatedly through her mind. “He started all the killin’. He started all the killin’.” There was truth in what he said. If she had wings she could simply fly away. Then again, if Alice were a bird, who knows how she would have reacted?
Three months earlier, Alice and Jeff retired. They bought a quaint old wooden house in Kangaroo Valley, south of Sydney. The five acre country property backed onto the river, about two kilometres from town as the crow flies. Most of their land was cleared, except for a group of mature gums circling the house. Alice used to camp in the valley as a much younger woman, always dreaming of someday living there.
Alice also dreamed of making friends with the local birds. She made Jeff empty the local store of different types of bird seed, enough to satisfy a wide variety of feathered friends. Before long, a large group of birds began making daily visits to the house for an easy feed.
In the beginning there were doves, rainbow lorikeets and crested pigeons, but the large number of those birds attending the house soon attracted the attention of kookaburras, butcher birds and crows. They needed meat. Alice ordered a stack of minced meat from the local butcher and made Jeff buy a freezer to put it in.
Tiger, the family cat, had no problem with birds visiting his yard. He stalked them relentlessly, and not because he was hungry. He just liked the sport, but Alice attached a large bell to his collar helping alert the birds to his approach.
One morning, after many tireless attempts, Tiger managed to pull the bell from his collar. He sat patiently under the cover of a large shrub, waiting for an opportunity. Three doves picked away at seed on the ground nearby. Two flew off, but one lingered. Tiger stealthily moved closer. He kept low, edging nearer with silent precision. He launched forward and leapt into the air as the dove tried to take flight. Razor sharp claws took hold of the bird in mid-air before they both crashed to the ground. Tiger sunk his teeth into the dove’s neck. Death came quickly.
“No, Tiger,” yelled Alice from the kitchen window. She hauled her large frame onto the veranda and down the steps. She waddled across the lawn like a tired duck. Her floral dress flapped in the breeze. When she arrived at the scene she pulled a handkerchief from her bra strap and wiped the sweat from her round, now bright red face. Feathers blew across the lawn. Tiger stood proudly over the kill.
Jeff watched from his favourite chair on the veranda. The rim of his hat sat low over his eyes, protecting them from the morning sun. He puffed away on his pipe and read an old electronics magazine, not concerned with the drama on the lawn. When Alice returned to the veranda, Jeff showed no sympathy.
“That’ll teach ya to feed birds,” grunted Jeff without raising his eyes from the magazine. “I told ya not to.”
“Don’t be silly, Jeff. It was an accident. Tiger lost his bell, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”
“If ya don’t feed the birds, it ain’t gonna happen.”
“I want to feed the birds, and nothing’s going to stop me.”
The killing of the dove did little to discourage other birds. In fact, over the next few days, more birds started showing up. A lot more. Most annoying to Jeff was a large group of crows. They began congregating on the veranda, constantly hassling Alice for food. If Alice had no meat out, they hassled Jeff.
“Get rid of these damned birds,” yelled Jeff, swinging his magazine from side to side. He threw his coffee mug at one of the crows, striking it in the head. It shrugged off the attack and took flight toward him. Jeff threw his magazine, but missed. The crow pecked him once on the face before flying off. Blood ran down his cheek.
“That’s it!” cried Jeff. “Take Tiger’s bell off. Let him kill a few more. That’ll scare ’em off.”
“Don’t be cruel. If you didn’t throw your mug at him, he wouldn’t have pecked you. I’ll just put some more meat out.”
Jeff’s patience ran out. He moved his favourite chair into the living room to avoid the constant torment on the veranda. He began to smoke his pipe and read his magazine there.
“You can’t smoke in the house, Jeff,” said Alice furiously. “You know it’s not good for my breathing.”
“Get rid of them damned birds and I’ll move back outside. Until then, I’m sittin’ right here.”
That afternoon, with Alice busy in the kitchen, Jeff quietly removed Tiger’s collar and encouraged him out onto the lawn. “It’s your lucky day, Tiger,” whispered Jeff. Tiger brazenly strolled across the lawn before slipping behind a tree, eagerly awaiting his next victim.
A lone crow landed on the lawn not far from him. It pulled a worm from the grass, shook it violently and swallowed it whole. Tiger crouched down. His tail flickered with excitement. Silently, he eased out from behind the tree and raced toward the crow.
