CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories J. Posthumus (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

get all of that?” he said to the light ball. “Yes, it really looks like our best option. Are the transports ready?”

“Transports? Mister, what are you talking about?” I asked.

“Your new masters are coming. This planet looked like it had some very desirable areas, but I had no idea you were already prepared for us. You will find we are not exacting.” He stuffed the light ball back into his pocket. His whole suit seemed to shimmer now, and his face started getting blurry. “I suppose it will be all right to show you my true form now, though it makes it harder to communicate.”

The front door of the office building opened, and Jake came out with an older man, about his height and age but without Jake’s muscle or tan. They stopped when they saw us.

“Billy?” Jake asked, looked from City Man and back to me. He didn’t say it, but I could hear Jake thinking, You better not have one of your friends messing around here today of all days!

“Oh,” I said, looking from City Man to the older man who came out with Jake. If that was Mr. Harvey, then who was this? “Um, he stopped by and asked for a tour of the farm…”

Mr. Harvey brightened right up. “And you showed him around, and I can tell he’s impressed!” Mr. Harvey did that salesman thing where they just assume you’re already agreeing with them, and took City Man by the arm. “A new customer is always welcome here. Let me show you the shop and we can talk about quantities and delivery schedule.” He pushed the door open, half dragging City Man inside. “Now, are you looking for fryers? Everybody wants a nice, plump fryer! They’re our best sellers. We also have roasters, and of course, free range gives you the best flavor for stewing hens!”

City Man looked around the shop, at the glass chill cases of prewrapped chicken parts and the photos of fried chicken, roasted chicken, and barbecued chicken on the wall, and didn’t say anything.

“Are you buying for a grocery store or a restaurant? We do give bulk discounts of course, but if you want to come by and purchase for your home freezer—” Mr. Harvey looked at the stranger and stopped talking. I could see why; that floppy pile of hair had turned from dark brown to dark red, and his nose was getting longer and pointier. Mr. Harvey still held onto an arm, but it didn’t have a hand on the end, only feathers!

The stranger’s suit shimmered, and there was a bright light, and when the glow faded, there wasn’t a man standing with Mr. Harvey—there was a seven-foot rooster, with beady red eyes and spurs.

The monstrous rooster leaned back and flapped his wings, flinging Mr. Harvey against one of the chill cases. Then he crowed loud enough to make my ears ring. The glowing ball was hovering in the air now, and as he cackled into it, its colors went from pale green and blue to angry black and red. Then the ball vanished. The rooster scratched the floor, leaving deep gouges in the linoleum, and fixed one ferocious eye on Mr. Harvey, who was just coming to.

Jake grabbed me and hauled me out the door before I could see what that beak and those spurs did to Mr. Harvey, though I could hear the screams, for a while anyway. Jake and I ran into the woods and split up to try to get help. I headed for my mama’s house, which is about five miles by the road and two miles if you can find a straight line through the ravine, and Jake went towards town.

I’m pretty sure that bright glow to the southwest means town is gone, and I’m stuck here in the ravine trying to find a stealthy way out while all these ships fly overhead with searchlights. I keep hearing zapping noises and screams, but I hope I’m imagining some of it. I hope Jake made it somewhere safe. I hope he was able to get word out and warn folks. Maybe the Giant Chicken People won’t be able to kill everybody. Maybe I’m home asleep and having a bad dream.

Or maybe to them I’m just a pullet, and they’re going to chop off my head, pull me apart, roll me in flour and fry me. I don’t dare move. Even though it’s dark and I should be running and hiding, I…

Did something just make a noise over th—

The End

About the Author

Retired graphic designer and current Chatelaine and Artist-in-Residence at Stately Kiernan Manor, Clair was pointed towards writing in childhood because it was the only thing she was good at. Nevertheless, she insisted on trying other artistic endeavors just to be sure. Eventually she won the coveted role of Rooster for the Atlanta Radio Theatre Company through tenacity, talent, and treachery. She is the author of Gone with the Zombies, a cozy mystery, and its sequel “Jessie’s Dress,” and is currently working on The Mage and the Mouse and Buccaneer Island.

Field Trip Chicken

Bokerah Brumley

Field Trip Chicken Bokerah Brumley

Lone Star Recycling Center

Austin, Texas

Mary Keen tucked her lunch into her over-sized purse and offered Mrs. Applewood a smile. With her due date less than three weeks away, the expectant teacher returned the grin as she placed her hands in the small of her back and stretched. The volunteer-run recycling center was the ideal place to go for a field trip for a fifth-grade class on Earth Day. Blue skies and a light breeze added up to a perfect April day.

Mrs. Applewood placed a whistle between her teeth and gave one short blast. When all the students turned toward her, she said, “If you’re finished with your lunch, please recycle anything you can. Harmony Farms mentioned that Miss Frizzle Hen would love your apple cores and banana peels.” She gestured toward the harness-wearing hen penned