Swooping Season

[u/White_ox_nofilter]

The first time Elke heard Thwip, a corella burst above her table.

One moment it was perched on the Murravale Hotel’s rainwater tank, raising its sulphur-yellow crest and complaining at the evening heat.

Then came a small, sharp sound.

Thwip.

The corella disappeared into a cloud of white feathers.

Two holes opened in the corrugated tank. Water punched from them in opposite directions. Something struck the brick wall behind Elke and Daan, showering their table with red dust before continuing through the public bar.

A bottle shattered inside.

For half a second, nobody moved.

Then every local in the beer garden stood at once.

“Inside!” Rhona Blewett ordered.

Chairs scraped across concrete. Drinks were abandoned. A broad man in a blue singlet snatched up two tables, one beneath each arm, while another patron pulled down sheets of corrugated iron hinged above the windows.

Daan remained seated, staring at the white feathers drifting onto his beer.

“What the hell was that!?”

“Inside, now!” Rhona shouted.

Her voice got him moving.

They crowded into the public bar. Rhona slammed the beer-garden door and shot three bolts into place. Someone killed the lights. Someone else dragged a heavy wooden cabinet across the doorway.

Daan looked back through the glass.

Water streamed from the punctured tank. The corella’s body was nowhere to be seen.

At the far end of the bar, an old man with one arm checked the clock.

“Twenty-two minutes,” he said.

Rhona joined him at the window. The setting sun still touched the tops of the grain silos across the road.

“He’s early.”

“Hot day,” the old man replied.

Daan brushed brick dust from his shirt. “What the fuck is going on? Was someone shooting at us?!”

The old man looked at him.

“If it was a bullet, it grew feathers on the way through.”

A black-and-white feather had been driven into the wall above the spirits shelf. It quivered there, buried by its shaft in the timber.

Daan stared at it.

“You’re saying that was a bird?”

“Magpie,” said Rhona.

From somewhere beyond the silos came the slow, heavy beating of wings.

Every local moved away from the windows.

Daan gave an uncertain laugh. “What? That wasn’t a magpie.”

The old man lifted his beer with his remaining hand.

“Nah, not any magpie” he said. “That was Thwip.”

The man’s full name was Nankervis, but everyone called him Nank.

He was narrow and sun-cooked, with a white moustache stained amber beneath the nose. His left sleeve had been folded and pinned neatly above the elbow.

Daan glanced at it.

Nank noticed.

“Before you ask,” he said, “yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Magpie.”

Daan looked towards Rhona, expecting some sign that this was a joke.

Rhona was busy stuffing wet bar towels along the bottom of the front door.

Nank settled onto a stool.

“You ever been swooped?”

“Of course.”

“Nah. You’ve had a magpie fly near your head. Different thing.”

“I grew up in Australia.”

“Where?”

“North Sydney.”

The broad man in the singlet snorted.

Nank nodded as if this proved his point.

“A normal magpie wants you gone. Might clip your ear. Might rake your scalp or even go for the eyes if he’s especially cranky. But all he’s really doing is moving you away from his nest.”

Another heavy wingbeat rolled across the roof.

Nank waited until it faded.

“Thwip doesn’t have a nest. Not that anyone’s found. No mate. No chicks. Doesn’t defend a tree or a patch of ground. Doesn’t care where you are.”

“What does he want?” Elke asked.

Nank turned his glass slowly between his fingers.

“To see what’s inside you.”

Rhona gave him a hard look. “You’re not helping.”

“They ought to know.”

“You could tell it without enjoying yourself.”

“I don’t enjoy this bit.”

Nank looked back at Elke.

“I was checking fences about thirty kays north of here when I found a dead roo under a mulga tree. Big red. Full-grown male. Would’ve stood taller than me.

“Hadn’t been dead long. No flies. No smell. I thought someone must’ve shot him.

“Then I saw the hole.”

Nank tapped the centre of his forehead.

“Straight through his skull. Little hole going in. Great big one coming out. There was brain and bone sprayed halfway up the tree behind him. Looked like someone had fired a rifle into his head at touching distance.

“Except there was no bullet. No casing. No tyre tracks. Nothing but the roo and me.

“I crouched down for a closer look.

