The Tide of Terror

Chapter Four

Chapter FourAgain, that night, at almost exactly the same time, a tiny scampering sound woke Jenny up. This time, to investigate, she looked out of her window towards the roof of the kennels and saw, once more, the birds standing there. It came as no surprise to her to see that one of the birds was missing – the gannet. Pulling on her dressing gown, she went down the stairs, crossed the forecourt, and went straight into the surgery.

The gannet was there, sitting quite still. It eyed her warily and gave one loud, raucous call. From across the way, the remaining birds all took off as one and soared into the sky. Jenny, who had deliberately kept the door ajar, watched them, then turned to look at the sea bird again. She had the most curious feeling that the bird was measuring her, to see what she might do next. Slowly she went up to the holding pen and bent down. Like the hedgehog, the bird stank and she recoiled slightly. But this was a very different smell, not earthy and damp, but one of the sea and rotting fish. As she looked again, she saw that the bird had soiled its pen and it was from this mess that the stench emanated. Choosing not to loiter any more, she went across to where the little hedgehog sat. It was sitting there, not in a ball this time, and it too was watching her. Something stirred inside Jenny. She had never known anything like this, not in all her years of treating animals, wild or domestic. Both creatures seemed to sense that she was here to help. But how could that be? Two, totally un-associated animals, both thinking the same thoughts? The idea was fanciful to say the least.

She went to the refrigerator and took out some cans of food. Dog food for the hedgehog, and a little tin of sardines for the bird. She mashed up the dog food first and, spooning it into a little bowl, popped it into the hedgehog's pen. The little animal immediately scurried over and began to eat the food with great gusto. Smiling, with great care Jenny now picked out a large piece of fish and went over to where the gannet still sat, all the time its eyes fixed unerringly on hers. As soon as she pressed the piece of fish through the thin metal bars of the pen, the gannet charged, seizing the sardine with its bill with such force that Jenny had to jump back, before her fingers also became part of the bird's meal. She sat and watched, fascinated, as the fish was devoured in the blink of an eye. A second offering went the same way, then a third, and finally a fourth. Seemingly satisfied, the bird rocked back on its great, webbed feet and began to prune its damaged wing. It would have to be put into a splint, but that, Jenny mused, would take two people. And tomorrow – here Jenny checked her watch and sighed as she realised that it was already tomorrow, and that Mr McGregor would be arriving in a little over two hours. There really was no point in going back to bed, she decided. So she stood up, gave both animals one last glance, and then went back into the forecourt, switching off the light and closing the door behind her. As she did so, she could hear the hedgehog chunnering and the gannet, as if in response, gave the softest, most gentle caw. But that was also too fanciful – animals did not communicate between one another, not two distinctly different species. That would be…madness? She listened at the door. There was nothing, no more noises, no more calls. Slowly, and lost in her thoughts, Jenny went back into her flat and started to get ready for the day to come.

The day was as hectic as it always was. There was a steady stream of clients almost from the moment Mr McGregor blasted through the doors of the surgery, greeting Jenny in his usual cheery way. A large, red-faced man of indeterminate age, Mr McGregor worked at a frenetic pace, barely taking a break as people came in with their pets and their accompanying complaints. He was always pleasant, however, no matter what the mood of his patients – human or animal – and this made Jenny feel so much more relaxed while they worked their way through the morning. It was a pleasure to work for him and she suffered his dreadful jokes with a set grin on her face, thinking them a small price to pay to experience his incredible efficiency and knowledge. By the time lunch came around, she was feeling exhausted but happy.

“Now then, Jennifer,” he declared, clapping his hands together and rubbing them gleefully, “let's see these little orphan strays you've picked up.”

He examined the hedgehog first, giving little grunts every now and again, feeling around its wound very carefully with his fingers. “Excellent, Jennifer. Pitchfork was it?”

“I think so.”

“Well, thanks to your prompt action, he's going to be fine.” And with that he slipped the little creature back into its pen. “Now, this fellow, however, is a much tougher proposition.” He stood with his hands on his hips gazing down at the gannet. “My, he's big. You don't really appreciate their size until you're right up close like this. What a beauty he is. Broken wing, you say?” Jenny nodded. “Well, we're going to have to try and keep him still while I put it into a splint. You think you can do that, Jennifer?”

“I'll certainly try.”

“That's the spirit. We could give him something to pacify him, but I'm loathe to do that. Let's just try and bundle him up in that towel, and then we'll see what happens.”

What happened was nearly forty minutes of mayhem while Mr McGregor and Jenny battled with the bird to get it still enough for the vet to apply the splint. But, with the battle finally won and his face drenched in sweat, Mr McGregor stepped back with a self-congratulatory grin on his face and surveyed his handiwork.

“Well done, Mr McGregor,” said Jenny breathlessly as she closed the door of the holding pen. “I've never known anything so strong.”

