the bird on fire

The Bird is the Word: Sophisticated Schoolyard Shenanigans

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The Old Beggar-Woman–A Fairy Tale Re-Telling

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It’s been a while. We go back, with this post, to the storytelling of tale aficionado Harlow Berny.

By Harlow Berny

Centuries ago, in a long forgotten kingdom, there was an old woman. Surely you have seen a beggar before. The woman begged the same, always saying, “God bless you,” when given anything, be it a shiny coin or a small piece of stale bread. Once, the old woman walked to the door of an old house, and there, by a burning fireplace, was a friendly young man. “Come, old mother; warm yourself,” he said to the old woman as she shivered in the doorway. “God bless you,” she said as she stepped closer to the warmth. However, she stepped too close and her clothes caught fire. She did not notice, but the young man did, and he jumped to his feet. He looked around for a pail of water, but finding none, he began to weep. His streams of tears fell on the flames and quenched them before they touched the old woman’s skin. She turned toward the young man and said with a smile upon her face, “God bless you.”

Editor: Holden Hartle

A Re-Telling of Grimm’s

Conceive

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By Harlow Berny

I saw a bright light in the distance. A shining light in a sea of darkness. It had to be her. There was nothing else, no one else, it could possibly be. I could hear others around me, others just like me. They wanted her. I rushed as fast as I could, my small body pushing itself out of the dark abyss and into her light. I saw her floating. She was far bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. I stayed for a second to admire her size, her dangling light, before I saw others like me rushing onto her. I hurried closer to her. I sank my teeth into her. I felt my flesh fusing with hers. We were bonding. I saw the others that were like me rushing away, accepting defeat. I had won. I was a part of her. I could feel her blood running through me, keeping me alive. We would stay like this. Forever. My small body got smaller. And smaller. And smaller. Soon, all that was left of me were the organs that could grant her children. This was my existence. This was my purpose. This is what I am.

_ . ~ * ~ . _

Thank you for reading this short horror story! If you couldn’t tell, it’s a story about anglerfish reproduction told by a male anglerfish. This was made to fit the aquatic theme set by this week’s editor and was quite fun to write. I hope you enjoyed!

Editor: Luke Langlois

Seniors Who Lunch

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By Harlow Berny

Hello! I’d like to share one of Palm Valley School’s older traditions with you, the Senior Lunch! This is a tradition that started six years ago under the (benevolent rule of the Overlord) administration of the former Head of Upper School, Ms. Susie Zachik. Six years ago, the tradition of Senior Lunch was actually Senior Breakfast. It was created to encourage Seniors, who didn’t have a first period class, to come to school on Friday mornings and attend the Friday assembly. It was only four years ago that the tradition became Wednesday Senior Lunch, as Seniors no longer had a free period/study hall for their first period classes.

Throughout this, the Senior families have provided the breakfasts/lunches for the Seniors. Sometimes school administrators, such as Ms. Zachik, Ms. Steinman (current Head of Upper School), and Ms. Rice (current Head of School) would bring food for the first and/or last Senior Lunch. After this, it would be one Senior’s duty to bring lunch for all of the Seniors on one Wednesday of the school year, and this would continue until all of the Seniors have brought a Senior Lunch. In addition to this, the Seniors control the student lounge during a Senior Lunch. While Juniors, Sophomores, and Freshman can come in to get their lunch and heat it up in the microwaves, they are encouraged to eat at the courtyard tables so that Seniors may eat with their fellow Seniors. This is a tradition that should be respected in order to preserve the experience for future Senior classes. Let’s be honest here, it is nice to hang out with your Senior class with the little time you have left before you all go off to different colleges.

Editor: Luke Langlois

3rd Place Short Story Winner

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By Harlow Berny

Hello! Here, finally, is the 3rd-place winner of the Halloween Short Horror Story Competition written by Erik Bearman! It was a tough choice, but ultimately the Masked Rabbit and his story “The Darkness” won 1st place, and Marianne Capetz came in 2nd place with her story “The Child.” Enjoy!

