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Marcia picked her way along the driveway, then turned back and looked at the house. The sun was low in the eastern sky and she shaded her eyes, squinting at the brick building. It towered over her, casting its shadow over the lawn to touch the trees. She shivered, something in her unsettled by the view. Touching her belly with splayed fingers, she thought about how much she wanted to go home.
She shared an apartment in the city with Darryl, but they’d have to move out. Find something bigger, more appropriate for a family. A nice house, farther out from the city centre, somewhere with a back yard. They could get a little dog. It was important for children to be brought up with pets. Taught them empathy, compassion, responsibility. Yes, a little dog; a Jack Russell, or maybe a Labrador. They were bigger, it was true, but didn’t everyone say they were the best family dogs?
She flattened her hand against the slight swell of her stomach. It was too soon to feel the child kick, unfortunately, but not too soon to start planning for the future. The next six months would breeze by, and there was a lot of planning she and Darryl needed to do.
He wouldn’t want to go to the United States now. They needed to settle down here – they could afford a nice house, Darryl was careful with money, and so was she. A smile spread itself across her face as she turned deeper into her daydreams. They could get married. Surely Darryl would want to get married now?
And maybe if this season’s shows were as successful as he thought they would be, then he could retire, find a different job so he wouldn’t have to travel around as much. Obviously she couldn’t go on working, and he would want to do something closer to home too. It was important to have both parents present to raise the baby.
The smile on her face was blissful now. A baby. She was going to have a child. A little girl. Nobody else would believe her, but she knew it was a little girl. She’d even picked out a name for the child, though she hadn’t told Darryl that yet. Let him get used to the thought of a baby in the first place. But he’d like the name, she was sure of it. Linnet – so pretty, delicate, perfect.
A shadow passed over the sun, and the movement brought her back. Blinking at the house, she drew back, wincing at the way it stuck like a stone finger from the ground. She didn’t like the house, she decided. It didn’t make sense to build a house like this in Australia, not when it got so hot. This was an upended box, three stories and the attics. Her eyes picked out the metal caging on the balcony that jutted out from the room directly above the front entrance. It was her bedroom, or rather, the room she shared with Darryl.
A row of birds perched on the balcony rail, small bodies tiny in the distance. Shading her eyes again, Marcia peered at them, wondering what sort of birds they were, and why there were so many. There wasn’t an inch of railing uncovered.
Was that natural? Marcia groped for the video camera that hung on a strap around her neck. Darryl had insisted she take one everywhere with her as well, even though she’d laughed and said it wasn’t going to be very interesting filming herself making breakfast, lunch and dinner, but he’d pressed it into her hands anyway.
Hitting the record button, Marcia raised it up to focus on the balcony. She was too far away. Her sandals whispered on the dry grass, then crunched on the gravel. The house drew itself up high and leaned over her and she kept moving closer until she could look directly up at the balcony. She’d left one of the doors open onto the little veranda, hoping it would help keep the room cool, and she could see the hazy net curtain billowing in the breeze.
The birds barely stirred as she approached, the camera zooming in on them. Every now and then, one of the birds would lift up, and they would all shuffle along on the rail, and it would settle back down again, slightly further down the row. She thought there must be at least a hundred of them. Sparrows. At least a hundred sparrows lined up on the balcony rail, and now she could see their little faces, and all two hundred beady little eyes seemed to be looking at her. She blinked, but still they stared, every now and then ruffling their feathers, rearranging themselves on the crowded rail, but eyes on her.
The curtain billowed again, and it finally occurred to Marcia that there was no breeze. The morning was hot, still, and a sheen of sweat made her skin slick under her clothes. There was no reason that curtain should be moving. She kept the camera on the birds for a moment longer, then looked towards the open door of the house. It was dim inside, and she could only see shadows. She climbed the steps and went through the door, camera held up in front of her.
From the dining room came snatches of conversation – sparrows, birdcage, sparrow girl – but she didn’t stop to go in there, get the others. The stairs drew her upwards and she didn’t watch where she put her feet, seeing instead the hypnotic gaze of a hundred small grey sparrows staring at her.
Behind the closed door to her room came a whirring noise, and she frowned with her hand on the doorknob. She pressed her ear to the heavy door, and the whirring grew louder. The knob clicked, and she pushed the door open, stepping into the room.
And walked into a whirlwind of birds. She put her arms up to protect her face, and a thousand wings beat the air around her, lifting her long hair, swirling about her skirts. The wings touched her, crowded around her, and she could feel them, feather light touches on her bare skin, the beat of a thousand wings and hundreds of little hearts. She closed her eyes and they pressed closer, and she couldn’t breathe, the air was filled with birds. She opened her mouth and screamed, beating them away, slapping their hot little bodies with her free hand. She screamed again, and one of them flew into her mouth and she bit down on it, unable to help herself, and spat it out, tasting sparrow blood on her tongue. She screamed louder.