“Yes, quite extraordinary. I must go down and have a look at them all on Gannet-Rock. Remind myself of how they should be in their natural environment.” His voice sounded distant, as if his thoughts were really somewhere else. “Caught in a fishing net…very unusual. Now if it had been a gull, or even a fulmar…but gannets…very unusual. Still,” he clapped his hands together again, the sound causing Jenny to jump a little, “he should be fine within about a week to ten days. Maybe sooner. Keep checking on him, feeding him, and keep an eye on his droppings. If they start to change colour, call me straight away. Now, let's eat!”

She watched Mr McGregor board the plane then turned to go. Standing there, a lop-sided grin on his face, was old Harry Davies, who often spent his time up at the airport helping disabled people with their baggage. He also drove the school bus. A likeable man, Harry was always full of stories, not all of them accurate but always very entertaining.

“Hello there, Jenny, I hear you've rescued a rat.”

“Hedgehog, Harry. Blond.”

He followed her out into the car park. “That's what I told 'em, down at the 'Anchor'. She wouldn't rescue a rat, I said. They all laughed. But I was convinced. So, a blond hedgehog, eh? Run over was it?”

“No. People are usually very careful about that, Harry. No, it was attacked – with a pitchfork.”

“Ah,” he nodded his closely shaven head. “Yes…that'll be it then. Bernie Morrison, he was in the pub. Never says much does Bernie. But he was steaming – with anger, I mean, not drink. Saying as how he had found a 'hog in his garden, digging up his vegetable patch. 'I speared it!' he yelled. Yeah, that was it, speared it. Is that what he did then. With a pitchfork? Not very nice, is it?”

“Not really, Harry, no. But it's going to be fine, thanks for asking.”

“Eh? Well, I was just about to. I'll let Bernie know, shall I?”

“You tell him whatever you like, Harry. I'm not really interested in Bernie Morrison or anything he's got to say. He's a horrible, nasty, embittered old man.” She flashed a smile, “Unlike you, Harry. You, my friend, are a real gentleman.”

“Well, that comes with serving with the Met for thirty years. I always said, if you give 'em a kind word and an encouraging smile, they'll do as you ask. And they always did. So,” he looked around. “Nice day, again. How's the bird?”

“Harry, how do you know everything?”

“I keep my ears to the ground, my dear. Harbour master, he was in the pub too.”

Jenny laughed. “Honestly, have you nothing better to gossip about than what I get up to?”

“Not usually.” He held up his hand. “Joke! Funny thing is, though, lots of people have been talking about birds and animals and that. Seems like there's been all sorts of funny things going on – things people can't explain. They say it's all connected to what happened down at the Well.”

“Well? What Well?”

“I dunno, some archaeological dig or other. Seems like something strange happened down there when they dug something up and ever since animals and the like have been acting all peculiar.”

“What a load of nonsense.”

“That's what I said, but others weren't so convinced. They said if you go meddling with things you don't understand, then you're going to have to reap the consequences.”

“Very comforting. What happened down at this Well?”

“Don't know exactly. Police were involved. Someone got killed.”

“Really? I never heard anything.”

“You never do, Jenny. Stuck up in that animal-centre all by yourself. You could be murdered in your bed and no one would ever know.”

Jenny stared at him wide-eyed. His last statement had sent a chill running through her. “You really think so, Harry?”

Harry's mood changed. No longer light-hearted, he hunched his shoulders and blew out a long sigh. “Look, I don't go along with what they're all saying, but it is strange, Jen. Those animals you rescued may not have anything to do with it, but that gannet you caught. Broken wing from a fishing net? Weird that is. It's probably got nothing to do with anything, of course. But people are saying birds are acting strange. Different types flocking together, and you know what the old saying says. Birds of a feather…Then this business down at the Well. If someone has been murdered…I just worry, Jen, that's all. You've got your mobile haven't you?”

“Yes, yes of course I have but―”

“Well, if anything happens, or you need something – anything – you get in touch with me. Straight away, day or night. You understand me, Jen?” She nodded dumbly. “Good. All right then, I'm off down to Mrs Toner's. Said I'd help her clear some gorse from her back garden. You take care, Jen. And remember what I said.”

Jenny watched him go, his bandy legs giving him a curious, wobbling gait. What could dear old Harry do if there ever was any trouble? She tried to force a smile, because she liked Harry, liked him a lot. But her smile faded and for a long time she just stood there, thinking dark thoughts.

She read it in the morning paper. What had happened at the dig. Someone had been killed, and the police were questioning certain suspects. But there was no mention of mysterious happenings, only that the Well had remained hidden for many, many years and almost everyone interviewed had completely forgotten about its existence. Any connection with animals acting strangely, especially birds, was not even intimated at.

Carefully folding the newspaper and putting it on top of her coffee table, Jenny went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. The business of the day was at an end and, if there were no other emergency calls, the evening was her own.

Then came the sound.

She rushed to the window, the tea forgotten, and gazed up into the sky.

There, circling around the animal-centre, in a perfect circle, where at least a dozen, possibly fifteen, birds, all of them calling - screeching more like - incredibly loudly. She stepped back from her window, hand clamped against her mouth.

What was going on?