Cobwebs

By Erik Bearman

My grandmother always gave me one rule, “Don’t touch the cobwebs!” If she asked me to clean out garage, she’d say, “Don’t touch the cobwebs!” If she asked me to fetch something from the attic, she’d say, “Don’t touch the cobwebs!” Even if I was washing the dishes after dinner, she’d always say, “Don’t touch the cobwebs!” even though there was no chance of cobwebs being in the dishwasher, she’d still warn me. I never questioned my grandmother’s preoccupation with cobwebs because she was always there for me. Ever since my parents died, she was always there for me. When I was being bullied in middle school, she was there to scream at the principal until they were expelled. When I struggled in math class, she was there to make sure the teacher tutored me after school. I figured that since she was always there for me, being paranoid of a couple house spiders wasn’t a big deal.

Two months after my 15th birthday, my grandmother died in her sleep on the 31st of October. Once I had finished grieving (or at least summoned the ability to be able to walk through the front door without bursting into tears), I went to clean out her house. It was Christmas, and the snowfall was heavy. My girlfriend, Juniper, was kind enough to help me clean out my grandmother’s house. Funny thing is I never asked her to help; she just showed up and started helping. Without my grandmother to keep them at bay with her “holy duster” (a feather duster with a handle specially carved in the shape of a religious cross, as she called it), the cobwebs had spread all across the house. We started cleaning in the dining room. As I was stacking the chairs against the wall, Juniper walked straight into a cobweb! I laughed as she picked spider silk out of her mouth. It was the first time I felt joy in a while; and I figured that since my grandmother was gone, touching the cobwebs wouldn’t be a big deal. I was wrong.

That night me and Juniper were sitting on the sofa watching some of my grandmother’s old movies. Juniper sat on my lap as I braided her hair. Halfway through Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Juniper and I fell asleep on the couch. The last thing I remember hearing before I closed my eyes was the basement door creak open. I woke to the sound of Juniper whimpering as she held me tight. “Damien,” she said, “Damien, please wake up!”

“What? What is it?”
“Look at the floor!”

When I did look at the floor my skeleton nearly leapt out of my body. The floor was thickly covered in giant cobwebs as far as we could see.

“Wha-What happened?”
“I-I don’t know! I woke up and the floor was covered in the stuff!”
“Okay, let’s just remain calm and–”

I was interrupted by a loud squeaking noise. We looked at the top of the cable box and saw a raccoon had managed to break through one of the windows while we were sleeping. It sniffed around the room searching for a meal. It turned its head towards the hallway which led straight to the kitchen. As it descended the box, its large, bushy, tail got caught in the webbing. As soon as it tried to tug itself free, we heard the basement door slam open! And a large, black blur shot across the floor before puncturing the raccoon’s flesh with its sharp fangs. Strangely, there was no blood, there was no gore of any kind. The raccoon didn’t squeal or even flinch. It just went limp, with a minor twitch here and there. Paralysis, I thought. Whatever had paralyzed the rodent turned and dashed out of the room back into the basement, but not before I got a good look at it.

The moonlight that shone through the broken window had revealed a giant, black, spider the size of a Saint Bernard. Its spiny legs were as thin and sharp as a sewing needle, glistening fangs the size of butcher knives, and eight red eyes the size of baseballs. But the eyes were the strangest part; they were deformed and detached from the spider’s head. They dangled and swung like loose buttons on an old doll’s head.

Out of fear, Juniper squeezed my arm tightly and whispered, “Damien, please tell me this is a nightmare! Please tell me this is just a figment of my imagination!”
“I wish I could; I really wish I could!”
“What is that thing!”
“It looked like a black widow spider! But they don’t usually get larger than 1.5 inches.”
“How-how do you kill one?”
“Normal ones? Step on them. This one? Use a machine gun!”
“Damien, we have to get out of this house! Let’s just drive as far away from here as we can!”
“How do we get out? The broken window is too small, and if we touch these webs … well you saw what happened to that raccoon!”

