The silence in the house was a living thing. It wasn’t a peaceful, quiet silence, but a thick, suffocating blanket woven from dust motes dancing in the slivers of moonlight and the faint, rapid ticking of a grandfather lock that sounded like a usary heart For Marco, a professional burglar who prided himself on being a ghost, this was the perfect environment. He moved through the cavernous foyer like oil on water, his black rubber soles making no sound on the imported marble.
This was supported to be an easy score. The owners were on a monthly European vacation, a fact confirmed by the file of glossy travel brochures and the overflowing mailbox he’d checked yesterday The security system was a joke, a decade-old model he’d bypassed before he’d even finished his first cigarette. The house was a treasure trove of old money—silver, jewelry, maybe some ugly-but-expensive art he could fence. He was already calculating his take, a smirk playing on his lips in the oppressive dark.
He glided into the study, a room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that smelled of old leather and decaying paper. The moonlight through the massive bay window illuminated a heavy mahogany desk, its polished surface gaming like a dark pool. This was the jackpot. This is where the safe would be.
As he took a step towards the desk, a sound shattered the silence.
It wasn’t a creak or a groan from the old house. It was a voice. A clear, calm, and unnervingly close voice that seemed to come from the deepest shadows in the corner of the room.
“Jesus is watching you.”
Marco froze, every muscle in his body locking light. His heart, which had been a steady drum of professional confidence, exploded into a frantic, panicked rhythm against his ribs. His hand flew to the grip of the pistol tucked into his waistband. He wasn’t alone. He’d been made. He scanned the darkness, his eyes wide, trying to pierce the black. Was it a cop? A homeowner who’d returned early? A rival?
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his heavy Maglite, its powerful beam cutting a stark white cone through the gloom. He swept it across the bookshelves, over the left armchairs, and finally, it landed on the source of the voice.
Perched on an ornate brass stand in the corner was a parrot.
It was a large, dusty-looking bird with intelligent, beady eyes that glittered in the flashlight beam. It tied its head, ruffled its feathers, and let out a low, guttural squawk.
A wave of relief so powerful it made him dizzy was over Marco, followed immediately by a surge of white-hot orange. He lowered the flashlight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He’d almost had a heart attack because of a… bird.
“You little feathered bastard,” he snarled, his voice a venomous whisper. “You almost made me shit my pants. You think that’s funny? I thought to wring your script neck and stew you in a pot, you winged rat!”
The parrot blinked slowly, completely unfazed by the threat. Then, in the same calm, clear voice, it spoke again.
“Saint Peter is watching you.”
Marco caused, his anger momentarily replaced by sheer bewilderment. This was new. A religious parrot? He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Lost my faith a long time ago, bird. Don’t believe in any of that nonsense.” He took a step closer, intrigued design himself. This was the worst that had ever happened to him on a job. “What’s your name, little bird? Gabriel? Michael?”
The parrot puffed out its chest, looking strictly proud.
“My name is Judas.”
Marco burst out laughing, a loud, barking sound that echoed through the silent house. The tension was gone, replaced by the absurdity of it all. “Judas? What kind of a stupid jerk names a parrot Judas? That’s the worst luck I’ve ever heard.”
The parrot fixed him with its beady, unblinking eyes. Its voice, when it came, was no longer calm. It was flat, cold, and matter-of-fact.
“The same stupid jerk,” it said, “that named Jesus and Saint Peter the two Pit Bulls behind you.”
The laughter died in Marco’s throat. A low, guttural growl rumbled from the darkness directly behind him, a sound far more terrifying than any voice. He could feel the vibration through the soles of his shoes. Slowly, every instinct screaming at him to run, he began to turn his flashlight.
The beam fell upon two massive, muscular forms, their eyes glowing like hot coals in the dark. Their lips were peeled back, revealing teeth that looked like ivory daggers. They weren’t barking. They were just watching him, their chests rumbling with that deep, predatory growl.
The parrot, Judas, let out one final, triumphant squawk that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
