Collected Stories :: Contents

Coo Coo

The file I took this from has a date of September 2, 1993. I'm sure this predates this, and comes from the mid-to-late 1980s.

It waits up on my wall, hands spreading and closing, weight swinging 
a measured arc. Waiting, waiting, waiting. It's soft sounds lure me 
to sleep, the soft comfortable rhythym rocking me gently in my 
dreams. Its movements slow and gentle, its presence fades from my 
mind and I drift to sleep. 
	
Then, without warning, a loud THUNK! Startled, I wake and look 
around, but seeing nothing amiss, I presume it's just the books 
settleing. They do that all the time. Nasty books. Perhaps I should 
shelve them. My mind wanders on with these thoughts and soon I am 
asleep again, peaceful rest erasing the cares and worries of the day. 
	
SUDDENLY, THE DEER'S HEAD LIFTS! THE EYES BLAZE OUT AND A WHISP OF 
SMOKE CURLS FROM ITS NOSE! TWO RIFLES RAISE, THE RABBIT AND THE 
PHEASANT PLUNDER THE SATCHEL HUNG BELOW THE HANDS. THE DEER'S HEAD 
SPINS MADLY ATOP, HUNTING HORN RAISED TO BLOW. THE PINE CONE PLUMMETS 
 YANKING AND RATTLING THE CHAIN, AND ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE THERE ON MY 
 WALL AS THE LITTLE DOOR OPENS AND THE BIRD FROM HADES LEAPS OUT: 
 
      ***KLANG*** *COO* *COO* 
      ***KLANG*** *COO* *COO* (asthmaticaly) 
 
 Before I can get my hands on the little bird and tear its head off, 
 it leaps back through the little door and slams it shut. The deer's 
 head no longer spins madly atop the house, the rifles return to their 
 crude carven approximations, and the rabbit and the pheasant hang 
 head down. But I can see their eyes... 
 
 Damm coo-coo clock.