But when I eyed it again, I knew I had to make my choice right then. That pesky, blue, wobbly creature was heading my way, having logically figured out that I could only be hiding behind the wood pile. I decided to run to the farmhouse whatever the result, hoping my sore toe would hold out during this last, desperate dash.
I raised my head above the stacked firewood to gage the situation, but had pressed my luck one too many times. The boona bird spotted me immediately and ran in my direction as it called out in its weird, whinny voice.
Now I had no choice. It was time to run. I stood like an Olympic sprinter ready to race around a track, just waiting for the gun to signal. I took a deep breath, visualizing my nearly impossible task ahead as I heard the boona bird get closer and closer every second.
I planted my feet in the dirt.
On my mark!
I leaned back just a bit.
Get set!
Touching a Hot Stove
I am unable to sleep. As tired as I feel, I cannot drift off into a momentary, peaceful slumber. Not even a restless nap. The cart rumbles noisily along, my big toe still throbs, and bits of dry straw are jabbing me in the neck like prickly sleet. Worst of all, I am sooooo hungry. The orange juice, slice of toast and a one-egg, cheese omelet I had for breakfast have long ago been digested. I feel like taking a gulp of water from the boona bird’s clay bowl, but I am not that desperate–at least not yet.
I sit up and look around. Big Blue is still sound asleep. It doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. The large leathery creature and its smaller furry white companion in front diligently propel the cart forward as they softly chat among themselves. I have no idea what they’re saying as they converse a lot in their strange language, but both seem to be having a grand time doing so. How I wish I had someone to talk with now who could understand me. Instead, I’m stuck in this cart, surrounded by many, yet utterly alone.
When I glance past the boona bird, I see her, the light brown furry creature with a streak of lemon-yellow running down the back of its head. It sits on a pile of dry straw, slightly hunched over, its knees bent up as if it’s a breathing ball of fur. It continuously rocks back and forth in a steady rhythm, mumbling softly to itself with two fingers still lodged inside its ears.
I wonder if I could start a conversation with the entity to keep me from slowly going out of my mind. Despite our first encounter earlier this morning which landed me in my current mess, I think I may be able to sweep our differences under the rug and forge a more civil relationship. Hey, what more have I got to lose?
I nod confidently, take a deep breath, and scooch around the sleeping boona bird to get closer to the other passenger. My heart races as I recall our previous meeting. I start to have second thoughts. Maybe this is a ghastly mistake. But I must try to make amends and save the day, so I continue. I carefully lean over the bird and tap the furry creature on the shoulder.
It doesn’t react. I can only assume that it didn’t feel my tap, or more likely, is ignoring me. The creature steadily rocks back and forth in its seemingly hypnotic state, a finger still inside each ear as if they were permanently glued in. I nudge its shoulder one more time with a little added force and get the shock of my life.
It turns its head and glares at me with a set of fiery eyes, wearing a stony expression that would curdle a glass of milk in seconds. Oh, how I wish I had a glass of milk handy to test that theory. It nearly hisses at me as if saying keep your distance, buddy, while its two fingers remain buried in each side of its head the whole time.
I instantly spring back as if touching a hot stove, nearly hitting Big Blue. But my nemesis does not attack and instead merely turns back around and continues rocking and mumbling as if I hadn’t interrupted it.
Interesting. It didn’t yell at me. Maybe that’s a bit of progress on my part. It didn’t take a swing at me either. Best of all, the blood in my veins didn’t curdle. I quietly congratulate myself on the results of this latest encounter when a bold idea strikes me.
I think I should try again.
A bold idea? Possibly. But probably not the brightest, I’ll admit. But perhaps I’m growing on her. Well, maybe growing like a patch of fuzzy green mold on ten-day-old bread. Still, it’s a start even if we can’t understand each other’s language. But a nice smile can speak volumes, so I inch over once more, carefully keeping clear of the boona. I tap the furry creature on the shoulder, hoping to communicate, and bravely pull one of the fingers out of its ear. Big mistake!
