The Psychozone by David Lubar Read Free Book Online Page B

shrugged and turned to her dad. “The bird needs a name.”
    â€œWhy don’t you do it?” her dad suggested.
    Karen thought for a moment. All the obvious choices came to mind. She didn’t want to call the bird “Polly” or “Crackers” or “Pirate.” Then she had an idea. “What about ‘Safari’?”
    Her dad nodded. “I like it.”
    â€œI’m a pretty bird,” Safari said.
    â€œYes, you are,” Karen agreed.
    That night, as she lay in bed, Karen heard a strange noise. She sat up and listened to a scratching coming from downstairs. She went to the living room. The sound, soft and insistent, drifted from Safari’s covered cage. Karen lifted the blanket.
    Safari clung to the door of the cage, biting at
the latch with his beak. He stopped. He turned his head and looked at Karen. Then he lifted his left claw until it pointed straight at her.
    â€œKill you,” the bird said.
    Karen gasped and stepped back. The edge of the blanket dropped from her fingers, falling over the cage and hiding the bird. She turned and fled to her room. Minutes later, as she sat huddled in bed, she convinced herself she had been mistaken. The bird couldn’t have said those awful words.
    In the morning, Karen went right to the cage. She lifted the cover. “Pretty parrot,” Safari squawked. “I’m a good boy. I’m pretty.”
    â€œYes, you are,” Karen said, feeling the tension drain from her body.
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    That night she heard the sound again. She rose from her bed and walked—as if in a dream—to the living room, drawn there by the soft skritch of a hard beak probing and testing a metal latch.
    As she had done the night before, Karen lifted the blanket. Moonlight from the window fell onto the cage, making it seem larger than anything else in the room. Safari opened his beak, releasing his grip on the bars. “Kill you soon,” the bird said.
    Something brushed Karen. She jumped, and a scream came halfway out her throat.
    â€œMrreoww.”
    â€œWhiskers,” Karen said as she grabbed her cat and ran from the room. She shut her door and climbed back into bed, hoping that sleep would
rescue her from the images that were frozen in her mind. But sleep was a long time coming.
    â€œDad,” she said at breakfast. “About Safari …”
    Her dad smiled. “Isn’t he great? I’ve been counting. He’s already said over thirty things. Isn’t that amazing? He can even sing. And he can make some animal sounds. I can’t believe how smart he is.”
    â€œGreat,” Karen said.
    That afternoon, she went to the pet store. As she opened the door the strong scent of cedar wafted over her. Inside the shop, a man was giving food to a hamster in a large glass tank. “Yes?” he asked. “Let me guess—you want to buy a turtle?”
    Karen shook her head.
    â€œWhat about a hamster?” He held up the animal. “They make wonderful pets.” He smiled.
    â€œMy dad bought a parrot here … .” She wasn’t sure what else to say.
    The man’s fingers opened, allowing the hamster to squirm back into the tank. “No, it’s a mistake. I don’t sell birds.” His fingers clenched into fists. Scars ran across the back of both hands—deep, ugly scars.
    â€œBut he said—”
    â€œI don’t sell birds!” the man shouted. “I hate birds! They’re awful creatures. Stop bothering me. Get out.”
    Frightened, Karen backed up a step. But she forced herself to speak again. “Help me,” Karen pleaded. “Please.”

    The man shook his head. His face softened for a moment. “I can’t.”
    â€œPlease.”
    â€œGet out!” he screamed again. “Get out! Get out!”
    Karen fled.
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    At home, in the light of day, Safari was still speaking harmless sentences. Karen stayed away from the living