Song of the Sparrow

Ernest loved birds for as long as he could remember. He’d been fascinated with them ever since he was young, especially seemingly impossible physics that allowed them to take flight. One step into his home would make it quite obvious his adoration went much deeper than the average person’s. His walls were decorated with vintage paintings and anatomical drawings of robins and blue jays, his bookshelves were lined with encyclopedias and bird watching guides, and of course, there was the cacophony of chipping coming from his screened-in porch. Most people were quite taken aback by it and it had cost Ernest more than a few dates. I mean, who wouldn’t be intimidated by a whole room full of cages filled with chittering birds of every size and color imaginable? Most of the birds were ones Ernest had found injured and was nursing back to health. As a veterinarian, he couldn’t help but let his professional life bleed into his off-time when it was such a deep passion of his. But to those who didn’t know him well, he looked like a crazy doctor with a house full of screeching birds.

Individually, each bird call was its own beautiful masterpiece. The magpies had a lower, throaty sound, short and gruff. Goldfinches had a light airy tweet, piercing and clipped. The house finch always sounded like it was telling a story, more drawn out and smooth; and of course the mockingbirds were rather unpredictable, going along with whichever of the birds were the loudest at the time or even copying a particularly noisy car that had driven past. Most people would readily agree that they enjoyed the singing of birds, but all of the sounds mixed together formed a discordant orchestra. Ernest could understand how it might be a living hell to some. With screeching coming from every decibel, it was hard to focus at times. No matter what part of the house you might escape to, that chirping and wallowing easily followed you. Most days, Ernest easily tuned it out and it could make for wonderful background noise. However, there were times when it just got to be too much, especially after a long draining day at work.

Most birds you could easily shut up by throwing a blanket over their cage, but others were persistent little things. He’d lie awake in bed, trying to pretend he was in some magical landscape, but all that screeching could really make is head pound. As much as he adored the music, some days he would kill for some peace and quiet.

At the end of the day, Ernest would do anything for his birds. Which is why when a strange-looking starling rammed into his window, he didn’t hesitate to rush to its aid. He was about to leave for work when it came barreling into the kitchen window. Ernest practically jumped out of his skin. Before he had a moment to react, there came another SLAM as the same bird crashed into the window a second and then third time, when its body finally fell limp in his flower bed. Ernest raced out the back door, not even bothering to put his shoes on. There in his bushes lay the battered body of the most beautiful starling he had ever seen.

It was much larger than most of its kind with a stark black beak and wonderful white speckles all over its chest. In the sun, its dark feathers seemed to almost shimmer purple. From the way it was lying, it had clearly broken its wing and probably had sustained a variety of internal injuries.

“What were you trying to do, huh?” Ernest chided, carefully scooping up the poor thing. It stayed limp in his hands, but he could feel a faint heartbeat.

“Let’s get you all mended up. You’ll be back flying again in no time.” Ernest smiled fondly down at the bird as he carried it back inside.

Now, there was nothing particularly strange about what had just occurred. Plenty of birds had accidentally flown into his windows before. But this time felt different. He’d never seen a bird act like that before, especially since it didn’t seem confused or angry. It looked like it was trying to break the glass and force its way into his house, almost like it knew exactly what it was doing.

Ernest pushed those strange thoughts away and tried his best to finish patching up the new bird as best he could, as he was already running late for work. He didn’t have any empty cages available, but it wasn’t like it could go anywhere any time soon. He tended to its wounds as best he could, braced its wing, and after giving it a nice cozy space in an empty cardboard box, was off to help some other animals.

It was a fairly crazy day at the office, and Ernest had almost forgotten about his strange new friend until he got back home. He dropped off his bag and keys and strolled down to the porch, where he was greeted by the usual chorus of chirping. Ernest cheerfully whisted along with the rest of his critters, but his giddy attitude quickly faded when he found the box the startling was empty. His heart dropped. He didn’t think it would have been able to make it more than a few feet in the state it had been in.

“Mister starling, where’d you–” He spun around and found himself face to face with the very bird. It had somehow gotten itself atop a cage housing a few sparrows and was staring deep into his eyes. Ernest was at a loss for words, but his panic didn’t subside quite yet. There was something very wrong about the way this bird was looking at him. Its dark eyes held far more intelligence than he was comfortable with, almost like it was drinking in everything about him in. Ernest frowned and watched as the bird crept even closer until it was inches away from his own beak-like nose.

“W-what are you doing?” Ernest finally took a step back. “You’re going to hurt yourself even more, you silly bird.” He let out a shaky laugh.

It didn’t protest being held, but it looked up and he swore it narrowed its eyes at him.