I looked for a way out of the room, but it looked like the spider had us in the perfect trap. The only objects not covered in webbing were the couch, T.V., and the various boxes we had stacked across the house.

The boxes!

I turned to Juniper, “I have an idea! You know the game, ‘The Floor is Lava’?” Juniper replied, “Yeah, what about it?”

—

Slowly we hopped from pieces of furniture to stacked boxes to-and-fro as we tried to exit the house. We could hear the scattering of giant spiders coming from the basement. “Keep calm, Juniper. We’re almost to the door.” Since black widows prefer warmer temperatures, we thought the odds were good that we’d make it to the car. I hopped onto the table by the door. I slowly turned the knob–

“Damien.”
“Yes, Juniper?”

When I turned around my heart nearly dropped! Juniper had slipped and her foot had gotten caught in the webs. I could hear one of the spiders getting closer. A dark blur turned the corner of the entryway and charged at Juniper. Within a split second the beast was on top of her, her body going limp with paralysis. The worst part was her eyes; her eyes stared blankly at me. She was trapped in her own body, and there was nothing either of us could do. The creature, almost as if it was taunting me, slowly dragged her body back to the basement. And while it could’ve just been my head playing tricks on me, I could swear its dangling eyes were staring right at me. I cried into the darkness. The only person left in my life who I loved had just been taken. First my parents, then my grandmother, and now Juniper; one by one they’d all been ripped out of my life. I gathered myself and slowly made my way to the kitchen. I wasn’t just going to let her die down there, not without a fight. If there was even a slight chance Juniper was still alive, I was going to save her. I grabbed a knife and headed towards the basement. I figured that anything stabbed in the face would likely die. I could hear the creatures skittering across the floor, their faint outlines barely visible in the darkness. I held my breath, determined to kill them all, if not to save Juniper, then at least to avenge her death. I bent down and touched the webbing on the floor and in an instant a spider lunged out of the basement and threw me down the stairs. Even in my daze I could hear the spiders swarm around me. They bared their fangs and–

—

“And what Dad? How did you save Mom? How’d you kill the spiders?” Damien’s son Devon asked. Damien sat in his chair trying to remember how he saved his wife–except he couldn’t. He couldn’t remember a thing. The last thing he remembered was being thrown down those steps as the spiders closed in on him. Had his memory blacked out the events? He had to find out. “Hold on.” He told his son as he headed towards the kitchen. His wife, Juniper, was making her famous Shepherd’s Pie. Damien approached her, “What were you and Devon talking about?” asked Juniper. “I was just telling him about the time I rescued you from my grandmother’s house all those Christmases ago.” Juniper replied, “Oh, my little knight in shining armor. You dashed right into that room and killed them all! I knew in that moment that you were the man I wanted to marry,” she said as she hugged him.

“It’s really weird, honey, but I can’t remember a thing!”
“Oh always such the jokester, Damien. C’mon, you remember!”
“Honey, I swear on my grandmother’s grave, I don’t remember anything after the spider threw me into the basement!”
“Oh sure you do, it’s in your brain somewhere. We simply need to pry it out!”

The scent of rot and decay hit Damien’s nose like a train. He looked over at Juniper’s pie, and it had been replaced by a mass of a grey, mucus-like substance. Protruding from this substance was a raccoon’s tail, a broken feather duster, and a large lock of Juniper’s hair. “Juniper, what’s going on? Why can’t I remember anything? Marrying you? Having a son? Any of it?” Damien asked frantically. The last thing Damien saw was Juniper’s sinister smile.

