The Island Birds

"Hello friend or Savior!”

Wallace was in no shape to be anyone's savior; he could barely stand upright on the mysterious beach which he had only arrived at an hour earlier. The words of the message appeared blurry from underneath a cracked pane of glass, presumably to guard the yellowed sheet of paper from rain. All of this was affixed to the side of a beached motorized yacht, now coastal wreckage-as-monument to the frail man standing before it. “The Golden Corona” was painted on the jutted remnants hunkering over the dark sand. Still, the badly-damaged vessel was in better condition than the battered raft that had barely carried Wallace to the island. He had struggled against an unforgiving current for hours before arriving at the Corona, and he was weaker and hungrier than he'd ever been in his life.

“Please help yourself to one of the bottles of freshwater I’ve left for you.”

Wallace was already on his third bottle, having thrown up a good bit of the water from the first. All of them, around thirty in number, had been placed in a neat row at the base of the yacht. Had Wallace been the sort of person that paid attention to world events, he would have recognized the boat and known its owner. In some circles, The Golden Corona was as famous as the Argo.

“There’s a building on the northwest corner of this island. It’s a real building made of concrete and steel. The biologists that used to live here have vacated this tropical prison, but I’m here now. My name is Rylan McCay. I have one warning for you: don’t eat any of the birds. They carry a very rare disease. I have plenty of information and research here that will explain everything. Get here as soon as you can.”

That was the end of the note. The words were as much of a premature admonishment as they were a promise. The caws and cackles from inside the forest of the island, which otherwise appeared bereft of fruit and other such nourishment, had given Wallace hope for a meal after days without. After the initial scout which led him to the Corona, he was going to set out for a hunt, hopefully build a fire close to a source of clean water - if there was any to be found.

The letter quelled his imagined feast, but this information was like rising up for oxygen. If Rylan had survived on the island more than a week or two, then perhaps there was a life to be had here. At the very least, there was someone with whom to await rescue.

Wallace judged the sun and headed northwest.

He couldn’t have known it, but Wallace’s trek mimicked, almost step-for-step, the exact course Rylan had taken the previous summer. The surrounding currents had put Rylan on the same basic path. Only in his case, the Corona was heavier than the life raft, and had found purchase on the beach quicker.

An explosion at sea had killed everyone but Rylan, transforming the Corona into a powerless scrap adrift on the Pacific Ocean. After two days, he had to ditch the remains of the crew to suppress temptation to feast upon their spoiled meat. But fate brought Rylan to the very island he’d been seeking, though its secrets were still a mystery to him then.

It took Wallace about an hour to reach the northwest corner. Wallace’s legs were still cramped from dehydration, and the sun grew brighter and more intense as it began to set. Once he was within range, he cut into the island through a thicket of trees. The bird noise was much louder once he was under the forest canopy. The discord was jarring after so many days of silence, but Wallace had a mission and a destination.

For his part, Rylan had reached his grim destination months earlier. Before he had even spotted the island, a seagull landed on the edge of the Corona, signaling that land would be nearby. Rylan devoured the diseased bird immediately, all but its beak and toes, and thus became an unwitting host to an angry mob of viral parasites.

A quarter mile into the island forest, Wallace met up with a trail which led him to a small, one-story building. It was grey and cylindrical, perhaps decades old. Moss and vines covered the lower part of one side, but it appeared that Rylan had cleared the growth away for visitors, revealing a large metallic door which he’d propped open a few inches. Wallace grabbed the edge and began to pull it toward him.

Wallace never got a good look at the thing that Rylan had become since he’d started down the path to decay. He'd barely had time to set the trap: water to keep his prey alive, a siren song disguised as a welcome letter. Rylan's face and body had been remarkably changed by the poison inside him, poison which both killed him and kept him alive.

Wallace had obeyed the letter’s instructions, he'd ignored the island birds. Rylan-as-creature would have sensed it if he had, and then it would have had nothing to eat. It grabbed Wallace’s hand from inside the building, ripped his whole arm off with a torturous snap. The malformed and insane birds cried out from above, alarmed by the screams that followed.

9pm - ?

According to the invitation, 9pm was the official start time of Dave and Sally's annual Halloween party. However, Ben immediately felt foolish for arriving right on time when Dave answered the door wearing plain jeans and a t-shirt. He looked at Ben, confused.

"Oh. Hey, Ben. Wow, I didn't think people would start showing up until around ten or so."

"I guess I'm a little early," Ben muttered. Dave's porch was still dark, but Ben had thought it was a part of the decor. Now he realized that 9pm meant...well, not 9pm. "So, uh. Need any help setting up?"

