The red chicked appeared in front of the apartment for the first time on New Year's Day. Alphonza noticed it as she was hurrying out, but didn't spend any time wondering about it. It was cold, she was late, and she'd recently resolved never to wonder again. After all, curiosity killed the cat. It had also caused the end of a certain special relationship and triggered the beginning of the Omega incident in Alphonza's personal life only a few months before.

The next day the red chicken greeted Alphonza with her morning paper clasped tightly in its beak.

"Why, thank you," Alphonza muttered as the chicken presented her the newspaper. In spite of herself she found she was somewhat surprised. "Probably just normal chicken behavior," she decided, and stopped wondering.

That night Alphonza was awakened to the sound of howling.

The third day of the year the chicken met her with sweet and sour pork, takeout from Song Wong's. Alphonza wasn't used to eating Chinese food in the morning, but she had also resolved to take some risks during the year. Sweet and sour pork delivered by a red chicken seemed risky enough. It was still warm, too.

That night the howling did not return. Instead, Alphonza thought she heard dry, rasping coughing. She didn't open her eyes long enough to wonder if the red chicken was sick.

The fourth day she found the red chicken dead on her doorstep. Because she was late again, she stepped over it quickly, somewhat disappointed that there would be no more Chinese food. When she returned that afternoon the red chicken was gone. Alphonza didn't wonder what had happened to it. She simply smiled a little, relieved that she wouldn't have to pluck the thing, even if roast chicken was one of her favorite meals.

The howling returned that night, louder.

The fifth day there were several hundred red chickens scattered across the lawn, all porting Chinese takeout in their beaks. Alphonza hurried past them, fearful. She happened to drive by Song Wong's later that day. It looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Alphonza had a hard time keeping herself from wondering at work that day. When she returned to her apartment that evening she found the chickens all lined up in single file in front of her door. A hundred pairs of beady eyes followed her movement up the stairs. Alphonza locked the door behind her.

She didn't hear the howling that night because her head was buried beneath her pillow.

On the sixth day Alphonza looked out her window early in the morning to find the chickens lying in formation on the lawn. It startled her slightly to find that they had spelled out the letters "BIG BOK." She didn't wonder what it meant. She called the animal shelter.

That afternoon when she returned, all the chickens were gone. Alphonza paused for a moment on her front porch and smiled at the empty lawn. Suddenly a lone chicken ran out from behind a bush and dropped a note at her feet. It ran away before she could stop it. Slowly Alphonza picked up the note. It said, "Watch your back -- the Big Bok."

Alphonza knew it would take two strategically positioned mirrors even to be able to see her back. She didn't even have to wonder to know that watching her back would be tedious and the mirrors cumbersome. She tossed the note away with a grunt.

However, that night Alphonza was unable to sleep because of the howling. Once she thought she saw the silhouette of a chicken pass by the window and broke into a cold sweat. Eventually, she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

The morning of the seventh day, Alphonza awoke with a pounding headache and dark black circles under her eyes. She stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen. As she stepped onto the linoleum, a strange and terrible sound made her turn around quickly. There, perched on her counter, was a very fat red chicken. As she gazed it opened its beak and uttered a long, low, bone-chilling "baaawk." In horror, Alphonza realized she was staring into the beak of the Big Bok and she did not have any mirrors with her. Alphonza screamed and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She rushed over to the window and tore it open.

"Help! Help!" she yelled to the silent streets below. "Help me! Please! The Big Bok! He's in my apartment! The Big Bok! Help! Aaargh!"

On January 14, Alphonza's landlord unlocked the doors of Alphonza's apartment at the request of the neighbors -- they had been complaining of an odd smell, and no response had come from repeated telephone calls to Alphonza herself. He was met by a gruesome scene -- sweet and sour pork strewn all across the apartment. As for Alphonza? There was no sign of her. However, in the corner of the bedroom was a single hard-boiled egg....

On January 28, Rubelta stepped out of her apartment to see a large brown cow chewing grass on the lawn. She didn't wonder why, she had resolved not to wonder that year....

Copyright (c) 1997. All rights reserved.

Jessica Shepherd jshepher@cs.utah.edu
January 23, 1998