The Easter Chicken

  Heather Graham

  Slush Pile

  Copyright © 2022 Heather Graham

  The Easter Chicken

  Copyright © 2022 by Slush Pile

  All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior express written permission of the author. Unauthorized reproduction of Cathis material, electronic or otherwise, will result in legal action.

  Please report the unauthorized distribution of this publication by contacting the author at theoriginalheathergraham.com, via email at connie@perryco.biz, or at Heather Graham 103 Estainville Ave., Lafayette, LA 70508. Please help stop internet piracy by alerting the author with the name and web address of any questionable or unauthorized distributor.

  The Easter Chicken is a work of fiction. The people and events in The Easter Chicken are entirely fictional. The story is not a reflection of historical or current fact, nor is the story an accurate representation of past or current events. Any resemblance between the characters in this novel and any or all persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  (A Krewe of Hunters Short Story, approx. 5,000 words)

  What seems like a wonderful occasion with friends becomes something quite different.

  For Jackson and Angela Hawkins Crow, their son Corby, and their little daughter, Victoria, it should have been a day of warmth, friendship, and celebration. Things go horribly awry, but luckily, Angela has headed ahead with her friend, Brenda, a costumer, who will be the Easter bunny. Since Brenda has a hurt foot, Angela will be the Easter bunny herself in a strangely helpful turn of events. And she arrives at the event in time to sense the danger and send back a warning—after getting help from an unexpected source.

  It’s still a strange game of a chance and a race against time to see that all survive to truly appreciate the miracles of the season.

  The Easter Chicken

  “I’m grateful that we’re going to that party, Dad, and I think the Easter Bunny is going to be great for Victoria—and other little kids will hopefully love the bunny if they’re not terrified of it—but, Dad! Hey, I’m almost thirteen. I mean, I know Mom’s friend arranged for the bunny to be at the party.

  Senator Cole and his wife were having the party and Angela had been asked to help. She was happy to do so. It was going to be a small get-together, early on a weeknight, hosted by the senator’s son, Sam, who was friends with Corby. The guest list included a few of Sam’s and Corby’s friends and their parents and, of course, their younger children, many of them closer to baby Victoria’s toddling age.

  Angela was happy to be involved; Senator Barry Cole and his wife, Candace, called it their Easter-over-adon—Easter, Passover, and Ramadan--event, allowing for all manner of worship among their guests.

  “Dad?”

  Jackson Crow smiled at his almost-teen-aged, adopted son. Corby was often wise beyond his age, but life and his own “talent” with the souls of the deceased had made him so. They had, in fact, adopted the young man who was now their son because they met during an occasion during which a ghost was actively helpful.

  “Not to worry, Corby. The bunny will get it. And you know, the season isn’t really about a bunny, anyway.”

  Corby grinned. “No, I know. For us, it’s the Easter season. For my friend Isaac, it’s Passover, and for our friend Zakariya, it’s Ramadan.”

  “Right. And we respect everyone’s religion,” Jackson said. “Always. Because almost always, our religions teach us to be kind to one another. Remember this. It isn’t religion that’s bad; it’s what men choose to do with religion that can be horrible and tragic. Always remember that we never disrespect anyone because of their religion or ethnicity.”

  Corby started to laugh. “Okay, I’m African American and European American, I guess, and you’re Native American and European American, so . . . well, you know. I’m not likely to run around judging people on anything like that!” He grinned and then grew somber for a minute. “Yeah. Mom taught me something that I like. The human soul has no color. And I choose to believe most people are good, no matter what, but bad people can be bad, too—no matter what.”

  “My boy, you are wise beyond your years.”

  Corby grimaced. “Hey!” he said, his frown deepening. “I saw on TV. There’s some kind of vote going on. Doesn’t the senator have to work tonight?”

  “Yes, he does. But he intends to be there for a bit, then head on in to work. And maybe he’ll get back later, but I doubt it. That’s okay. The get-together is for the kids, really, and Mrs. Cole wanted to be able to do this, so . . . hey. It will be okay.”

  “Well, then, that’s great. Oh, their house is supposed to be haunted.”

  “All old houses are supposed to be haunted. And,” Jackson admitted, “some are.”

  “It’s cool. I’ve learned not to look like a freak talking to a ghost, so don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

  “I know that. And I think Mom is still trying to get some stuff out to the car—without Victoria pulling on her at the same time. She could use some help and I’ve got to make a quick call and see that the office is covered.”

  Corby nodded and started off to help but turned back.

  “It’s an important time in several religions we know. So, how did a bunny come into it?” he asked.

  Jackson grinned. “It’s an important time, yes, and we will go to church on Easter Sunday. Tonight, though, we’re going to have fun with some friends.”

  “But a bunny?”

  Angela, holding their toddler daughter in her arms, arrived outside by the car in time to give Corby the answer.

  “I’ll answer that one!” she said cheerfully. And, of course, she would. Angela was an exceptional field agent with the FBI’s Krewe of Hunters, or, more officially, The Special Circumstances Unit, but she also had an exceptional ability to research almost anything.

