Hatched

An egg based story for Easter.

Henry’s dog, Milo, found the egg. It was hidden in a patch of brambles and Henry tore his shirt getting to it while Milo barked frantically from the path.

‘It’s only an egg, look.’ Henry held the egg up. It was a blueish colour specked with brown and so heavy he needed both hands to lift it. Milo growled and backed away. ‘Silly dog,’ Henry said.

He couldn’t think of a bird capable of producing something that size. An ostrich perhaps, although as far as he knew, there were no ostriches in Surrey. The biggest bird he’d seen was a pheasant. He glanced around, hoping the egg’s parents would materialise, but apart from Milo, who was still growling ominously, they were alone.

Should he leave it there? Once, he’d found a baby bird in the garden, but when he brought it into the house, his mother told him to put it back where he’d found it. He’d filled an old flower pot with moss to make a nest and balanced it in the branches of a tree so the neighbour’s cat wouldn’t get it. The following day, the bird’s body was lying forlornly on the grass. He knew birds came from eggs and he didn’t want the same thing to happen again, so, after hesitating for a moment, he wrapped the giant egg carefully in his jacket and lugged it home.

Fortunately, there was no one in the kitchen, so he smuggled it through the back door and up the stairs without being seen. In the lounge, he could hear his mother talking to Mrs Dankworth on her mobile. She was always on the phone or scrolling through pictures on Instagram. Henry’s father said she was addicted to the bloody thing, although he wasn’t much better.

The egg looked even bigger balanced on his pillow, and it gave off a strange smell that reminded him of bonfires. The only thing he knew about hatching eggs was that you were supposed to keep them warm. If Milo hadn’t been behaving so weirdly, he might have put it in his basket, but the dog was cowering under the kitchen table and wouldn’t come out. The only other place was the airing cupboard, but if his mother found it, she would throw it away like the rabbit’s skull he’d hidden in his underwear drawer.

Then he had a better idea. He crept into the spare room and retrieved the electric blanket his aunt Jane had given his mother for Christmas. It was in a pile for the charity shop, which meant it would be ages before his mother noticed it was missing and it had a button to control the temperature so the egg wouldn’t overheat in its hiding place under his bed.

He checked it before he went to school and again when he got home. On the third day, there was a hairline crack in the shell and he ate his tea so fast his mother warned him he would choke if he didn’t slow down. She was at her book group that evening and his father was in his study, so no one disturbed him as he sat cross-legged, watching the cracks spread. Once he reached out to touch the shell, before quickly removing his hand. The surface was scalding and smoke curled from the fissures. By the time a scaly snout appeared, followed by two beady red eyes and a pair of translucent wings that unfurled like ferns, the carpet was on fire and Henry suspected it might have been better to leave the egg where it was.

If you enjoyed this story a like or share would be much appreciated. You can also support my writing and enjoy more dark tales delivered straight to your inbox by subscribing.

All my stories are free, but any donations made through the ‘Buy me a Coffee’ link below will go to Zante Strays. This lovely charity rescues and rehomes stray cats and dogs from the Greek island of Zante. Including our pup Smee pictured below with his litter mates (Smee is on the far left).