Before he decided to go retrieve that chicken, everything in the garden was going smoothly that day.
At first, it was a heartwarming moment.
While the birds pecked at his sneakers, my young cousin Eli was crouching in the garden and laughing softly.
He reached out and hugged Marbles, our fluffy white hen, like a teddy animal.
I was already considering the perfect Instagram caption while I was taking pictures.
But all the other birds suddenly froze.
froze all the way.
In the middle of their strut, the three roosters stopped and stared at Eli and Marbles strangely.
Their heads tipped almost immediately, as if they had sensed danger.
Eli didn’t appear to notice anything odd, even though I laughed uneasily.
He kept rocking Marbles gently, like a baby.
I became aware of it at that point.
Boss, our noisiest and most unpredictable rooster, slowly retreated.
Not to flee from Eli, please. He was approaching the shed from behind.
The others followed.
But not like chickens.
Or rather, they were waiting for something.
I stepped closer to Eli, hinting that maybe it was time to let Marbles go.
He looked up at me bewilderedly and said, “She doesn’t want to let go of me.”
“You mean that she doesn’t—” I fired back.
It was then that I saw his arms.
Everything was OK until he picked up that chicken.
Everything was OK until he picked up that chicken.
I had a strange experience. Sorry, it’s not a creepypasta. A moment… incomprehensible. Go on reading.
At first, it was a pleasant moment. My little cousin Eli was crouching in the garden, laughing, while the hens were running about him. He reached out and took Marbles, the fluffy white hen, and embraced her like a stuffed animal.
I was already considering the perfect Instagram caption while I was taking photos.
Suddenly, however, things were different.
The remaining hens became chilly. The roosters, too. Their eyes—wonderful. A pause. A chill.
Boss, our loudest rooster, began to retreat. But not like a chicken. It seems that he understood better.
I took a step closer.
Eli, put Marbles down. Now is the moment.
He looked up in confusion and remarked, “She won’t let go.”
I could see his arms, too.
Mark’s slender. Almost white. Three of them, like letters.
D. O. N.
“Don? Don is who?
Eli spoke quietly, saying:
“I’m not certain… But I do think she does.
I looked down at Marbles. She didn’t look at us. She was looking at us. She has a variety of feathers as well. It gave out a strange bristle.
Behind us, the shed door creaked. Boss slapped the ground hard. A strong, unmistakable sound. Like a signal.
We hurried back in.
I made sure everything was safe. Eli still has Marbles in his hands. The letters continued. Now it said: DON’T
“Don’t—what?”
Eli whispered, “She’s scared.” “Among the others.”
I called Nana. She handed the hens to us. No answer.
Eli’s next statement, “She’s showing me pictures… like dreams,” will always stick in my memory. But I’m awake.
“What are you looking at?”
“A man was buried within the shed.
My heart jumped.
Three years earlier, a guy called Donald Whitmer had owned the residence. disappeared. Never found. A brief message: “I’m going to Florida.”
“Where exactly?” I asked Eli.
“Below the shed.” under the big tree.
We went. Marbles did not hurt him; he only held on to him.
Eli pointed toward a spot behind the shed. I dug.
After a few minutes: an old, rusting box.
It contained a wallet and some fragments. Whitmer, Donald.
I made a police call. They came. They investigated it.
The newspapers claim that:
After a few years, a lost person was found under unclear circumstances.
No clear lead. Don’t pass judgment.
Two days later, Nana called me.
“You mean the chickens were the cause?”
I trembled.
“You knew?”
“I knew they were keeping something safe.”
Since then, things have gotten almost back to normal.
But sometimes, in the morning, I catch Marbles staring at me from across the garden. Not harmful. Just there.
Eli also told me something that I’ve never forgotten:
What she wanted was not justice. She wanted to be heard.
The most profound truths don’t often shout out loud.
They watch, they peck.
Justice can also have feathers.
