Welcome to the first story of the Spring Horror Collection for 2022, where Haunted MTL’s writers craft original tales of terror with the fresh scent of grass. Check with us all week for new stories.

For more original stories, check out Haunted MTL’s Original Creations.

A wistful note from out the sky,
“Pure, pure, pure,” in plaintive tone,
As if the wand’rer were alone,
And hardly knew to sing or cry.“The Bluebird” by John Burroughs

One of the benefits of living outside of town was when the winter thawed, and spring arrived, Johnny Francis figured, was the freedom to take his pellet gun out into the woods along the small highway that led into town.

Twelve now and full of vigor, Johnny wanted to make the most of his gun-time. He dashed off the property along the dirt road that led to the highway. He would spend his Sunday taking in some target practice. There was a war on, after all.

When Johnny arrived at his clearing, just over a small gully along the road, he looked over what he had for targets. Most of his bottles seemed to have shattered, and a particularly ugly thaw left many of his wooden targets rotted and damp.

Johnny was about to give up on the whole exercise until he heard chirping. He glanced into the trees around him and saw a nest. In the nest sat a fat bluebird.

He shrugged and took a shot. The pellet ripped the bird apart.

With little left to do, Johnny made his way home. Today had been a bust.

The next day Johnny was thankful to walk to school without his heavy boots and winter coat. Trudging through the snow was always a pain, and the reprieve of mere mud was welcome. On the way to school, Johnny was sure to give the edge of the woods by the road a large berth. Last spring, a hunter accidentally shot his friend, leaving him with a limp.

Idiot.

The sound of chirping drifted into his ears as he walked. He glanced around and noticed no sign of a bird.

A prick of guilt forced its way into his brain for a second, and he recalled the sight of the bird as it exploded from his shot.

The walk home from town was somewhat chilly today. Chillier it had been for Spring.

Johnny had been menaced by the sight of a bluebird all week. Everywhere he turned, he would catch a glimpse of it. It didn’t matter where… the school lawn… above the drug store… even outside his window.

When it wasn’t seen, it was heard. Chirping everywhere and constant.

Again, chirping now. The sound grew louder and more intense as Johnny walked, even as he picked up his pace along the side of the highway.

A blue shape dove at his face with a sudden jolt, flapping at him. Johnny threw his arms in front of him, trying to swat it away but not making contact. The chirping was frantic, and soon Johnny darted into the woods, swatting away the bird that menaced him. He crossed the treeline and found himself in his gully.

Within moments, the chirping was silenced by a loud crack in the air. Johnny fell to the ground with a searing pain tearing through his neck, leaving him unable to scream. As he rolled over in a warm puddle of mud, blood, and leaves, he made out a deer darting off as he heard the cries of a man.

The last thing he saw before his eyes seemed to go dark was a tiny bluebird flittering off into the branches.

The smaller creature lay in the clearing, not moving beyond ragged breathing. Blood boiled out from a wound in the neck. The more giant creature, with the strange grey stick, seemed to paw at the smaller one, trying to keep the blood in.

The air was thick with fear, and its scent wafted through the clearing and into the trees.

The bluebird sat on the branch, observing the situation.

When the life had finally left the lungs of the smaller creature, the bluebird felt content and vanished in a puff of air.