—

Damien awoke wrapped in a cocoon of spider silk, only his head was exposed. He could feel where the spider had bit him. While the wound had miraculously cauterized, the spider’s hallucinogenic venom was just starting to wear off. He turned his head as far as he could to the left where he saw one of the spiders crawl on top of a screaming Juniper. It almost seemed to be laughing as it prepared to feast. He felt another spider slowly crawl up his body. As their eyes locked and it opened its gaping maw, Damien heard one last thing. “Don’t touch the cobwebs!”

—

As the spiders feasted on their latest victims in the basement, one of the creatures had managed to squeeze through the raccoon-sized hole in the window. As it landed on the ground, the snow evaporated into thin air. The arachnid dashed off into the night as its kin followed suit. It was going to be a red Christmas this year!



For Fun: Discover the mystery behind these creatures. Translate the binary, and the answer will be revealed.

https://www.rapidtables.com/convert/number/ascii-to-binary.html

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Editor: Leo Milmet

2nd-Place Short-Story Winner

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By Harlow Berny

Hello! Here is the 2nd-place winner of the Halloween Short Horror Story Competition written by Marianne Capetz! It was a tough choice, but ultimately the Masked Rabbit and his story “The Darkness” won 1st place, and Erik Bearman came in 3rd place with his story “Cobwebs.” Enjoy!

The Child

By Marianne Capetz

Miss Alice Wittlebee was a very normal woman; in fact, she was possibly the most normal person in her apartment complex. Everyday she got up at 5:30 on the dot and had a cup of tea with one sugar. She would then sit by her window and read until it was too dark to see the pages. Everyday without fail she followed her routine, until one afternoon she heard a sharp knock on the door. Miss Alice slowly got up and walked to the door. When she opened it, a small face was peering up at her
“I don’t want to buy anything,” Miss Alice snapped at the wide eyed child. The child continued to silently stare at her. Something about this child perturbed her; perhaps it was the odd way the child’s eyes seemed to dilate. Miss Alice quickly dismissed this absurd idea. This child was nothing but a small disruption in her day. She turned to ask the child if it was lost, but before she could say anything the child began to speak.
“Hello Alice. Did you miss me?” the child’s head tilted slightly and its eyes seemed to widen.

Rather taken back by the child’s words Miss Alice responded, “Miss you? Child, I’ve never seen you in my life.” She watched the child’s mesmerizing eyes continue to expand.
“Did you miss me?” The child asked again. Miss Alice rubbed her eyes as the child’s eyes had grown even more.
“Please leave, I have much to do today and cannot be bothered.” Miss Alice said with a slight waver in her voice. She went to leave, but stopped. Her feet suddenly felt very heavy and sat like cinder blocks on the ground. She turned once more to glance at the strange child. She quickly found that she could not move her eyes away from the child. Miss Alice was trapped by the unwavering gaze of the peculiar child.
Miss Alice had never had such a bizarre experience. Nor did she expect to be caught by the stare of this child. As the child’s eyes grew, the room began to change. The walls became white and plush and the floor began to soften. Her arms were encased by something warm and secure. Miss Alice slowly sank to the cushioned floor. She looked around the room and saw that the child had disappeared. She tried to free her ams from the strange item pinning them to her body, but found she was stuck. Her escape efforts began to become more and more frantic. She was so focused on her attempt to free her arms that she didn’t notice the woman enter the room. She didn’t even feel the needle prick her skin, until she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
The nurse carefully removed the needle from Patient #48 and set it on the metal tray that she had rolled in earlier. She picked up the large folder sitting on the table and quickly jotted down some notes. She looked at Alice and sighed; Patient #48 seemed to be getting better. She was so close to being released back into society. The nurse shook her head and walked out. All the patients on her floor had been complaining about an encounter with a strange child before they would relapse into insanity again. She told the other nurses about these complaints, but no one had believed her. Lost in thought she turned down the hall and was shocked to see a small child standing by the door.
“Hello Jane. Did you miss me?”

