# Canary
On Wednesday, the 9th of April 2025 | 1 244 words
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All Henderson ever did was receive critique for everything that he did. From his momma and poppa, from his sisters and brothers, and even from his very bestest friend ever, Cobb.
"I told you to buy a proper canary!" Cobb bemoaned, his voice bounced off the walls of the narrow tunnel, echoing up and down the rocky corridor. Henderson rolled his eyes.
"This one was fine. It was on clearance."
"It literally died straight away! Almost as soon as we entered!"
Henderson rolled his eyes and kept walking forward, shining his headlamp onto the walls and ceiling. A few passages split off from the main tunnel, but Henderson kept going forward. He had a hunch. Oh yes. Today was the day that he would, literally, strike rich. His fingers itched as they squeezed the handle of the pickaxe that he'd picked up at the same garage sale where he'd purchased the little bird.
"All you ever do is whine," Henderson retorted. "All anyone ever does is whine. I brought you along to share the wealth I'm about to discover," and because you're stronger than me, Henderson thought. "But all you do is whine about some stupid bird."
"Don't get me wrong Henderson, I appreciate this chance to get rich quick, it's just... Well, don't we need the bird to find the riches?"
"We'll make do without it." Henderson shrugged.
The tunnel clanked when Cobb tossed aside the small cage with its deceased occupant. The cage rattled, as it rolled along the downward slope of the tunnel floor, bouncing off of the rugged rock, until it came to rest against Henderson's heel.
"Watch it!" He groaned and lifted his foot, giving the cage a good kick.
They both laughed as the cage flew down into the darkness ahead, then took off after it.
"Kick 'er again Henderson!" Cobb bellowed with a crooked grin.
Henderson caught up to the cage and gave it another good kick. The rusty little frame flew high now, and hit the ceiling, then bounced onto the floor and down into the tunnel. It rolled and rolled and rolled, until it slipped past the reach of their headlamps.
"Lookit' 'er go!" Cobb howled in laughter.
C L A N G !
Both of the men came to a dead-stop, as the noise reverberated off the cavern walls. They looked at each other in silence. Minutes passed, maybe more, but the men didn't say a word. They took turns staring into the darkness ahead and at one another, the same questions running through each of their minds. What was that noise? Did the cage hit something? Did I leave the stove on?
"Huh-yuck-hah-yuck!"
"This isn't funny!" Henderson chastised.
"Then why're you laughing?" Cobb mumbled.
The men looked at each other again, eyes wide with realization. They both slowly turned back to look ahead and there they saw him, standing at the periphery of their headlamps' meagre light. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, with a strange metal contraption strapped to his chest, out of which rubber tubes stuck out in various directions. On his head the man wore a metal helmet with a broken headlamp. They could not see his face in the darkness, only that he had a thick and shrubbery beard, unkempt and knotted.
"H'well ah'll be dahrned, ya' boys brawght' me a pretty li'l bird." Said the man.
He lifted up his left hand and showed his palm. Resting on it was the rusted little cage, and inside, a yellow shape rocked from side to side.
"H'wy don'tcher come on closer now boys, so I can h'reward ya'."
"Let's get the hell out of here!" Cobb cried.
Henderson knew that his friend was probably right, but on the other hand, he thought, all Cobb ever did was criticize him. Such a negative nelly, Henderson mused. Besides, there's two of us and one of him, so we'll just kick his ass if he tries anything.
"Wait Cobb." Henderson said and took a step forward.
The cone of his headlamp now illuminated the man properly. His flannel and jeans were both caked in soot, and his face was silver and pale, his cheeks were gaunt, and his eyes were white as snow. Henderson hesitated, but then stepped closer.
"There ya' go, c'mon closer, friend." The man said and flashed Henderson a toothy smile, only his teeth were black and blue, and most of them were missing.
The man dug his right hand into his jeans' pocket with a wet squelch and rummaged around with his fingers, as Henderson approached. After a while, the man pulled his hand out again and held it out. Ticks, and earthworms, and beetles crawled about the man's silver hand, but in the middle of his palm, something shined in the light.
"Is that...?" Henderson walked up to the man.
He stank of weeks old milk and rotten eggs cooked in a pan, but Henderson steeled himself and approached regardless. Because in his hand the stranger held a small pile of gold nuggets. Each the size of Henderson's thumb, and surely worth a few hundred bucks!
"Is fer you, friend, fer gettin' me such'a pretty li'l bird." The man said, still smiling.
Henderson scooped up the nuggets with glee, forgetting all about the creepy crawlies that skittered about the stranger's palm, not to mention the man's untoward appearance, and smell.
"Huh-yuck-hah-yuck!" The man laughed.
"Henderson, get back here!" Cobb shouted. "That guy's clearly a zombie, or, or somethin'! Look at the bird!"
Henderson rolled his eyes and was about to respond, when he happened to glance at the cage in the man's other hand. Inside the rusted frame sat a pile of bloodied yellow feathers. The canary's wings were twisted and broken, and small bones protruded from different parts of its body. It rocked from side to side, lifeless and yet strangely alive. On an intellectual level, what little intellect he had, Henderson knew that he should be afraid. Somehow, though, he felt numb to the fear.
"H'wat's yer name, friend?" The stranger said.
"H-Henderson. Henderson Jett."
"H'well's a pleasure to meet'cha mistur Jett. The name's Crackmaw."
Crackmaw stuck out his right hand and Henderson looked at it. Bugs crawled all over it, coming in and out from Crackmaw's flannel sleeve. Henderson swallowed and, in spite of his senses, clasped Crackmaw's hand in his.
"H'let's talk, jus' you 'n me." Crackmaw said in a hushed tone.
"W-what about?"
"H'well, you got a taste fer gold, I can tell. Huh-yuck. Ah've got me a taste for somethin' else, gold ain't much good to me now, y'know? But yer buddy there, now him... Him ah've got a use for."
"I-I don't know, he's my bestest friend in the world."
"Shtick yer hand in mah pawcket. Go on now." Crackmaw smiled.
Henderson reached down and pried open Crackmaw's pocket with his fingers. They were greeted by a centipede that slithered up Henderson's wrist, as he pushed his hand inside. The pocket felt warm and wet, and seemed to crawl around his hand. He could feel his stomach churn now, the sensations overwhelming whatever numbness had taken hold. But then, he felt something hard. He wrapped his hand around it and pulled it out of the pocket.
When Henderson opened his palm, a pile of gold nuggets sat there, gleaming in the headlamp's light. Henderson turned to look at his friend and smiled.
"Hey Cobb, come take a look at this..."