“Hey, I just want to say–”
But I have no time to finish my sentence. With surprising gracefulness, the creature whips its head around directly at me like a fiery dragon, glaring at me with spinning, blood red eyes. At least that’s what they look like to me. But that isn’t the worst of it. I see the creature rise slightly, tear out the finger from its other ear and take a deep breath, a volcano ready to explode.
“Aaaiiieeeeeeeeeeee!!!”
I feel its hot breath fill the cart. Its Tasmanian devil-like scream cuts through my eardrums and into my head, trying to escape from behind my eyeballs with a force that grows and grows upon each uttered syllable.
“Aaaiiieeeee! Aaaiiieeeee!”
Then everything happens at once.
Big Blue suddenly wakes up–Paaay wimmy! Paaay wimmy!–repeatedly nipping at my fingers and earlobe with its bright orange beak.
“Aaaiiieeeee! Aaaiiieeeee! Blih blah! Blih blah blu!”
That hurricane of words, dripping with bitter annoyance, churns ever faster and expands like a helium balloon. I stupidly stare at the creature, totally at a loss for an apology as I am overwhelmed by the storm.
“Blih blah! Blih blah! Yaahk! Yaahk! Yaahk!”
The two creatures pulling the cart take turns looking back, one second addressing the furry, screaming demon as if trying to learn what has upset her, while in another moment attempting to sooth the excitable boona bird now on the verge of hysterics. Lastly, both yell and glare at me as if convinced beyond a doubt that I was the cause of this kerfuffle.
If I am being driven to my doom, I’m sure they have just doubled my punishment when we arrive.
I crawl back to my spot on the dry straw, lie down and curl up in a ball as the furry brown creature blathers on in hysterics–Aaaiiieeeee! Aaaiiieeeee!–her arms waving like long socks pinned to a clothesline on a windy day. The two drivers take turns chattering back to it as the boona bird continues to nip at my fingers as if they were lunch, muttering paaay wimmy all the while. I relent and try to ignore it all, not having the strength to fight back.
Then just as fast as it had begun, the noise mercifully ceases. Miss Lemon-Yellow plops down in the straw with an excessively loud humph before plugging its fingers back into its ears and muttering until overcome with a strange sense of contentment.
Even the boona bird soon gives up harassing me as the drivers continue to emit a string of calming utterances to the feathery blue blob, coaxing it back onto its knees until it closes its eyes. A stern look is aimed directly at me afterward from the large leathery creature on the left, but I try to ignore it and close my eyes. My throbbing toe matches the pounding beats of my heart.
After a few moments pass and all is still calm, I dare to turn over on my back. I slowly open my eyes. Bleak gray light pours in through a crack in the roof, but my spirit is lifted just a tiny bit. Despite the latest commotion, I am still breathing.
I glance at the boona bird, the closed eyelids on its turned head aimed directly at me as if a reminder that it is still not through with me yet. I am thoroughly convinced that that awkward moving pile of blue feathers is in charge around here, and it wants nothing better than for me to accept that fact for now and all eternity.
Yeah, it seems I’ve learned that lesson only too well, though I don’t have to like it. I can see as plain as day that everyone around here must bow to the will of Big Blue, but I will resist so long as my will and my starving, aching body can hold out.
But dee
p inside, I admit to myself that I face a losing battle. It is no surprise to me that the other creatures along for the ride are so nice to the boona bird. They are always on Big Blue’s side as was demonstrated to me this morning during our encounter in the farmhouse.
I gaze up at the dreary sky, feeling as empty as the clouds. As my hunger consumes me, I wish I could escape this rolling prison. Even more so, I wish I had escaped from the boona bird earlier by another route as I hid by that pile of firewood. If only I had run in a different direction. If only I hadn’t run to that farmhouse for help. That might have changed the whole ballgame.
No Trespassing Allowed
“Go!”