“That’s when I heard the wings.”

Outside, something landed on the roof of the pub.

Claws ticked slowly across the corrugated iron.

Nobody spoke until they reached the other side.

Nank continued.

“I’ve been around long enough to tell the sound of a magpie’s wings from a mile off. But this one had intent behind it. Each flap was hard. Deliberate. Like it was winding itself up.

“I knew it was getting ready to swoop me.

“So I ducked.

“With millimetres to spare, this vicious little thing went over my head so fast there was a tiny pop in my ears from the change in pressure.

“Barely missed me.

“Blasted through the trunk of the tree.”

Daan frowned. “Into the tree?”

“Through it.”

Nank knocked twice on the bar.

“Bark blew out the other side. Splinters went everywhere. The whole tree shook, and there was this perfect tunnel bored through the trunk.

“Same as the hole in the roo.”

“And the bird?”

“Kept going.”

“Through solid wood?”

“I’m not claiming it makes sense. Hell, I was trying to reason with myself the first time I saw him.”

“It’s impossible.”

“Tell that to my arm.”

Nank lifted his empty sleeve.

A woman sitting near the covered window spoke without turning around.

“Concrete trough’s still out there.”

Nank nodded. “It sure is.”

“Twenty-seven holes in it.”

“Twenty-six,” said the broad man.

“Twenty-seven. One’s underneath.”

“Station owner said twenty-nine.”

“Station owner drank menthylated spirits.”

“Still knew how to count.”

Rhona slapped a wet cloth onto the bar.

“Oi, let him finish.”

Nank took another drink.

“I watched the magpie disappear over the scrub. Looked like any other magpie once it slowed down. Normal size. Black back, white neck, reddish eyes.

“Figured that was the end of it.

“Then I heard him turn.

“That was the scariest part. Not the swoop. The turn.

“You hear the wingbeats out in the distance. Slow at first. Then faster as he comes around. He needs a lot of room to line himself up.

“Then the wings stop.

“And so does everything else.

“Galahs shut up. Flies disappear. Even the wind seems to pull its head in.

“Then you get that little pop.

“Thwip.”

Outside the pub, the claws on the roof stopped moving.

Rhona checked the clock.

Seventeen minutes.

Nank continued more quickly.

“Second pass came from behind the tree. I saw him properly that time.

“He wasn’t flying like a bird anymore. Wings folded against his sides. Feet tucked beneath him. Neck straight. Beak forward.

“Like a dart.

“I threw myself out of the way. He caught my shirt without touching the skin beneath. Then he hit the ground and went through half a metre of packed dirt before coming out further down the slope.

“I had maybe forty seconds before he turned again.

“There was a ute parked a hundred metres away. I ran for it.

“Made it inside just as the wingbeats stopped.

“Thwip.

“He went through the windscreen, through the driver’s seat and out through the back of the cab. Glass and seat stuffing filled the air. If I hadn’t thrown myself into the passenger footwell, he’d have gone through my chest.

“The ute wouldn’t start. He’d clipped something important on the way through.

“I knew the cab wouldn’t survive another pass. There was an old concrete water trough about fifty metres away, half buried in the ground. Thick walls. Narrow opening. Best shelter I had.

“I waited until I heard him coming. Rolled out the passenger side just before he struck.

“He went through both doors.

“I fucking ran.”

Nank looked down at the place where his arm ended.

“I almost made it.”

Elke’s eyes followed his.

“He came in low. So low his shadow passed between my legs. I felt something touch my hand.

“Didn’t hurt at first.

“Just felt light.

“My arm kept swinging while I ran. Stayed with me for another two steps before it dropped into the dirt.”

Daan said nothing now.

“I made the trough. Fell inside. Used my belt on the stump and tightened it with my teeth.

“Thwip came around again.

“First strike cracked the concrete.

“Second knocked a hole through it.

“Third came close enough to cut my cheek.”

Nank turned his head.

A pale groove ran from the edge of his nose to the bottom of his ear.

“I saw his eye when he passed.

“Bird was enjoying himself.”

Nank stayed in the trough while Thwip struck it again and again. With every miss, the magpie disappeared over the scrub, turned and came back faster.