  “Well, you see,” she explained, “most historians figure that the Easter bunny came to America in the 1700s with German Lutheran immigrants. He was the Easter hare and he was a bit of a judge, determining if children had been good or bad. And in that, he might reward good children with eggs and chocolate and even toys.”

  “Kind of like Santa,” Jackson said sagely.

  “I’m good girl!” Victoria piped in.

  “Of course, darling,” Angela said. “Anyway, now, we have an Easter bunny. And, like the hare of the German Lutherans, our contemporary bunny brings eggs and candy and sometimes toys to the good kids. Eggs, candy, presents.”

  “Okay, so!” Corby said grinning. “I’m going to believe in that Easter bunny! When is he coming?”

  “Soon,” Angela assured them, grinning at Jackson.

  Question, though, where does the Easter bunny get eggs?”

  Jackson laughed. “From the Easter chicken!” he said.

  “Not so funny, smart guy!” Angela told him. She grinned. “Brenda told me that if anyone wanted, she did have a cool Easter Chicken costume, complete with hidden pockets that hold chocolate eggs so the chicken can help his friend, the bunny.”

  “Easter chicken,” Corby said, shaking his head, amused, and pretending it took great patience for any kid to deal with slightly crazy parents.

  “I kid you not!” Angela told him.

  “Corby, want to put the dessert plates in the car? I need to head out with a friend, but I’ll see you when you get there!”

  She glanced at Jackson, arching a communicative brow.

  She was going to drive to the party, of course, with the “Easter bunny.” Jackson was going to drive the children and while Angela had originally intended to drive over with Brenda and her assistant, usually one of the college-aged young men or women who could provide help with costumes—and wear the prince, princess, and superhero costumes best when needed--she was still driving over with Brenda, but now to be her assistant since most of Brenda’s usual helpers had headed home for the holiday break.

  The Easter “bunny” was Brenda Hollister, a friend they’d met through Corby’s school who happened to own a charming company called “Occasion.” She created the most amazing costumes for almost every mythical creature known along with princesses, superheroes and more, and brought the fun to the entire D.C. area.

  “All right, then! Victoria, come to me, baby. And let’s get this part of the party on the road!” Jackson said.

  “I’ll get the baby in the car as soon as I get the containers in the car,” Corby assured him.

  “Thanks. Just checking in,” he told Angela, pulling out his phone waving as she headed for the white Occasion’s van that had just pulled up to the house. As she headed to join Brenda, he thought that he was truly blessed—while Axel Tiger was managing their office, at the moment, one of them always checked in. Their work, of course, was crazy and dangerous. And, somehow, still, they had days like today, they managed to make their family work, too. Perhaps because both knew what they did was important, as was their family, as was life.

  As were holidays that frequently wound-up involving work!

  Not today. The party was at Senator Barry Cole’s house. The Coles were wealthy, very wealthy—both Barry and his wife Candace had inherited good sums of money. His parents had been in the technical field and her folks had been in the oil business. Jackson respected them tremendously—he’d seen them put their money where it was n eeded. They were generous with many different charities, most of them concentrating on children. Of course, Barry was in politics. Therefore, his every move was scrutinized. And he’d never found anyone in any political party who could dig up any dirt on the man. They were headed to Chevy Chase and the historical “farmhouse” where the Cole family lived. Barry’s family went back to Revolutionary days and so did the house. However, it was no longer a farm but a beautifully refurbished home on five acres of carefully manicured lawn, and all surrounded by a high brick wall. Barry and his wife might be generous to a fault, but they’d also created an impressive home for their children.

  He was almost at the house and could see the “bunny wagon” had pulled off onto the embankment that ran along the high brick fence. He was nearly at the point where he could ring the bell at the great iron gate that gave way to the crescent drive that stretched in front of the home when he was startled to see something come bouncing off the wall.

  `”Dad!” Corby shouted. “Dad, that was a woman!”

  He quickly pulled off the road, warning the kids to sit tight as he leapt out of the car and raced across the embankment grass to reach the woman who was struggling to get up, her one arm dangling, her breath coming in a gasp and tears sliding down her cheeks. She looked at Jackson with recognition, just as Jackson realized she was Miss Jeannette Margoles, one of the teachers in the pre-kindergarten at the school Corby attended.

  “Jeannette, careful, stay down, what—”

  She shook her head, fighting against the pain from what appeared to be a broken arm, staring at him with wet, desperate eyes.

  “She—she got me out. The Easter bunny, your wife. She got me out. Thank God, Jackson! He—they--have the children. They have the children. No one dares move . . he has pulled the adults from the little ones. He wants to control Senator Cole . . . get him to change his vote. And if Senator Cole doesn’t do what they want him to do, they’re going to kill everyone, the kids, too!”

  He felt his heart slam against his chest. Angela was in there. At he was equally grateful—their children were not!

  No matter the circumstances, he had learned long ago to maintain control, to use logic and experience over emotion.