Ernest went about the rest of his night trying to ignore the itching feeling in the back of his head that the bird was giving him. All sounded well on the porch until he sat down in front of the TV. That was when he noticed how organized the chorus of chirping sounded. Ernest turned the volume down on his documentary and listened. It sounded as if the birds were all trying to mimic the same sound, like some kind of twisted call and response. A bird would chirp once, followed by a whole group of similar-sounding screeches. He would expect this kind of behavior from his mockingbird, but this was utterly unheard of with any of the others. As quietly as his creaky floorboards allowed him, he crept down the hall, hoping to get a peak at what the hell was going on. Sure enough, one bird was making its call and all the others were following suit in unison. He poked his head around the corner to see that starling was once again perched atop the same cage of sparrows. It faced the rest of the room of birds like some sort of ruler at a podium. It spoke to them like it was addressing an army and all the rest responded to its call obediently. Ernest was flabbergasted, but the second he took a step into the room, the calling patterns completely dissolved. The room enveloped into its usual cacophony at an almost ear-splitting rate.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ernest stepped towards this strange creature. It looked at him with that same odd intelligence, and this time, almost disdain.

“I think we’ll find you a more secure home,” he mumbled under his breath. After a bit of readjusting, an empty cage was found and he placed his new bird inside. Once again it didn’t protest, rather it stood still in the middle of the cage, staring directly into his eyes as he clicked the cage door shut.

“You better behave yourself now.” Ernest swore the bird scowled at him in response. That was when he decided it was time for bed. He was either just hearing things or there was some logical explanation for this odd behavior. Whatever it was, he’d figure it out in the morning.

The days that followed were filled with equally perplexing experiences. It wasn’t anything enough to make Ernest feel unsafe or debate getting rid of the starling, but they made him question his sanity. He heard that same organized chorus several other times, and each one was longer and even louder than the last. Each time it sounded more and more like a shrill, twisted battle cry. He also found himself sleepwalking again. It could easily be something unrelated, as he had quite a bad habit of it in his youth, but he hadn’t done it in years. Each time he found himself outside, standing in the flowerbed behind his screened-in porch. He’d wake up with his bare feet in the cold dirt and his nose pressed to the window. Ernest tried to pass it off as something unrelated, but he couldn’t help but notice how all the birds on the porch looked at him from inside. They all regarded him with a newfound intelligence; that same look the starling gave him whenever he entered the room. But in the morning light, they all seemed the same as they’d always been. So, Ernest would go about his day, as usual, trying to ignore the goosebumps and nausea.

One day he offhandedly mentioned it to one of the other veterinarians at the office. She had just looked at him weird and asked if he was feeling alright, to which Earned had laughed nervously and mumbled something about not getting enough sleep. Maybe it was just that. Work had been fairly busy, and with a combination of his paranoia, insomnia, and anxiety it was a recipe for disaster. Deep down, Ernest knew it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be.

Several days later, Ernest decided to go to bed early. He’d gotten home later than usual from work and wanted to just take the night off. After feeding his birds and then himself, he took a nice long shower and curled up in bed with a thick book. That’s when he noticed the silence. Sometimes when it’d get dark, his birds would quiet down a bit, but it would never be totally quiet, not like this. He sat up and strained to make sure he wasn’t just doing a really good job of tuning out the birds. Sure enough, nothing. In all his years he’d started keeping birds, his house had never been this dead before.

Ernest slid out of bed, his blood running cold and slow.

“H-hello…?” he called out in a pathetic voice, though he wasn’t sure what he expected in response. He swallowed thickly and trudged down the hall toward the direction of all the cages. Still complete silence, not even a click of a beak or the clip of claws on metal wires. Ernest’s pace quickened as he rounded the corner. He stepped into the room and flipped on the light to find every single bird in the room turned to look directly at him. He felt every muscle in his body freeze in place. The birds just blinked, glaring at him with nothing but loathing in their beady little eyes. And right atop that sparrow’s cage sat the starling, leading their gaze. For a long minute, not a single soul moved.

“What do you want from me?” Ernest croaked. For another long minute, they continued to sit frozen. Naturally there was no answer. The starling cocked its head to the side and let out a soft chirp. It echoed through the space and Ernest felt it prickle down his spine. He suddenly felt very very wrong, like his flesh was not supposed to be where it was. The birds all kept silently staring at him like they wanted something from him, something far more than he had the ability to give.

Ernest wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to tear away from this room. Then he looked into that starling's eyes again. This time, it sucked him in. He felt suddenly gripped by an untold knowledge. He flew through a millennia of darkness and he saw it all. Every blossom, every seed, every egg, every budding tree, feather grown, soil shifted, cloud dissolved, creature born, organism decay, each and everything ever made and to ever die seeped into his brain. And for one brief moment, he felt what it is like to feel true terror. And then it was gone. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him and tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

Ernest suddenly felt so vulnerable, standing in the presence of dozens of creatures far more enlightened than he could ever be. He felt like his ribs were twisting in on themselves. But he couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to move. These were the beings he loved the most in the world, and whatever they wanted for him, he also wanted. He’d let them do whatever they wanted. So when all of the cages suddenly burst open, Ernest didn’t run. In fact, he smiled.

He even began to laugh as they all swarmed him, a piercing chorus filling the house once again. It was like no call he’d ever heard before and it was beyond beautiful. They sang out a fierce battle cry, chanting for something Ernest could not comprehend. And he didn’t want to. This was his place and this was his job. He let himself fall back into the chaos of it all, feeling the birds begin to peck and tear at his flesh. The last thing he saw was the starling standing over him. It looked into his eyes and Ernest felt his soul was finally at peace.