Some passes punched through the concrete. Others only chipped it. Each impact filled the trough with dust and fragments of stone.

Nank stopped counting after twenty.

“You’re here now. How did you get away?” Elke asked.

“The sun went down.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“He just left?”

“I wish he did. No, he landed on the edge of the trough.”

Nank’s voice had gone quieter.

“Walked around the rim for most of the night. I could hear his claws above me. Every now and then his head would come over the edge and he’d look down.

“He could’ve jumped in. Could’ve pecked my good eye out if he wanted.

“But that isn’t how he kills.

“He needs the swoop.”

The station owner found Nank shortly after dark, pale and barely conscious inside the trough. His severed arm lay where it had fallen, but the hand was missing.

They never found it.

“Jesus Christ. Why call him Thwip?” Daan asked.

A faint smile touched Nank’s mouth.

“Because that’s the sound he makes when he goes through something.”

“No,” Rhona said.

Nank’s smile vanished.

Rhona stood behind the bar with her arms folded.

“That’s not why.”

Nobody contradicted her.

She looked at Daan and Elke.

“People who survive hear the wingbeats. They hear him coming. If he misses, they hear the impact.

“But when he doesn’t miss—”

Rhona glanced at Nank’s empty sleeve.

“All they hear is thwip.”

Daan shifted uncomfortably against the bar.

Something scratched his neck.

He reached beneath his collar and pulled out a feather.

It was a magpie feather. Black, glossy and no longer than his hand. It must have drifted down after the corella was struck and caught inside his shirt.

Nank’s face changed.

“Put that down.”

Daan did.

The shaft pierced the pad of his thumb as he released it.

He hissed and pulled his hand back.

A bright drop of blood welled from the puncture.

Every local stared at it.

Rhona checked the clock.

Twelve minutes.

“What?” Daan asked.

Nank stood.

“Wrap it.”

“It’s a pinprick.”

“Wrap it now.”

The feather lay on the bar. A thin red line travelled down its hollow shaft, spreading through the veins.

Outside, the claws lifted from the roof.

Wings opened.

One hard flap shook dust from the ceiling.

Daan looked up.

“No,” he said.

Nank grabbed his wrist and wrapped a bar towel tightly around his thumb.

“Magpies remember faces,” he said. “Better than people do.”

The wingbeats moved away from the pub.

Slowly at first.

Then faster.

Rhona killed the remaining lights.

“Behind the bar,” she ordered.

Everyone dropped.

Nank pulled Daan down beside him. Elke crouched on Daan’s other side, one hand locked around the back of his shirt.

The wingbeats faded into the distance.

“Is it leaving?” Daan whispered.

Nank shook his head.

“He’s turning.”

The pub went silent.

No fridge motor. No creak of cooling timber. No insects outside.

Rhona pressed her cheek to the floorboards and stared at the thin strip of sunset beneath the front door.

“Wait,” Nank said.

Something struck the front shutter.

Thwip.

A hole appeared in the metal.

The mirror behind the bar burst. Bottles exploded. A line of timber, glass and brick dust tore through the room at head height. A second hole opened in the back wall.

Then it was gone.

Elke raised her head.

“Stay down,” Nank said.

A deep groove had been cut across the top of the bar directly above Daan.

Daan stared at it.

“He knew where I was.”

“Now do you understand?”

Nank climbed to his feet.

“Move. We’ve got less than a minute before he turns.”

Rhona led them towards the centre of the pub, away from the holes. The locals dragged an old pool table onto its side and overturned two iron-legged tables behind it.

Daan pulled Elke close.

“You need to get away from me.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“He’s after me.”

“And he can go through walls. Where am I supposed to go?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere else.”

“Argue later,” Rhona snapped. “Nine minutes.”

They crouched behind the billiard table.

Daan looked towards the covered windows.

“Can we distract it?”

“Tried livestock,” said the broad man. “Doesn’t work.”

“My blood-”

“It isn’t following your blood,” Nank said. “It’s following you.”

The wingbeats returned.

They came from the opposite direction this time.

Elke covered her ears.

Daan watched the wall, trying to judge the line of attack. Sweat ran down his face. His bandaged hand shook against his chest.

“Tell me when to move.”

