At dawn, Jack dressed quietly, careful not to wake Bonnie. She would rise soon enough to fill the kitchen with the warmth of breakfast. He pulled on his boots, ready to begin chores, when a sound froze him in place.
It wasn’t the call of a bird or the cry of an animal. It was something else—haunting, melodic, and strangely unsettling.
He lingered in the kitchen, straining to hear. Just as the eerie sound swelled again, Bonnie crept up behind him and let out a playful scream. Jack nearly jumped out of his skin, only for both of them to burst into laughter. Yet beneath the laughter, his unease remained. That sound had been real, and it was still out there.
Their daughters soon appeared, startled by their mother’s shriek. Jack and Bonnie reassured them, and for a while, the morning returned to its familiar rhythm. Breakfast passed, and Jack set off to the chicken coop with a bucket of feed.
The moment he arrived, he sensed something was wrong. The chickens fluttered and paced restlessly, eyes wide with fear. Then he noticed it—a pile of feathers, the grim remains of one of his hens.