Editor: Luke Langlois

The Peasant and The Devil–A Fairy Tale Re-Telling

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Retold By Harlow Berny

Centuries ago, in a long forgotten kingdom, there was a foresighted and crafty peasant renowned for his trickery. The best story of his clever deception was when he made a deal with the devil and pulled the wool over his eyes. The peasant had been working in his field all day, and as he readied to journey back home with twilight setting in, he saw a pile of burning coals lying in the middle of the field. As he got closer, he was astonished to find a small black devil sitting on the pile, grinning with its golden teeth.

“Why are you sitting in that fire?” the peasant asked.

“I’m guarding my treasure,” responded the devil; “it has more gold and silver than you’ve ever seen in your life.”

The peasant thought for a bit, before saying, “If this treasure lies in my field, then it belongs to me. It’ll more than make up for the crops you’ve burned.” He gestured to the ashes and blackened leaves surrounding the coals.

“It’s yours, if you give me half of everything your field grows for two years. I have plenty of money hidden around the world, but I have a desire for the fruits of the earth.”

“Fine,” said the peasant, “but so no disputes arise about the division, everything above ground shall be yours, and everything below shall be mine.”

The peasant and the devil agreed to these terms, with the devil believing he had gotten the better end. What he didn’t know, however, was that the peasant had sown turnips.

When a year had passed and the devil came again, the devil found nothing but withered leaves, while the delighted peasant dug up his turnips. “You’ve bested me this time,” said the devil, “but next year it won’t happen again. What grows above ground shall be yours, and what’s under shall be mine.” The peasant agreed to this, but when he sowed his crops, he used wheat seeds instead of turnip. The grain grew ripe, and the peasant cut the stalks down to the dirt. When the devil came once more, he found nothing but stubble and roots, and stomped off in a fury. “This might be my greatest trick yet!” shouted the peasant as he carried away his wheat and treasure.

 

Editor: Luke Langlois

A Re-Telling of Grimm’s

Short Halloween Horror Story Competition Winners

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By Harlow Berny

BOO! Tonight is the 13th annual Scarefest, and as promised, the winners of the Halloween Horror competition will now be released!* The 1st place winner of the 12 oz Hershey’s Kiss is…

The Masked Rabbit!

Congratulations! The 2nd place winner is Marianne Capetz, 3rd place is Erik Bearman, and the two honorable mentions are Jane White/Mr. Griffin and Amelia Lockwell! Thank you to everyone who chose to participate in this competition. It was tons of fun to read them all, and I hope to read even more of these in the future! You all have amazing potential to hone your skills and become expert writers, and I hope that one day you may join the Journalism class.

To honor our first place winner, we will now reveal their amazing story for all to behold!

 

The Darkness

By The Masked Rabbit

It was the family’s first night in their new home. Boxes still filled the house, some empty and some not. The child had a room all to himself. It was big and fit to be a child’s playroom. The pine trees outside shielded the moonlight from entering through the window. Toys were scattered about, clothes were still crammed in the boxes, and it was long past his bedtime. The child crawled into his bed. While getting under the covers, his mother walked in. “Can you check the closet for monsters?” asked the child. The mother opened the closet door and saw nothing. “What about under the bed?” She went down and searched underneath the bed. Nothing again. She tucked him in, “Have sweet dreams.” She left and closed the door, cutting off the last bit of light that could enter the room. The child was now satisfied, for his mother was right, there was no monster in the closet or under the bed. Instead, it was above him. It clung to the ceiling with its long, sharp fingers and its pitch black eyes glaring down at the child’s tired, limp body. The darkness of the room made it invisible. The crooked teeth were just eager to be let loose. It waits there, motionless, for the child to fall asleep…

Editor: Leo Milmet

*The other stories will be posted throughout next week.

