Imagine waking up one morning to a chirping sound that isn’t your alarm clock. No, this was a $50,000 tweet – yes, from a bird, not Twitter. My heart was thumping loud enough to scare it away, but there it was, perched innocently on my bedroom dresser.
It started on a breezy Tuesday morning. I entered what I thought would be just another normal day at my job at the local insurance company. Coffee in one hand and keys jangling in the other, I almost didn’t notice the small crowd gathered around Greg’s desk. Greg, the office jokester, had brought something in, but what drew everyone’s attention wasn’t one of his usual pranks—it was a birdcage covered with a dark cloth.
Curiosity killed my morning productivity. I edged closer and peered through the flock of intrigued colleagues just in time to see Greg unveiling what he claimed to be a “fortune-teller” parrot. Yes, a parrot that supposedly could predict the stock market! Laughs echoed around, eye rolls followed, but the bird just twisted its head, looking unimpressed with us non-believers.
After some light-hearted mockery, the day moved on. But not for me. Something about that feathery creature unnerved me. Had life become so predictable that Greg’s bizarre claim felt like a needed shake-up? Whatever it was, as I drove home after work, I couldn’t shake the image of that bird from my mind, its eyes almost piercing through my own thoughts.
Later that evening, things took a wild turn. Tired from the day, I settled into bed early, the faint city noise a backdrop to my drifting thoughts. That was until I was jolted awake by the screech of my window flying open – a gust of wind? No, it was the parrot from the office. It must have followed me. How? I had no clue. It just sat there, the moonlight casting shadows that danced around its colorful feathers.
In a panic mixed with fascination, I approached it slowly, half-expecting it to start spouting stock tips. Yet, it just stared, cocking its head as if figuring me out. I reached out my hand, half-expecting it to bite me, but instead, it hopped onto my arm. There we were, staring at each other, an understanding passing through us – or so I felt in that bizarre moment.
Then, its beak moved, but instead of a squawk or an eerie prediction, it dropped something onto my bed. A small, rolled-up piece of paper tied with a ribbon. My name was scribbled on it in a hurried scrawl. Curiosity peaked; my hands trembled as I began to unfurl the tiny scroll. What secrets did it hold? Stocks? Lotto numbers? The beginning of a magical partnership?
My eyes raced to read the scribbled note, but as they did, my sleepy brain couldn’t process the words fast enough. And what I read next made my heart stop…
Continuing from where that heart-stopping moment left off, I held the small piece of paper, struggling to believe the words inked upon it. It read, “Help me, the bird knows.” The handwriting was unmistakably Greg’s. Alarm bells rang in my head, not because of the cryptic message, but because Greg was one of the most practical jokers I knew. This had to be another of his pranks, right? Still, why would a prank be delivered by a supposedly clairvoyant parrot in the middle of the night?
My skepticism battled with a growing bubble of anxiety as I contemplated what to do next. The logical step was to confront Greg, but at this ungodly hour? My thoughts were interrupted by the parrot fluttering its wings as it seemed to nod towards my phone. Taking action, I dialed Greg’s number, my fingers trembling slightly.
After several rings, he picked up. “Hello?” his groggy voice came through, sounding more confused than concerned.
“Greg, did you send your parrot to my house with a message?” There was a pause—the kind that stretched long enough to start filling with your worst assumptions.
Finally, he laughed, “Are you dreaming? What message?” Concern filtered through me as I relayed the events. He stopped laughing and after a pause that felt too long, he whispered, “Stay put, I’m coming over.”
The wait for Greg felt like hours. When he finally arrived, his usual jovial demeanor was replaced by unease. He confirmed the handwriting was his but the message and its delivery method were beyond him. We stared at the parrot, half expecting it to solve this mystery itself.
“What if someone’s using your parrot to send threats?” I suggested. Greg shrugged, his usual response to most problems, but this time, shaded with genuine worry.
The next morning, after a night filled with little sleep and lots of caffeine, Greg decided it was time to visit the exotic pet store where he had acquired his peculiar pet. The owner, a stout man with an encyclopedic knowledge of birds, listened to our tale with a skeptical frown.
“It’s not unusual for parrots to be trained to deliver messages. But usually, it’s more ‘Hello!’ than ‘Help me,’” he noted dryly. His advice was to keep a close watch on the parrot and report any unusual behavior.
We left the store somewhat reassured but baffled. Life resumed its normal pace with the additional task of ‘parrot surveillance’. However, the parrot showed no further sign of being anything more than an ordinary bird, albeit with a knack for dramatic entrances.
About a week later, another note appeared under similar bizarre circumstances. This time, the message was clearer, “Look at the mirror behind Greg’s chair.” Following these new instructions led us to a cleverly hidden envelope taped behind the office mirror. It contained detailed proof of a colleague’s endeavor to embezzle company funds, with plans implicating Greg.
The following investigation revealed that Greg’s joke about a fortune-telling parrot had unintentionally led to the whistleblower using the bird to safely alert us. It turned out, Greg’s folly and the mystery of the parrot’s nocturnal visits had prevented a massive financial fraud.
In the end, the parrot didn’t need to predict the stock market—its role in our real-life thriller was far more valuable. As for me, I learned that sometimes, reality can indeed be stranger than fiction, and occasionally, it comes with feathers.