Zombie Bird Story...

We've all been creeped out by survival horror games, that's what
they're supposed to do.

Now imagine you're a poor innocent parrot:

http://archive.gamespy.com/dailyvictim/index.asp?id=570

3/13/2003

MY LOVE OF SURVIVAL HORROR GAMES HAS PERVERTED THE DELICATE
SENSIBILITIES OF MY PARROT.

When I first got this bird I spent two weeks trying to get him to say
“Hello.” By the end of the month he was saying “‘lo! ‘lo!” But that
was about it. So I gave up.

But then I bought a GameCube and, well, every Resident Evil game
they’ve cranked out for it. I played them for hours on end with the
lights out. I won’t lie to you -- it sorta put me “off,” you know? I
started sleeping with the lights on and locking my windows at night.

One night I crawled out of bed to get myself a drink, and I shuffled
down the dark hallway between my bedroom and the kitchen, feeling
along the wall with my hand as I went. The kitchen was nearly pitch
black until I opened the refrigerator, and then a brilliant wedge of
light poured out, causing me to squint. That’s when I heard it:

“Grraaa ... aaaagghhh...”

It was the slow, raspy moan of THE UNDEAD. I wheeled around, panicked,
staring into the darkness beyond the fridge. The milk slipped from my
hands and crashed onto the ground, spilling all over the kitchen
floor. I didn’t move a muscle. Time was frozen for me. And then again:

“Nnyyaagghhhh... glup, glup, glup...”

The sounds were terrifying, and yet ... familiar. Slowly, my socks wet
with milk, I stepped gingerly forward toward the family room. I
must’ve left my Nintendo on, I thought ... but no, it and the TV were
both silent. The Resident-Evil noises were coming from elsewhere.
Then, from behind:

“GRAAHH!!”

I whirled around and reeled backwards in horror. I smashed into the
lampshade and furiously reached over to flick the switch. And there,
sitting on his perch amidst the warm glowing light that filed the
room, was my parrot. “’lo! ‘lo!” he said to me, cheerfully.

Apparently all those zombie noises from the game had gone to the
little guy’s head. He could duplicate them exactly! This went on for
some weeks, until finally I got used to it. The groanings and
mumblings as I lay in bed at night actually started to get kinda
soothing.

Of course, I forgot to warn my friends and neighbors. A couple weeks
ago, after a late night partying, Gary crashed on my couch. At 4:30 he
came slamming into my room in his boxers clutching a baseball bat.
“SOMETHING’S IN THERE!” he hissed at me, panting.

So of course I had to introduce him to my parrot’s habit. He only does
it when the lights are off -- I guess I trained him to do that, you
know, by playing those games in the dark. “’lo! ‘lo!” he’d squawk, and
then we’d flick off the lights and it would be: “Mmwwwaaahhhhh...
*slurping noises*”

One day Gary and Chris and I all stood around his cage one evening
talking it over. We dimmed the lights until the bird let out a long,
low, “Grrannggpphhnyayyyaahh” sound, like an oboe being played by an
asthmatic’s last breath. “See?” I said. “Zombie bird.”

“Dude,” Chris said, stepping back. “How do we know that that bird’s
still alive? Maybe he’s dead. Or ... undead. Has he eaten recently?”

“Truth be told, he’s been a bit peckish,” Gary said.

“Of course he’s peckish,” I grunted. “He’s a bird.”

“Grrrraaannnnghh! RAANNNRRRGHGHHHH!”

“You better take him to the vet,” Chris said, holding up a crucifix.

The next day at the Animal Clinic, the vet couldn’t figure out
anything wrong. “That’s a fine healthy bird!” he told me.

“’Lo!” the bird cheeped in return.

So I turned out the lights in his office. The room fell silent.

And then, from the cage, a soft low murmur: “Braaaaains...”

“Maybe he should stay for observation...” my vet answered.

The next morning I came in to pick him up, but I found his cage
outside the office with a note attached. “Please take bird home,” it
said. “Dogs all scared and night janitor quit.”


[Victim idea submitted by GameSpy Reader Adam Rixley.]