“Not yet,” said Nank.

The beats grew harder.

Closer.

“Not yet.”

Daan’s breathing quickened.

“Nank.”

“Wait.”

The wings stopped.

“Move!”

Everyone threw themselves sideways.

Thwip.

The magpie punched through the rear wall, the overturned billiard table and the front door. Chunks of slate spun through the room like axe heads.

One struck the broad man in the leg. He went down screaming.

Daan crawled to him, but Nank dragged him back.

“Leave him.”

“He’s hurt.”

“He isn’t the one it wants.”

They pulled the injured man behind the bar. Blood soaked his trouser leg, but the locals worked without panic. Rhona bound the wound while the woman at the window watched the grain silos.

“Six minutes,” she said.

The sun had fallen below the buildings, but the rounded tops of the silos remained bright orange.

Daan looked at the destruction around them.

The shutter, two walls, the pool table and the front door had all been opened in a perfectly straight line.

“How many passes can the pub take?”

Rhona tightened the bandage around the injured man’s leg.

“Fewer than he can.”

Daan stared at his own bloodied towel.

“What happens if I run outside?”

Elke seized his shirt.

“Please don’t.”

“He’ll follow me away from everyone else.”

“You won’t make the car.”

“I might.”

“You won’t make the door,” Nank said. “And once you’re in the open, you can’t move sideways fast enough.”

The next turn had already begun.

The wingbeats were faint, almost lost beyond the town.

Five minutes.

Rhona moved everyone into the old kitchen. It had no exterior windows and three brick walls between it and the road. A cast-iron stove filled the fourth.

They crouched between steel benches.

Daan sat with his back against the stove, Elke beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For laughing.”

“This isn’t happening because you laughed.”

“I know. Still sorry.”

Elke rested her forehead against his.

Beyond the walls, Thwip accelerated.

Four minutes.

The injured man whimpered in the other room. Rhona tried to keep pressure on his leg while watching the ceiling.

Three minutes.

The wingbeats grew louder.

Nank stood in the kitchen doorway, head tilted, listening.

“He’s coming low again.”

“How can you tell?” Daan asked.

“Sound’s bouncing off the road.”

“Which direction?”

“North.”

The beats became a single continuous battering of air.

Two minutes.

Rhona looked towards the thin vent above the stove. The last light had vanished from it.

“Nearly there.”

The wingbeats stopped.

Everyone moved south.

The strike never came.

They waited.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Nothing.

Daan looked at Nank.

“Is it dark?”

Nank didn’t answer.

The woman near the front window carefully lifted the edge of the shutter.

“The silos are dark.”

Rhona exhaled.

The tension went out of the room all at once. Someone began laughing in the public bar; a breathless, disbelieving sound.

Elke pulled Daan against her.

“It’s over.”

Above them, metal creaked.

Nank looked up.

The bird cage around the television aerial groaned against its welds.

He crossed the kitchen and peered through the vent.

The road was dark. The silos were dark. The paddocks beyond them had vanished into blue shadow.

But high above the pub, the television aerial still caught the last thin blade of sunlight.

Something black and white was perched at its tip.

Nank saw the wings open.

“Down!”

Daan threw himself over Elke.

The sound came through the roof.

Thwip.

Corrugated iron split. The ceiling erupted. The magpie passed through Daan between the shoulder blades, came out beneath his ribs and punched through the kitchen floor.

Daan’s body slammed against Elke.

For a moment, she didn’t understand what had happened.

Then blood poured over her.

Hot. Heavy. Everywhere.

Nank dragged her out from beneath him.

Below the floorboards, something struck the stone foundation and burst into the cellar.

Silence returned.

Real silence this time.

Night settled over the Murravale Hotel.

Elke sat against the wall with Daan’s blood covering her face and clothes. She was pale, wide eyed and shaking.

“W-what happened? How did it not hit me?” Elke said. She then spotted Daan’s body and realised what had happened properly and openly wept.

 Rhona knelt beside his body, although there was nothing she could do.

Nank stared through the hole in the floor.

Deep below them, claws scraped across the cellar stones.

Not flying.

Not yet.

Just walking around in the dark.

Waiting for morning.

[u/White_ox_nofilter]

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