"Help!" mimicked the talking bird.

Today's blog is about a parrot story
that creeped me out.

Hello my sweets,

Today, I uncovered a few Stephen King moments, as in the spooky novel, creepy story writer Stephen King. The nuggets of terror were so good, aka, so terrifying, that they must be noted for a writer who may one day choose to  incorporate them into a mystery thriller. (Probably not me, but I offer the nugget to you.)

Or maybe it's an Edgar Allan Poe nugget. And maybe I should keep it to myself in case I would ever write a short story. . .naw, never gonna happen. Here goes.

So today the "big" project I was telling you about was finally submitted. It was a big deal and I actually had to return to the site of submission twice (three times in total) before 1 p.m. to get it  right. Let's all say "BIG" three times in capital letters. In celebration, some colleagues and I went to lunch. (The Thai place in East Village. I had the garlic noodle special which was delicious.) Someday when I can, I'll tell you more about the big project. Honestly, I have a fantasy about calling the New Yorker and pitching a related story so they can put me on their payroll to write it up creatively, not technically. (Like I was Truman Capote or something.) The story is redemption personified, multiplied by 1,800.

But that's not the point of this blog post. The point of this blog post is the Stephen King nugget, the slice of  Edgar Allan Poe, the subject of our lunch conversation, among a group of us who deal with the abused, the addicted, the addled, the agitated. In this group, when beloved pets are weirdly connected to petrified human beings, we all get it.

Imagine this: a talking parrot rescued from a house with domestic violence 18 years ago. To this day, almost two decades later, the bird still perfectly mimics a woman's voice, "Help!"

I don't know about you, but that totally creeps me out. Or maybe I've just been writing too much about domestic violence lately (in a technical way).

The bird knows other phrases too like, "I'm watching you."

Apparently parrots inadvertently change words (like a feathery spell check). The nice, new, nonviolent owner taught the bird how to say, "See you in the morning!" in a happy tone of voice.

The parrot repeated, "See you in the morgue."

Some people believe that parrot can foretell the future. If you believe that, even a tiny bit, "See you in the morgue" doesn't sound like a peaceful night's sleep. (Although our home really did feel like a morgue when Bob's liver failed, so maybe I can use this material somewhere.)

Stephen, Edgar, are you getting this? Writers, do something with this. It's too good, and I don't have time. The ghost of that woman, whoever she is, wherever she is, continues to be echoed by that parrot.

>>insert Shirley Jackson, who should really be the one writing this short story

There you go. I leave you with that. And I thank you for coming over to my blog. Wishing you all a morgue-free evening of peace and tranquility.

With love from yours truly,

Natural Born Bleeding Heart