"Nah, it's cool. Come on in. Sally's still getting ready and I haven't even started." As he led Ben into his living room, Dave could better see Ben's homemade costume, which included a Medieval-looking tunic with red markings. Dave studied it for two seconds before asking, "What are you supposed to be anyway, some sorta Star Wars thing?"

"Nope. Not even close," Ben replied. "I have a prize for whoever guesses it correctly." He patted a leather satchel that was strapped to his belt.

As the couple finished getting ready upstairs, Ben sat in the living room, sipping on pumpkin ale and watching some horror movie scenes that someone had edited together. He didn't know most of the films, but the visuals went well with the spooky ambient music playing over it.

Eventually, other guests started arriving. Dave and Sally's small house and backyard was soon filled with brooding vampires, sexy witches, and movie monsters galore. Sally instructed all zombies to keep their fake dirt and blood off of her furniture. There were also a few guests in pun-related costumes, as well as the expected assortment of cultural references from the year.

"My roommate is Wander Woman, like, as in 'wandering the desert', and I'm Molasses Cat," a fur-clad girl informed Ben as she held up an emptied mason jar that was affixed to her hand. Ben nodded and decided he would need stronger inebriation than pumpkin ale could offer. He excused himself to get some hunch punch, Sally's diabolical specialty, from the back porch. That's where he met Kimberly.

"I know who you are," she said from behind him. Ben turned toward her voice and almost spilled hunch punch on himself. Even through her creepy banshee costume, he could tell that she was the most beautiful girl at the party, maybe any party ever.

"Really?" he said. "That can't be possible. I'd remember you." He was smiling, but completely serious and beyond confused.

"No," Kimberly said, laughing. "I know who you're dressed as. You're Darek Alger from the Signal Dagger series."

Ben was taken aback. "You know the Signal Dagger books?"

"Please. I practically turned my whole dorm onto them back in college."

"That's awesome. And impressive. The only think I turned my dorm onto was the idea to wear shower shoes in the bathroom."

She smiled and Ben took a deep sip of hunch punch. As the night and party progressed, they continued talking and flirting. Ben looked around and saw Dave, now dressed as a hippie, pull his peace symbol sunglasses down to wink at him. He walked by Ben and joked, "Don't worry, buddy. I'm sure you'll find a pretty girl somewhere around here." Ben blushed and smiled at Kimberly, who smiled back.

There were plenty of other guests, but Ben and Kimberly might as well have been alone together. They only wanted to talk to each other and ignored the other guests, except when the conversation would lull a bit and they needed something to joke about.

"What about this guy?" Ben said, gesturing toward a large man in a plaid shirt and wool cap who was double-fisting hunch punch and a beer. He had tucked a plastic chainsaw under one of his arms as he loudly talked to a girl dressed as Snow White about the Denver Broncos. "He gets my vote for drunkest lumberjack I've seen all week."

"Yeah," Kimberly said, giggling as she shot off, "Someone should be around to yell 'timber' when he goes down."

Eventually, the party got quieter as guests began to filter out. Sally had begun blowing out candles and turning on some normal lights. Dave had taken his hippie costume to heart and was smoking a joint with a small group of friends in the backyard. Ben knew that meant Dave would be kicking people out soon so that he could go to bed.

"I guess we've hit 'question mark', huh?" Ben said to Kimberly.

"Question mark?" she asked.

"Like on the invitation."

"Oh, right." Kimberly nodded and looked around Dave and Sally's empty living room. "Wow, I can't remember the last time I stayed up till question mark."

"Well, can I walk you to your car?"

"I actually grabbed a ride here with friends."

"Oh, okay..." Ben said. He looked around.

"They're gone."

"They left you? That sucks."

"Yeah. You know, it kinda does."

"I mean," Ben started with a mock grim expression. "Don't they realize that banshees are legendary for getting revenge?"

"You're right," Kimberly said, a smile spreading across her face. "I guess they decided to risk it."

"Well, I could...you know, give you a lift home," Ben said, hoping to sound more helpful than lecherous.

"That'd be great!" Kimberly said, nearly jumping in excitement.

They left without even thinking to say goodbye to their hosts. The few remaining guests exited soon after Ben and Kimberly had gone.

After ushering out the last of them, Sally turned the porch light off. Dave stood in the living room, visibly high and barely standing. Sally was no more sober than he was, but she handled it better.

"Something about tie-dye and bell bottoms turns you into an idiot every time you wear them," Sally said as she downed the last of her punch and walked toward the kitchen.

"C'mon, I thought all you vampires loved hippies." Dave wrapped his arms around Sally's waist. "We taste like pot and junk food."

"Whatever. You should go as a caveman next year. It's an evolutionary step up from a hippie." She smirked and gave Dave a kiss, then looked around. "God, this place is a mess."

