...and a partridge in a pear tree

[04] four calling birds

        “What’s that?” Luke stood up, tugging on Holly’s arm. “C’mon, it’s cold. You’re going to get sick.”

        Holly pouted at the boy. “The Hunt,” she protested weakly, her own coughing fit interrupting her.

        “We’ll get warmed up, and then come back out to wait for the bus. If anything, it’s probably stuck in the snow.” Luke smiled slightly, forcing her to follow him.

. . .

        They followed the obscure music until the end of the sidewalk. “Where is it coming from?” Luke turned to the right, and in the corner he saw an old building, the door propped wide opened. Walking closer, he found what he was looking for.

        “Go inside, Holly,” he touched her shoulder. “Get warm.”

        She widened her eyes. “What if it’s dangerous? You just can’t enter a random building in the middle of the evening, Luke!”

        He pushed her in anyway, following closely behind. The room was dark, but the many colourful strobe lights supplied enough lighting for the two to examine the space quickly.

        “What is this?” Holly questioned, looking around her.

        The room held many people, mostly older teenagers and slacker college students. The majority of them had the same t-shirt, ‘The CB’ written festively in green cursive on each. They began to chant “encore”, the presumably cheap beer in their red cups sloshing as they danced sloppily, shaking their fists and starting revolutions in their heads. Loud and piercing, suddenly the riff of an electric guitar was echoing throughout the room.

        “You wanted ano’er song,” a boy with dark brown hair much too long and tattoos running down his arm said ominously, his voice booming. He plucked another string, the squealing sound causing Holly’s eyes to shut and teeth to clench. “So ‘ere we are.” He raised his guitar in the air.

        The music started up again, the crowd yelling at the top of their lungs. Holly held her ears while Luke jumped up and down, blending in perfectly with the crowd. She stared at him, confused but intrigued. The band played loud, screeching music and she would’ve never guessed Luke was a fan of.

        The song concluded as boy with frizzy hair in his eyes hit his drum repeatedly. Whoever ‘The CB’ were decided then was a good time to launch into a horrible rendition of ‘All I Want for Christmas is you’, the lead singer screaming and growling. “Just keep rocking on after this, alright?”

        Holly couldn’t believe this was music.

        Finally, the crazy frizzy man raised his drumstick. “Merry freakin’ Christmas!”

        “We are The Calling Birds, thanks for coming!”

        The name peaking her attention, she glanced closer at the band. There was the lead singer, the drummer, the bassist and the guitarist, all feral and tattooed. Suddenly, it all clicked in her head. She gasped, holding her head in excitement. “Luke. Luke. Luke. They’re called The Calling Birds, and there are four of them.”

        Luke wrinkled his eyebrows, shrugging a shoulder. “So?”

        For a second she wanted to bash his head in, though she let that impulse subside, her excitement almost palpable. “Luke!What are we looking for?”

        Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Four calling birds,” he whispered in awe, staring back at the band who were dismantling their gear. “C’mon, let’s get a picture!”