The Pigeon Detectives: The Fight or Flight Collection

By Sean P. Gibson

Pigeons. You've seen them. You've ignored them. You might even have kicked one. They're bottom feeders. Scroungers. Annoying, disease-ridden pests. But!... What if they were something more? What if they acquired a taste for blood? Human blood?

Follow Detectives George and Leo as they investigate a trail of mysterious murders within New York City. Murders pointing to a very unlikely candidate. Following the clues, they find themselves in a horror setting which they soon wish to escape. It's a monster they've never faced before. A monster they didn't think they'd ever face. And yet, it's a monster particularly crafted for killing. After all, this murderer is everywhere, watching silently. Watching you… Watching your family… right now.

This novella is the first in the "Fight or Flight Collection", a series of bird related, horror short stories. The second, a Sci-Fi Horror - "Gullonization," is also out now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean P. Gibson
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201628161

Book preview

THE

PIGEON DETECTIVES

(Tale #1 in the Fight or Flight Collection)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 Sean P. Gibson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

First Edition Published March 2022

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The author can be contacted at

[e-mail]

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

Dead as a Dodo

CHAPTER 2

Birds Eye

CHAPTER 3

The Hospital Wing

CHAPTER 4

George’s Ugly Duckling

CHAPTER 5

Pecking Order

CHAPTER 6

What Next? Nest?

CHAPTER 7

For Flock’s Sake

CHAPTER 8

Wild Goose Chase

CHAPTER 9

Alpha Vengeance

CHAPTER 1

Dead as a Dodo

Y ou’re kidding me? exclaimed Detective George Grimonds as he examined the crime scene photos on his desk. Not another one like this, that’s three this week! he added with a sigh, pushing away the photos in anger.

He then pulled the cowboy-style hat from his head, revealing his receding hairline and worn facial features. Running his hands through the remains of his greasy hair, he grunted loudly — further showing his frustration. He was only forty, but he looked much older; especially because of his grey scruffy beard and outdated brown tweed suit.

I’m afraid so, said his partner, Detective Leo Smith.

Leo sat down next to George and munched on a jam-filled donut; his favorite. He was far more youthful-looking than his partner. The blonde-haired man was only twenty-nine, but the stresses of the job were yet to wear away at his aesthetics, so he at least looked his age if not younger. Or maybe it was his trendy, large rimmed glasses and his trimmed beard which made him appear so.

Exact same MO? asked George. Scratches and narrow, deep wound marks around the neck?

Yes, but there’s something else, said Leo awkwardly, scratching his hair, as if he wasn’t sure whether to tell his partner or not.

Well, go on, ushered George after a moment’s silence.

They found a couple of feathers.

From clothing? asked George, picturing a flamboyant dancer, like those in Vegas, or an exotic stripper wielding a knife.

Leo shook his head, munching on the last bite of his donut. No, he said as he chewed. Bird feathers. Quite a few actually.

Oh, feather feathers? laughed George sarcastically. I guess the birds forgot to clean up their crime scene hmm? They must be flapping with worry!

Here’s the thing, George, tutted Leo. I had forensics look at the wounds again, for the other two bodies too. The scratches could have come from their talons. And the shallow wounds?

Let me guess? asked George mockingly. Beaks?

Exactly, said Leo with a serious tone as he wiped his mouth. He pulled out his phone and opened up the camera, checking his face for crumbs.

George erupted into a bout of laughter. You’re trying to tell me that a bunch of – he stopped as the laughter stole his words for a few seconds. "...That a flock of pigeons killed three people? Have you seen a pigeon, Leo? Have you seen the victims? One of them was the size of a mountain for fuck sake."

"Exactly pigeons. Forensics matched the feathers. That’s where they came from."

George clutched his stomach. Oh, I can’t. You’re killing me. A paper cut goes deeper than a pigeon’s talon.

I’m being serious.

I know, he bellowed, almost choking on his words. That’s what’s killing me.

George picked up his desk phone and dialed a number all the while wiping tears from his face.

Aww you guys, he said, almost not breathing from the laughter. You got him good. He really believes that pigeons killed those –

Leo watched George’s expression change from hilarity to shock and then to a bizarre level of both seriousness and disbelief.

Uh, huh, said George on the phone. Yes, yes I will. No, no. Don’t worry. Yes, right on it. Immediately.

He sat the phone down and stared into the distance in silence, letting his eyes eat into the wall filled with pictures and notes from his cases. He sat that way for a few minutes, deep in thought, before finally placing his hat back on his head and standing up.

Well, it seems that we have a case, he blurted sharply.

You believe me then?

I don’t know what to believe, kiddo. Certainly not that pigeons killed these people. But forensics believe so. Are pretty adamant, actually. So I guess we will have to investigate.

George put on his coat and grabbed the pistol gun from inside of his drawer, holstering it underneath his jacket. He then grabbed the photos from the crime scene and looked closer at them.

The naked woman lay sprawled across her bed. Shock was frozen upon her face. No, terror. She was afraid, afraid of something terrible. So terrible that the fear had clung to her until the very last moments when she drew breath.

There were scratches across her skin. Large, noticeable scratches; so large that he couldn’t imagine a pigeon: no, any bird, doing such damage. In fact, it was difficult to imagine any animal in New York capable of such. He had seen many crime scenes before, but this made him shiver, unlike any other.

How her skin curled at the edges of the wounds was as if claws had been dug in with complete rage, pulling apart the flesh with nothing short of barbarity. It was nothing in comparison to the bloody mess around her neck though. A red sea of thick blood and upturned flesh decorated where her neck would have been. The blood piled onto the white bedsheets underneath creating an unsightly, undeserving mess.

As George looked even closer, he could see what looked like soaked feathers amongst the blood. He wouldn’t have noticed it before, but now that he had such thought; it was undeniable