I shot across the grassy plot of land as swift as a lightning flash–at least I thought so in my mind–hoping I’d be quick enough to reach the farmhouse before the boona bird caught up. And just as I had feared, my feathered foe spotted me fleeing my hiding place behind the pile of stacked firewood. It pursued me at once. I didn’t have to glance back to gage its progress, for out of the corners of my eyes I noted a pale blue blob of color quickly growing behind me and moving slightly to my right.
The boona bird was a crafty little fellow. It knew that I was heading toward the farmhouse and so veered right, trying to cut me off and beat me there. But despite my sore toe, I fought on like a professional racer, sprinting through the pain and confusion.
I gritted my teeth and caught a second wind as the farmhouse quickly grew larger in view. I was beating Big Blue for the moment, congratulating myself with an imaginary high five. But as I neared the back door, I knew I’d only have a little time to get inside before the bird made up the distance between us. Then to my horror I suddenly realized something else. What if the back door to this residence was bolted shut?
I reached the wooden door to the low house, its thatched straw roof a dull gold color under the dreary autumn sky. But luck was with me as I bravely turned the handle. The door pushed open. I knew I didn’t have time to stand there and politely knock without being captured by the bird, so I tossed all niceties aside and stepped inside uninvited.
I entered a shadowy back room and closed the door behind me. I was safe, but only for a moment. And I only had two plans up my sleeve. I either had to, Plan A, find help at once, or Plan B, hide until I could sneak out of the house unnoticed.
I held my breath and listened. Two muffled voices drifted in from a distant room uttering a language I couldn’t comprehend. But I couldn’t linger as I heard the clumsy footsteps of the boona bird approaching the back of the house. I had no time to lose. Plan B it was. Hide!
The room I was in featured a closed door to my right and an opening directly ahead into a narrow corridor. Making a snap decision, I fled the shadowy room into the corridor painted dull gray with the light of morning. I moved cautiously, spotting several doors on either side. But which one to open? Or should I just keep walking toward the center of the farmhouse and take my chances? The wrong decision could make or break me. And then I heard it.
Slowly the back door creaked open. Heavy footsteps plodded across the floor. The boona bird had arrived.
I had to hide at once, so I hurried to the first door on my left. It was already opened to a room containing two large, white metal boxes with lids, but I was too big to hide in either one. And there was little else to conceal me. Then a dreadful sound caught my ear–a soft, slow call from the boona bird.
“Gif gif gif gif gif.”
The hair on the back of my neck began to rise. A chill ran down my spine.
“Gif gif gif gif gif.”
I was being tracked by a clever hunter. Time was fast running out before it would zero in on me.
“Paaay wimmy. Paaay wimmy.”
I could hear its large, clawed feet clicking on the wooden floorboards as it slowly made its way out of the shadowy backroom and down the corridor. It would most certainly enter this room first to investigate, and I still had no place to hide. Then I had a brilliant idea, hoping that its simplicity might fool the bird.
I tiptoed to the corner of the room near the entrance and quietly opened the door all the way, concealing myself behind it. I could see clearly through the wide crack along one side where the hinges were attached to the doorjamb. And then I saw it pass by–a patch of blue feathers. I held my breath as the boona bird stepped into the room.
“Giiif giiif giiif…”
The eerily quiet call was both terrifying and commanding at once, filling me with a desire to surrender and put an end to this tiring chase. But I ignored the throbbing in my toe and pressed my back to the wall as the bird looked around the room, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t peek behind the door. Its shadow began to grow against the wall to my left as it approached, but then a noise from another room startled us both.
I sensed that the boona bird momentarily froze, perhaps considering its next move. Then it rushed out of the room to search elsewhere. No doubt it thought it had heard me in another room before dashing off, savoring an opportunity to nab me. I exhaled with relief at my narrow escape and quickly moved on, hoping to sneak back outside.
But all such hopes were crushed when I peered out the doorway.
Big Blue was again heading to the backroom, guessing that the voices had originated in that direction. I decided to hurry down the corridor to my left and sneak into the next room, desiring a better hiding place should the bird soon return this way. I saw that the door had been left slightly ajar, so I scooted down the hallway and slipped inside, closing the door behind me.