In the blink of an eye, thirty or so crows dropped from the surrounding gum trees. They landed on the lawn, completely surrounding the cat. Tiger hissed aggressively, achieving nothing. He tried to run back to the house but the crows attacked savagely. Fur and feathers flew. At least one bird lay dead and several were badly injured, but Tiger never stood a chance. The crows plunged their beaks deep into his throat. They picked at his eyes and began tearing fur and flesh from his now lifeless body.
Alice heard the drama from the kitchen. By the time she reached the veranda it was all over. The green grass around Tiger turned red. The crows cried out victoriously. “Go out and scare them away,” she cried to Jeff.
“Your jokin’,” laughed Jeff. “I’m not goin’ out there. I’ll clean it up later when the crows aren’t around. Anyway, he started all the killin’. He started all the killin’.” Jeff returned to reading his paper and smoking his pipe.
Alice made a cup of tea and pulled herself together. She threw a stack of meat onto the lawn in an attempt to sooth the crows. “Okay, I’m going down to the veggie patch to collect some things for dinner. For God’s sake, leave the doors open while I’m gone. Let some fresh air in here.”
“No worries, but be careful out there,” said Jeff, laughing again.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Alice waddled down to the veggie patch. Jeff sat quietly smoking his pipe and reading his paper. At least fifty crows moved onto the veranda and began entering the house. Jeff raised his eyes and threw his head back in horror. “What the hell?” His hat fell to the floor behind him. Five huge crows stared into Jeff’s eyes, then brutally attacked.
Scores of other crows joined the assault, launching themselves at him. He waved his arms violently but it did little to deter them. Injured crows moved back as more moved in, relentlessly tearing at his flesh. Jeff screamed in agony as the biggest crow perched itself on his head and ripped his eyes right out of their sockets.
Jeff blindly leapt to his feet. His pipe fell to the floor, setting his newspaper smouldering. He staggered onto the veranda, bouncing off the door frame on the way. He raised his hands to his face and screamed again before plunging over the railing and into the rose bed below, bleeding profusely. As smoke began building in the house, the crows shuffled outside and gathered on the lawn. Their cries were loud and savage.
Alice heard her husband’s screams from the vegetable patch. She dropped her bundle and hauled herself up the gentle slope. Her heart pounded heavily. Through the back of the house, she entered the smoke-filled living room. Smouldering newspaper danced dangerously across the floor. Not finding Jeff, she moved out onto the veranda. The birds bounced around on the lawn. Then she saw him, still and silent in the rose bed below. He was covered in blood. He was dead.
Alice grabbed the phone and called the police. “You’ve got to help me. My husband is dead. There’s fire. And birds. Lots of birds!”
“Slow down,” said the officer calmly. “What’s your…?”
Alice heard a click, then nothing. “Hello. HELLO!” No response. The line was dead. She looked out the window and saw the phone cable on the ground in front of the house. Crows tore strips of plastic coating off the now useless wire. She was cut off.
Alice moved quickly around the house locking all the windows and doors, stamping out smouldering pieces of newspaper. Terrified, she sat in the kitchen, shaking, trying to figure out what to do. Her nearest neighbors were five hundred metres away, far beyond her reach.
She thought about Jeff’s little green Corolla sitting in the driveway, about twenty metres from the house. The keys hung on a rusty hook by the front door. Alice had never driven a car before, but under the circumstanced was willing to give it a try. Just getting the car to roll down the hill would give her a change of reaching a safe distance from the house.
Alice waited until dark. The surrounding bushland had a eerie silence about it. The full moon lit up the landscape. She peered out the window looking for any sign of bird activity, any signs of danger. Finally, she mustered up the courage to make a dash for the car.
Within seconds of opening the door, the sound of heavy, flapping wings filled the air. The surrounding trees shook as crows took flight and headed toward the house. Alice turned, horrified, and raced back inside. She slammed the door behind her and locked it. Through the window she watched crows pull wires from the bottom of the engine compartment. The larger birds ripped strips of rubber off the tires until they could not hold air anymore. The little green Corolla was going nowhere.
