She straightened up, the muscles in her calves aching and a sharper sensation in her left ankle. She stretched out her legs, and continued towards the house.
But she only made it two steps.
Her heart picked up, knocking against her ribs.
There was a grey lump further along the driveway. Near the front door. A feathered grey lump. She knew before she even got close what it was. Another dead pigeon. Pip approached it slowly, steps careful and silent, as though not to wake it, bring it crashing back to life. Her fingers fizzed with adrenaline as she towered over the pigeon, expecting to see herself again reflected in its glassy dead eyes. But she wasn’t there. Because there were no dead eyes.
Because there was no head.
A clean, tufted stump where it should be, hardly any blood.
Pip stared at it. Then up at the house, then again at the headless pigeon. She took herself back to last Monday morning, peeled away the week, sorting through her memories. There she was, rushing out the door in her smart suit, stopping as she caught sight of the dead bird, fixating on its eyes, thinking of Stanley.
It had been here. Right here. Two dead pigeons in exactly the same place. And those strange, shifting chalk figures with arms and legs and no heads. This couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Pip didn’t believe in those at the best of times.
‘Mum!’ she called, pushing open the front door. ‘Mum!’ Her voice rebounded down the hall, the echo mocking her.
‘Hi sweetie,’ her mum replied, leaning out of the kitchen doorway, a knife in her hands. ‘I’m not crying, I promise, it’s these damn onions.’
‘Mum, there’s a dead pigeon out on the drive,’ Pip said, keeping her voice low and even.
‘Another one?’ Her mum’s face fell. ‘For goodness sake. And, of course, your father’s out again, so I’m the one who has to do it.’ She sighed. ‘Right, just let me get this stew on and then I’ll deal with it.’
‘N-no,’ Pip stammered. ‘Mum, you’re not getting it. There’s a dead pigeon in exactly the same place as the one last week. Like someone put it there on purpose.’ It sounded ridiculous, even as she said it.
‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Her mum waved her off. ‘It’s just one of the neighbours’ cats.’
‘A cat?’ Pip shook her head. ‘But it’s in exactly the same pl—’
‘Yes, probably this cat’s new favourite killing spot. The Williamses have a big tabby cat; I see it in our garden sometimes. Poos in my borders.’ She mimed stabbing it with her knife.
‘This one doesn’t have a head.’
‘Huh?’
‘The pigeon.’
Her mum’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Well, what can I say? Cats are disgusting. Don’t you remember the cat we had before we got Barney? When you were very small?’
‘You mean Socks?’ Pip said.
‘Yes, Socks was a vicious little killer. Brought dead things in the house almost every day. Mice, birds. Sometimes these great big rabbits. Would chew their heads off and leave them somewhere for me to find. Trails of guts. It was like coming home to a horror show.’
‘What you guys talking about?’ Josh’s voice called down the stairs.
‘Nothing!’ Pip’s mum yelled back. ‘You mind your own business!’
‘But this…’ Pip sighed. ‘Can you just come look?’
‘I’m in the middle of dinner, Pip.’
‘It will take two seconds.’ She tilted her head. ‘Please?’
‘Uh, fine.’ Her mum backtracked to place the knife on the side. ‘Quietly though, I don’t want Mr Nosy coming down and getting involved.’
‘Who’s Mr Nosy?’ Josh’s small voice followed them out the front door.
‘I’m getting that kid some earplugs, I swear to god,’ Pip’s mum whispered as they walked out on to the drive. ‘Right, yes, I see it. A headless pigeon, exactly as I imagined it. Thanks for the preview.’
‘It’s not just that.’ Pip grabbed her arm and walked her down the driveway. She pointed. ‘Look, those little chalk figures. They were here a couple of days ago too, nearer the pavement. The rain washed them away, but they’re back, and they’ve moved. They weren’t here when I left on my run.’
Pip’s mum bent over, leaning on her knees. She screwed her eyes.
‘You see them, right?’ Pip asked her, doubt stirring in her stomach, cold and heavy.