This room was vacant and felt warm and cozy inside. A large pile of clean straw lay against one wall, undoubtedly bedding for the room’s occupant. A thin layer of additional straw was scattered over the floor as if some sort of carpeting. In the far corner stood a large, round piece of wood about three feet high, a section of a tree trunk that had been smoothed and polished and now served as a table. An assortment of delicate clay containers of various shapes and sizes was scattered over the surface.
As much as I would have liked a brief nap when seeing the inviting pile of straw, I instantly put that notion out of my mind. Instead I began to search for a good hiding place in case Big Blue returned or until I might meet a member of the household who could help me.
But as I further surveyed the room’s layout, I heard footsteps approaching in the corridor. Seconds later, the door began to open with a tiny, unnerving creak. I spun around, expecting to see the blue boona standing there triumphantly upon my capture. Instead, I was startled to see a light brown furry creature about my size looking at me with wide-eyed wonder and curiosity.
Or so I thought. My misconceptions were hastily corrected.
“Aaaiiieeeeeee! Aaaiiieeeeeee! Yaahk! Yaahk! Yaahk!”
The screeching sound produced by that creature nearly popped my eardrums. And hearing those high-pitched wails and observing its flailing arms and poisonous gaze gave me no doubt that I had crossed a line that should never, ever have been crossed.
“Yaa yaa yaa yaa! Blih blu blah!”
The noise went on and on like a blaring siren, only that a blaring siren is much more pleasant to listen to. I could only wonder at the creature’s amazing lung capacity to produce such continuous sound, certain it would draw the attention of others inside the farmhouse, including the boona bird. So I did the first thing that came to mind.
I ran!
I shot past the hysterical creature, noting a streak of lemon-yellow color running down the back of its head as its piercing wails still echoed through the residence loud enough to wake the dead. I turned left and barreled farther down the corridor until it opened into a large room with several shuttered windows. Gray light seeped into the room, dully illuminating what I guessed was a dining room of sorts.
A large, crudely built table stood in the center, surrounded by a series of wooden chairs. There was a fireplace against one wall, its hearth cold and filled with a few charred logs and fine ash. Several shelves and cabinets cluttered with clay dishes
and wooden knickknacks lined the walls here and there, rounding out the room’s décor. An archway on the opposite wall led farther into the house. But since I heard strange voices emanating from that direction, and the screeching creature behind me seemed to be getting closer–no doubt pursuing me down the corridor–I arrived at one horrible conclusion. I was trapped!
I again did the first thing that came to mind. I dove underneath the table, hoping the shadows, dull light and array of chairs would hide me. And I didn’t have to wait long to test my theory. Like advancing armies, everyone marched into the room at once.
From beneath the table directly ahead, I saw the furry, light brown creature storm into the room from the hallway–Yaahk! Yaahk! Aaaiiieeeee!–still belting out a storm of words aimed at me. Half a second later, two similar creatures, both older than the first one, hurried excitedly into the room, uttering words that seemed to be a completely different language than that spoken by the walking alarm bell with the lemon-yellow streak. One was tall and leathery, the other slightly shorter with a furry white coat. I gulped, knowing it’d be only a matter of moments before I was discovered underneath the table.
Then, amazingly, everything went quiet. Had I been spotted? Had everybody left the room? But neither was the cause for the momentary lull in my storm. Then I heard it, the sharp clicking of talons upon the wooden floor, followed by the now familiar, yet still terrifying call–gif gif gif paaay wimmy.
Big Blue entered the room. I expected the three creatures to flee or erupt in fright at the arrival of this feathery blue intruder. But to my dismay, the three creatures bounded to it like obedient servants, stroking its feathers and speaking to it in comforting tones. I felt outnumbered, wondering if I would ever escape. Then my blood ran icy cold.
Prisoner of the Giant Boona Bird (A Griffin Ghostley Adventure Book 2) Page 2