Rough hands grabbed her and hauled her backwards, grabbed her before she could fall, and took her weight, leaning her against a tall, comforting body. The taste of blood filled her mouth. Blood and feathers. She dropped the camera and it swung around her neck as she clung to the man.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her, and she nodded, wiping a hand over her mouth. The hand came away bloody and she stared at it in horror. She held it up for the man to see.
‘Yours?’ he asked, drawing her further away from the room, where she could still hear the mad whirling of wings, and shouts of people as well. She was pressed against a wall, but the wall turned into a chair, and she sat.
The professor swam into view in front of her, his face creased and concerned. She offered him a wobbly smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t find the door. The birds were everywhere.’ She wanted to spit, rid her mouth of the awful taste, but there was nowhere to do it. ‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ she said.
He nodded, and helped her up, said a few sentences, but she wasn’t listening, wanted only to go into the bathroom, run the cold tap, and rinse her mouth out. She’d brush her teeth while she was in there, get rid of the awful taste.
She closed the door, and leaned gratefully over the basin, swirling her mouth full of water, spitting it out, grimacing. Blood, she’d drunk the blood of a sparrow. How awful was that? Reaching for her toothbrush, she squeezed a generous amount of toothpaste on it, and scrubbed her teeth, gums, tongue until there was nothing to taste but minty freshness.
Except the blood was still in her throat. Cupping her hands, she slurped up cold water and swallowed. The taste wouldn’t go away, and when she looked in the mirror, her eyes were wide and bruised, wet with tears. She plucked a small feather from her hair and looked at it in horror.
Maybe she wouldn’t call her baby Linnet, after all. Wasn’t that a bird name? A frown tweezered her brow into a deep V. And linnets were small – like sparrows. No, she’d call her daughter something like Rosemary. That was nice, harmless.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Marcia, are you all right?’
Was she? Marcia couldn’t tell. She dried her face on the towel, pushed open the bathroom door and gave the professor a limp smile.
‘I’ve been better,’ she said. ‘They were everywhere, in my hair.’ She shuddered. ‘In my mouth.’ She raised her eyes to meet his, and felt how wide hers were. ‘I bit one. Its blood ran down my throat.’ She touched cold fingertips to the thin skin on her neck. ‘I can’t get rid of the taste.’
Martin appeared in the hallway. ‘They’re gone,’ he said. ‘They just all flew back out the veranda door, just like that, all at once. But we got it all on film.’ His eyes were wide and round too, but with excitement. Then he saw Marcia and his smile turned into a concerned frown. ‘Are you all right, Marcia?’
She nodded, wrapped her arms protectively around her belly. ‘I want Darryl,’ she said. ‘Where is he?’
Martin shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He looked back into the bedroom. ‘Hey Jeremy, you know where Darryl went?’
The answer was muffled, as though, Marcia thought, through a mouthful of bird feathers. She wouldn’t be able to sleep in that room tonight. Not after this. ‘Where did they all come from?’ she asked, then looked down and saw the camera dangling on her chest. Taking it off, she passed it to Martin. ‘I don’t know how much it shows,’ she said. ‘But I started filming outside when I saw the birds all lined up on the balcony rail.’
Martin grasped at the camera, an avid expression already on his face. She let him go and turned back to the professor. He looked at her kindly.
‘Can I get you a coffee or something? A cup of tea?’
Nodding, she let him lead her away, and she kept her head averted when they walked past her bedroom door to the stairs. A cup of tea would be good. It might get rid of the taste of blood. Her legs trembled going down the stairs and the professor – she couldn’t remember his name – gave her a troubled look.
‘Are you all right, Marcia?’ he asked. ‘I think you might be in shock.’
‘I just need to sit down,’ she said. ‘And I want Darryl. Can you find Darryl for me? Or Stacy? But Darryl would be better. I need to tell him something.’ They reached the kitchen and she sat down at the table, glad to be downstairs, away from the bedroom. She liked the kitchen, it was the only room in the house she really did like. It had a better atmosphere.
The professor fussed around and produced a cup of tea. He placed it in front of her, and touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘I’ll go find Darryl for you,’ he said. ‘Stacy’s gone to the train station to pick up the newest member of our team, I think.’
The tea was hot and sweet, just what she needed. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I want to tell Darryl I think we should leave.’
The hand slid off her shoulder, and the professor sat down next to her, his face serious.
‘Why do you think we should leave?’ he asked.
She kept her eyes on the mug of tea, and shrugged. ‘It’s happening too fast,’ she said and let herself look at him. James – that was his name. It was a nice name. ‘It’s as though this place has been waiting for us.’
His face was worn, but still handsome. She liked it, and found herself wanting to confide in him.
‘I’ve had my doubts since Darryl and I first came here, but I wasn’t supposed to say.’ Her gaze slid from his face, back to the cup of tea. ‘There’s something not right here, I feel it.’
‘What sort of something?’
But she’d said too much already and shook her head. ‘I need to talk to Darryl first,’ she said. ‘He’ll know what to do.’
The professor shifted in his chair and stood up. ‘I’ll see if I can find him for you.’
She nodded her thanks, but he was already gone. Shivering again, she ran her fingers through her hair, and found another feather. She laid it on the table and stared at it.