Our Dead Swans

Noreen fixed up her recently-made cakes and buns. They went splashing into the plastic bag, making the bag take on the shape of an excited swan. She went into the sitting room and put on the television. It was the Late Late Show. She stared at it for some time. Then she swallowed her antibiotic meal and switched the box off.

She could hear the sounds of kids shouting outside. Her lonesomeness didn’t appear touchable right now, for she knew her grandson would be coming back from college soon.

There was a knock on the door. Noreen went to answer. She didn’t expect anyone to be standing there.

When she opened the door, there was nobody there. She was greeted by muffled giggles.

In the shadows, Noreen could make out four small figures. The most visible was a boy of maybe eleven wearing a rather tremendous puffy jacket and a curious hairstyle that looked as if it had been chopped into style by a hateful parent. A shadow next to him wielded what appeared to be the wheel of a car, the metalskeleton as opposed to the tyreskin.

What are yous at there? She shouted. Get away, or I’ll set the dogs.

Ah, boys, look at her, said the boy with the curious hairstyle. She’s gonna set the dogs on us. She looks like a dog herself, eh?

The shadows laughed.

As he laughed, the shadow carrying the large car wheel dropped its burden. The wheel clanged to the ground, making a deafening noise.

Get out of here, ya runts, said Noreen. I’m callin the guards.

We don’t give a fuck! said one of the shadows.

There were snorts of agreement.

The boy with the curious hairstyle revealed a small object that he’d been holding behind his back. He propelled it suddenly and it struck Noreen on the face.

Noreen began to retreat inside, slamming the door behind her.

There was banging on the door, and lots more laughter.

Something was pushed through the letterbox. Out of some eye-corner, Noreen was able to see it was the beak and head of a dead crow. She ran to the kitchen and put on the kettle.

There were hostile thuds and fey splats against the front window. Noreen became very angry.

By the kettle's final wheeze, Noreen had thoughtfully assumed her rights as a human.

She dashed out the front door, amongst the laughing shadows.

The boy, clear to her amongst the shadows, with the curious hair, arched his sneer in the dark, prompting her to attack him.

She punched him to the ground.

He fell, and his head smashed off the abandoned car wheel, making a sound like soft plaster breaking against solid concrete.

The boy with the curious hair didn’t move then, but the surrounding shadows disappeared.

Noreen stepped back from the fallen boy. His head hung over the wheel and his curious hair stood up like a rocket waiting to be launched. A pool of blood started. The blood was coming from a large tear at the side of his head. The headlights of a passing car caught the clearing and the beam streamed along the boy’s body, no longer a shadow, intensifying the severed crust and dripping tissue of the head.

Noreen’s heart beat like a grave, stolid drum.

Ah, you’ve killed one of them, missus? Good on you! yelled Mr. Dillon at No. 4.

Noreen sank back into her doorway.

The detective dragged from the premises a shitload of buns and cakes and a plastic bag that looked like a dead swan.