Dave dragged the garbage can into the living room and began tossing in empty cups and bottles. Sally plucked a red scarf that she had draped over a lampshade and switched off the light.

"Hey, what was with your weird friend?" Sally asked.

"Ben? Yeah, I don't know."

"He was just standing off to the side by himself, talking to nobody."

"Maybe it was part of his costume." Dave sat on the couch and turned on the TV. "Game of Thrones?"

"Okay." Still dressed in her red cape and tight black dress, Sally cuddled next to Dave on the couch and put her head on his shoulder. "Well, I think Ben is one creepy guy."

"I know. I hoped he would be more social and maybe meet a girl or something. I really don't get him." He hit play on the HBO Go menu.

Sally yawned. "Okay, just one episode and then bedtime," she said.

A few miles away, Ben drove up to Kimberly's apartment. They had talked and laughed most of the ride to her neighborhood, but had gotten quiet as they neared the end of the ride. Ben was unsure if he should turn off the car or if he was just dropping Kimberly off. He pulled up to her curb and let the car idle. He started to say something, but Kimberly cut him off.

"I'm glad you're not presumptuous," she said. "However, I'm totally going to ask you to come in. I mean, if you want."

"Yeah, yeah," Ben said. "I mean...yeah." He smiled crookedly and shook his head. Kimberly laughed.

Kimberly's apartment was on the second floor. They both giggled as they climbed the stairs, trying - and failing - to be quiet. Kimberly opened her door and let Ben in. Before she could even turn on a light, he leaned in to kiss her. She backed away.

"Hold on," she said. "Let me put some music on or something. Do you want a drink?"

"No, I'm good," he said, his eyes still adjusting to the dark room.

"Okay," she said. And then softly, she leaned in and whispered, "Hey, Ben. Do you want to see my body?"

A rush of heat leaped to his face. "Um, yeah. Sure."

Through the faint light coming in through the windows, Ben could barely see Kimberly. But he could see that she was smiling.

"Give me one minute," she said. She disappeared into a hallway. Nervous excitement flooded over Ben. He heard her voice one more time. "Hey, could you get the light?"

"Sure," Ben called to her. He turned to find the switch and then remembered. "Oh, hey - I almost forgot! I have something for you. A prize for guessing my costume."

Ben reached into the leather satchel on his belt and pulled out a glass key with "S.D." engraved on it, a trinket from the Signal Dagger books. It felt like a piece of it had broken off.

"Oh, c'mon," he muttered to himself.

He grazed his hand across the wall and found the light switch. When he turned and saw the illuminated room, Ben's heart dropped into his stomach and the glass key fell to the floor.

The apartment looked like it had been ransacked. Furniture was overturned. Torn books and broken dishes littered the floor. Kimberly's picture frames had been ripped from the walls and smashed. Her television was lying face down in front of a coffee table, which was littered with cigarette butts and food so rotted that Ben couldn't tell what it had once been.

"Oh, my god," he said. The smell had finally registered, a disgustingly stale odor of ash and decay. "Kimberly? I think somebody broke in."

He waited for a response. Nothing.

"Kimberly? Are you alright?"

Nothing. Then fear arose, hitting him in the gut. Maybe whoever had wrecked the place was still in the apartment.

"Kimberly, we need to get out of here!"

Ben stood there, dumbly. Something was obviously wrong, but he was afraid to go look for her. He looked at the door behind him. Black and dark brown smudges covered it, but Ben didn't really see the filth. He just saw a way out. His feet felt like they were glued to the floor. He couldn't leave. He had to find Kimberly. She was... Well, she was...

Gone. Ben closed his eyes. He knew where Kimberly was. There wasn't an intruder. Whatever had happened in this apartment had happened weeks, maybe months ago. Slowly, he turned toward the dismantled room and walked down the shadowy hallway. From the light in the living room he could only register more filth, more chaos along the walls and on the floor. There was a door at the end of the hallway. He slowly opened it and walked into Kimberly's bedroom.

There she was. His posture slumped, but Ben wasn't surprised to find that he didn't have the energy to yell out or even gasp. Kimberly's dead body was on the bed. Much of the skin on her face had been rotted off to reveal sections of skull underneath. Her clothes looked to be covered in mold, spread there from her decaying body.

Ben wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He saw several pill bottles on the bed next to her and on the nightstand. The story was becoming clearer, but he didn't know why she had come to him. Nothing in the room would answer that. Kimberly's head was tilted toward him, staring with two empty eye sockets. Her cheekbones jutted out from around her distended jaw. To Ben, it looked like she was smiling at him.

"Happy Halloween," he said to her, just before losing consciousness.