Mischief of Magpies
- Didier Bahuaud
- 5 days ago
- 1 min read
The best horror stories start with something beautiful. Something harmless — and then throw it into a woodchipper.
I didn't expect this story to land on my lap, much less take off in the direction it did. When a friend of mine posted photos of magpies dancing in the rain, his caption — "Soggy maggies in the rain" — cracked my egghead enough to let the yoke of an idea ooze through.
What if it were a nursery rhyme? The kind Stephen King might twist until it bled?
A dozen drafts later — and after some disturbingly fun research into magpies' myths — "Mischief of Magpies" was born.
Read it quick before they peck your eyes out.
Soggy maggies in the rain
playing games for all to see.
Hop for sorrow, sing for pain,
laugh at things that shouldn’t be.
Thieving maggies in the rain
rigging games for all to see.
They steal the crown, they hoard the grain,
and guard their secrets ruthlessly.
Wicked maggies in the rain
twisting games for all to see.
They blame the poor, they shame the slain,
and trade their soul with dreadful glee.
Bloody maggies in the rain
gnawing game for all to see.
They round the weak, they cut the vein —
Their beaks drip lies and cruelty.
Feral maggies in the rain,
rending game for all to see.
They strip the skin, they eat the brain —
and now their feast will end with me.
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