  “Jeannette, I’m going to get you help. I need you to try to tell me exactly what is happening in there. You said ‘they.’ How many are in there. And they want Senator Cole to change his vote?”

  Jeannette nodded painfully and he was glad to see that she seemed to understand just how important it was that she gain control, too, and tell him everything.

  “Angela told Brenda that she’d be the bunny. Brenda has a bad ankle . . . Angela said that she didn’t mind at all and the costuming was ready in the van . . . and so Angela is the bunny. She managed to hop around when she got wind of what was going on . . . “ She paused. “Candace was saying that guy had just been out to fix the camera and all that go with the alarm system, but that someone had messed up, a lot wasn’t working, but at least she could still see the gate so that she could welcome guests. But then . . . I thought there were just more friends coming, but something Angela saw in the screen by the door that shows the gate made her nervous and she pulled me into the kitchen and then . . . it was so weird, it was almost as if someone was leading her and she said she was getting candy and she got me out a kitchen door that was behind shelving. I don’t how she found it, but I had said I was young, I could crawl . . . I thought . . . I thought I could get over the wall.”

  “You did get over the wall.”

  “And fell.”

  “You’re scared. As any sane human being would be.”

  She tried a weak smile. “I hike a lot . . . I . . . anyway, I could hear them as Angela was getting me out! One guy is like the spokesperson and I think he blew up a statue or something with one of his guns. . . and he said they were going to separate the adults from the children. The children are screaming and crying and the parents . . . I heard one of the moms screaming because they were pointing their guns at the kids’ heads, even the toddlers! They warned that if anyone called for help, they’d kill everyone, but they promised if Senator Cole changed his mind for some money bill going up for a final vote later tonight, they’d let everyone go. But if they so much as sniffed anyone calling for help, the kids would start dying! I—I was paralyzed at first, listening! Then I knew I had to get moving or that . . . they would kill someone. But if they see anything—"

  “But right now, everyone is all right?” Jackson asked.

  Jeannette nodded.

  “How many are there—kids, parents, attackers?”

  “Um . . . kids. Ten, five from like two to four, Evan, Sam, two little girls their age, and another little boy. I think they were collecting all the cell phones. Oh! And I know now what Angela said. They just walked in through the security system because they nabbed the Martinelli family out here and came in as guests . . . and, what can anyone do? If anyone comes in to help, anyone at all, they’ll start killing kids!”

  Jackson looked back at the car; Corby was amazing. He was trying to occupy his sister.

  “Jeannette, how many are ‘they?’”

  “Three. I think. Angela was murmuring that there would be no reason the Martinelli family was coming with three men she’d never seen before. Three men with three big guns, I think. I heard an explosion and I think . . . I think they shot the senator’s statue of Ben Franklin to prove that they could . . . they said, ‘explode a kid’s head.’”

  “We’re not going to let that happen. Jeannette, I’m going to get you back to my car where you can sit with my kids. I’m going to get help out here—”

  “No, no, no!” she cried with panic. If they see anyone, they’ll start killing kids!” She paused, wincing. “Angela said if anyone could get in, it would be you.”

  “They will never know any kind of help is here, I promise you,” he assured her. He pulled out his cell phone and spoke with Axel Tiger. Then he helped Jeannette to the car, worried she might pass out from pain or fear. But when they reached the car, she swallowed hard and said, “It’s my left arm. I’m right-handed. I can drive. I can get Corby and Victoria out of here.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She sat up straight in the driver’s seat. “I am sure. Please, Jackson, let me get them to safety, at least. I . . . I don’t think I dare get an ambulance or . . . I mean, those guys are serious! If police try to come in . . .”

  “Just get them home and stay with them until someone can get out there from headquarters. Corby knows the combination on the lock to the front door. Once someone is out there, you must get to the hospital. I have this. I swear to you, I have this,” he promised her, and he and hurried to the bunny van himself.

  *

  Angela stood by Brenda and Candace and the other parents in the large parlor area of the old mansion. The children had been ushered into the adjacent office.

  She could still hear the tears from the little ones, though the attacker guarding them had struck a few of them, and they were quieting down from their fear of further abuse. They had been warned they needed to stop fussing and crying. When he had left, Senator Cole had tried to assure the little ones everything would be all right.

  The senator had driven off for the vote himself. They hadn’t sent anyone with him; they had apparently believed he would do as he had been told because they very evidently meant what they said—if he didn’t obey, everyone would die, except for him of course, and he’d be left to live with the deaths of his family and friends for the rest of his life. He had to comply. That would be the only way he could save not just his own children, but a dozen others as well, not to mention his wife and friends.

  There were three attackers. They had come in with Gina and Herve Martinelli and their three children, pretending at first they were cousins, but with the gate camera working, Angela had seen them.

  Something just didn’t seem right.

  And the men had quickly shown their true intent.

  Angela had been stunned at first—she was in the home of a United State Senator. But Candance Cole had told them all about her frustration with the system, even after someone had come to fix it for them purportedly from the alarm company!

 

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