đđł Everything was fine in the garden that day⌠until he decided to pick up that chicken.
At first, it was a heartwarming moment.
My little cousin Eli had crouched down in the garden, giggling softly as the chickens pecked near his sneakers.
He reached out, grabbed our fluffy white hen â the one we call Marbles â and hugged her like a stuffed animal.
I was taking pictures, already imagining the perfect Instagram caption.
But suddenly⌠all the other chickens froze.
Completely froze.
The three roosters, mid-strut, stopped dead in their tracks, staring at Eli and Marbles with a strange look.
Their heads tilted almost in unison, as if they’d sensed danger.
I let out a nervous laugh, but Eli didnât seem to notice anything odd.
He just kept gently rocking Marbles, like a baby.
And thatâs when I saw it.
Boss, our loudest and most unpredictable rooster, slowly backed awayâŚ
Not to flee from Eli, no. He was retreating toward the shed.
And the others followed.
But not like chickens.
More like⌠they were waiting for something.
I stepped closer to Eli, quietly suggesting that it might be time to let Marbles go.
He looked up at me, confused, and said, âShe doesnât want to let go of me.â
I replied, âWhat do you mean she doesnâtââ
And thatâs when I saw his armsâŚ
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Everything was fine⌠until he picked up that chicken.
đ Everything was fine⌠until he picked up that chicken.
A strange story that happened to me. No, itâs not a creepypasta. Just a moment⌠unexplainable. Read until the end.
At first, it was a sweet moment. My little cousin Eli was crouching in the garden, giggling as the chickens scurried around him. He reached out, grabbed the fluffy white hen â the one we call Marbles â and hugged her like a stuffed toy.
I was taking photos, already imagining the perfect Insta caption.
But suddenly, everything changed.
The other chickens froze. The roosters too. Their gaze â strange. A silence. A chill.
Boss, our loudest rooster, began backing up⌠but not like a chicken. More like he understood something.
I stepped closer.
âEli, put Marbles down. Itâs time.â
He looked up, confused:
âShe wonât let goâŚâ
And I saw his arms.
Marks. Thin. Almost white. Three of them, like letters.
D. O. N.
âDon? Whoâs Don?â
Eli replied, in a low voice:
âI donât know⌠but I think she does.â
I looked down at Marbles. She wasnât looking at us. She was looking through us. And her feathers were⌠different. Strangely bristled.
Behind us, the shed door creaked. Boss pecked sharply at the ground. A loud, clear sound. Like a signal.
We ran back inside.
I locked everything up. Eli still holding Marbles. And the letters continued. Now it said:
DONâT
âDonât⌠what?â
âSheâs scared,â whispered Eli. âOf the others.â
I called Nana. Sheâs the one who gave us the chickens. No answer.
Then Eli said something Iâll never forget:
âSheâs showing me pictures⌠like dreams. But Iâm awake.â
âWhat do you see?â
âA man. In the shed. Buried.â
My heart jumped.
Three years earlier, the house had belonged to a man: Donald Whitmer. Disappeared. Never found. Just a note: âGoing to Florida.â
I asked Eli where exactly.
âBehind the shed. Under the big tree.â
We went. Marbles clung to him â not hurting him, just holding on tight.
Behind the shed, Eli pointed to a spot. I dug.
After a few minutes: an old rusty box.
Inside: some remains⌠and a wallet. Donald Whitmer.
I called the authorities. They came. They investigated.
The newspapers read:
Missing man found after several years â circumstances unclear.
No clear lead. No conclusions.
Two days later, Nana called me.
âIt was the chickens, wasnât it?â
I shivered.
âYou knew?â
âI knew they were guarding somethingâŚâ
Since then, everythingâs gone back to almost normal.
But sometimes, in the morning, I catch Marbles staring at me from across the garden. Not threatening. Just⌠there.
And Eli told me something Iâve never forgotten:
âShe didnât want justice. She wanted to be heard.â
đ
Sometimes, the deepest truths donât scream.
They peck, they watchâŚ
And sometimes, justice has feathers.
