Page 21 of Pyg

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P yg charged ahead, pushing through the tall grass in the meadow, her bushy tail swishing like a flag.

“Pyg, wait,” called, breathless because he’d been running after her for so long. The blistering sun beat down and the further he ran, the hotter the sun felt, like he was getting closer to it. His legs powered him on and on, only slowing when the green grass started to yellow.

No longer a meadow, but a crop so tall and thick he could no longer see Pyg’s tail. He could hear her panting. Or was that the sound of his own breath?

“Pyg, come back,” he yelled and doubled over with the effort.

“,” came a voice from behind. Bernard?

looked around, but the crop was taller than he was, thick golden stems in every direction.

“,” called the voice again. Mum?

The crop rustled around him. He spun, trying to locate the source.

“Hello, who’s there?” He called out. “Bernard? Mum? Where are you?”

The crop rustled again, and ’s nose twitched at the smell of smoke. He looked down, noticing the grey wisps twisting through the stems, curling around his feet and ankles. His ears tuned to the cracks and pops of a fire taking hold.

A black figure in a trailing cloak darted past, caught in the corner of his eye.

“Wait!” called out, but the figure had disappeared.

Panic rose in his chest, constricting his throat. Or was that the smoke?

The figure darted past again. Was that a beak? A big black beak.

ran, holding his arms up to protect himself from the thick crop that whipped at his face, but it was sharp and sliced into his flesh.

“I can’t keep up with you. Please…” wheezed, but still he ran and ran. His lungs ached with every breath until the air grew fresher and cooler.

He was back in the meadow, but when had it grown so dark? shivered and goosebumps prickled his skin.

“.” The voice called. Not Bernard. Not Mum. But he knew that voice.

clenched his fists instinctively as anger simmered in his stomach. He squinted into the inky darkness and a tiny light fizzed and flickered up ahead.

“Higgins?” I’m not calling you Father.

“Yes, it’s me,” said the priest. The voice grew closer and the light larger.

resisted the urge to turn and run.

“I have them all with me, . They’re safe. You can rest.”

“Why have you taken them?”

“I didn’t take them. They came to me.”

“You’re a liar. Why would they leave me?”

“One day, you’ll see.” Higgins turned, striding into the darkness; a trail of spent matches scattering in his wake.