Short Halloween Horror Story Competition

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By Harlow Berny

BOO! Halloween is only two weeks away, and in order to help people get in the spirit of things, thebirdonfire.org staff decided to hold a competition with a prize that any kid would dream of when out trick-or-treating: 12 ounces of chocolate! That’s right, the 1st-place winner will receive nearly a pound of milk chocolate in the form of a giant Hershey’s Kiss!* The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd-place stories will also be published on thebirdonfire.org for everyone to see, as well as potential runner-ups.

In order to qualify for this competition, you must follow these rules and guidelines:

  1. You must be a student in Palm Valley Upper School, as we only have permission to give the absurd amount of chocolate to a student in 9th, 10th, 11th, or 12th grade. You many still submit a story and qualify as a runner-up if you’re in Middle School, but you will not be able to win the Hershey’s Kiss.
  2. Your real first and last name MUST be attached to the story you’re submitting so that we know who to give the prize to. If you wish to be anonymous or go by a pseudonym if you win, you must attach a note when submitting your story stating such (and you must provide your own pseudonym if you wish to go by one).
  3. While you may submit multiple stories, only one may be chosen as a winner/runner-up.
  4. All stories should have proper grammar and spelling. Errors will affect how you are judged.
  5. The story must not contain “adult” content or profanity.
  6. The main focus of the story must not be graphic violence or gore.
  7. All stories must be submitted to apatencio@pvs.org by Wednesday the 31st-Halloween! as the winners and runner-ups will be posted to thebirdonfire.org on Friday the 3rd–ScareFest!

Happy Hauntings!

 

*Note: This competition is not sponsored or endorsed by the Hershey’s company in any way, shape, or form. This competition is independently run by thebirdonfire.org blog staff.

 

Editor: Bella Bier

The Nail–A Fairy Tale Re-Telling

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Retold by Harlow Berny

Centuries ago, in a long forgotten kingdom, a merchant had finished his business at a local fair. He had sold all his trinkets and toys, leaving his money sacks filled with gold and silver. He packed his trunk with money and mounted it onto his horse before he traveled homewards, hoping to be back home before nightfall.

At mid-day he stopped in a town, leaving his horse in a stable while he rested and ate. When he went to collect his horse to continue on his way, the stableboy told him that one of the nails on its rear shoe was loose. “Let it stay loose,” the merchant said; “it only needs to stay for another six miles. I’m in a hurry to be home.” In the afternoon when he stopped to eat again, another stableboy told him that his horse was missing a shoe on its rear foot. When asked if his horse should be taken to a blacksmith for a new one, the merchant said, “Let it be missing. The horse can hold out for the last few miles until I’m home.”

He rode along the path again, but soon after departure his horse began to limp, and soon it was stumbling. The horse eventually threw the merchant off its back before falling down and breaking its leg. The man unbuckled the trunk from the horse’s saddle and hiked back home, leaving the steed behind. He got home after midnight, and found that much of his gold had fallen out of a crack in the chest that formed when his horse fell. “Damn that loose nail!” he shouted, furious at his loss.

Let this be a lesson; the bigger the rush, the worse the results.

 

Editor: Holden Hartle

A Re-Telling of Grimm’s

The Ungrateful Son–A Fairy Tale Re-Telling

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Retold by Harlow Berny

Centuries ago, in a long forgotten kingdom, a man and his wife sat at their table by the open door of their house, and before them lay a roasted chicken. The man saw his old, graying father walking toward the door, so he hid the chicken under the table as he wanted to keep as much as possible for himself. The old father came, drank a cup of water, and went away. The son went to put the chicken on the table again, but when he picked it up, it had been replaced by a giant toad. The creature jumped onto the son’s face and sat there forever, and if anyone tried to remove it from his face, the toad would glare at them venomously, as if it would jump onto their face instead. The ungrateful son was forced to live with the toad on his face and to feed it everyday, for if he didn’t, the toad would feed on the son’s face. He went the rest of his life like this, knowing no rest or peace.

Editor: Luke Langlois

A Re-Telling of Grimm’s