At first light, crows began emerging from the trees and assembling on the lawn. A few congregated on the veranda. Alice piled fresh meat on a large tray, sprayed it with insecticide and covered it with a packet gravy mix, hoping to camouflage the taste. As quietly as possible, she crawled across the floor and sat by the front door. She slowly unlocked it and placed her hand on the knob. She listened and waited. All was quiet.
“Come and get your breakfast, little birdies,” she whispered, before pulling the door open and sliding the tray of meat onto the veranda. She felt the stinging stab of a beak plunging into the back of her wrist. She recoiled in pain, trying to close the door. A crow’s head poked through, its neck stopping the door from closing fully. Its eyes were wide and it violently flapped its wings against the door. Alice shifted, pushing her entire weight against the door until it eventually closed. The crow’s head dropped into her lap.
The other crows cried out furiously. The noise was deafening. None of the birds were interested in Alice’s special breakfast. The smell of poison pushed them back and only seemed to make them angrier. Alice paced back and forth across the living room floor before slumping into Jeff’s favourite chair, desperate for a solution. She knew the crows hated insecticide, and they did not like smoke. Then it occurred to her.
“Okay, little birdies,” said Alice out loud. “It’s time to play.”
Alice stared through the rear window, frightened out of her wits. What she desperately needed sat in the shed, fifteen perilous metres from the safety of the house. She grabbed a scarf, soaked it in water and wrapped it around her face, leaving her eyes exposed. She stripped a blanket from the bed and sprayed it with a massive amount of insecticide. Alice put on a raincoat, hood and all, before wrapping the poison drenched blanket around her. She held the kitchen broom in her hand like a weapon of war.
“Okay birdies, here I come.”
After a short prayer and a few promises to God she would probably never keep, Alice made her move. She took off out the back door waving the broom violently. Crows swooped and buzzed her like fighter planes attacking an aircraft carrier. The insecticide kept them back but intensely agitated them.
Alice reached the shed and slammed the door closed. A lone crow made it inside. It sat on the lawn mower handle, staring at Alice, making the sad, almost macabre sound crows make when calling out to their friends. It haunted her, but she knew what she had to do.
She abandoned the broom, turned a twenty litre drum of petrol onto its side and rolled it to the shed door. “Okay birdies, here I come again,” she yelled, scared out of her brain. Tears flowed and her lower lip trembled badly. “If I were you, little birdies, I’d leave right now.”
Alice rolled the drum to the back door with crows again swooping and diving. Totally exhausted, she dragged the drum up the three steps onto the back veranda, tipping it on its side again and rolling in through the back door, closing it firmly behind her.
After a short struggle with the lid, she open the drum and kicked it over. Flammable liquid spread over the floor and the smell of fuel filled the room. She threw off the blanket and raincoat and pulled the scarf from her face.
“A match!” cried Alice. “I need a match, damn it.”
She searched around the house with no success. She stopped and thought. “Jeff.”
Back on went the scarf, the raincoat and the blanket. She burst out the front door screaming, but the crows again attacked. Down the steps and into the rose bed she went. Jeff’s pockets were tight and restricting, but she managed to find what she needed.
Alice re-entered the house, this time leaving the front door open. She threw off the blanket and raincoat, struck a match and tossed it into the fuel on the floor. The built up fumes in the house exploded, throwing Alice violently to the floor. The room lit up like a bonfire. Alice dragged herself out the front door and faced the birds.
“Let’s see how long you hang around now, you damned birds.”
Flames swept through the quaint old wooden house. Alice collapsed to the ground just off the veranda. The smoke infuriated the crows. The sky turned black as they circled angrily. They slowly began to disperse and fly off.
Alice cried on the lawn. She had no strength left. Before long, the neighbours saw the enormous clouds of black smoke rising from the property and called the police and fire brigade. When the fire engine entered the driveway, Alice burst into tears of joy and began crawling across the lawn toward them, exhausted, but safe at last.
By the time the police arrived, there was not a bird in sight except for a dead one on the grass and a decapitated crow at the front door. What they found was an hysterical woman crawling across the lawn, a cat torn to shreds, a dead and horribly mutilated man in a rose garden, and a house burning to the ground with a petrol drum just inside the back door.
The police did not believe Alice’s story. They arrested her and charged her with murder.