Fish inside a birdcage – by Samuel O'Neil Hamad
ISLAND | ONLINE ONLYFROM THE UTAS ‘LOVED STORIES’ PROJECT
2025’s UTAS third-year creative writing students were challenged not to ‘write what you know’ but to ‘write what you love’. What they produced were stories that range from horror to rom com, lyrical writing to memoir, comedy to absurdism, social commentary to fantasy. We’ve featured excerpts from seven stories on Island Online: read all the excerpts here.
‘Winkle-dink, there’s been another one.’
Winkle-dink is an unsightly albatross in his forties with a crooked foot and a mucked-up eye. He’s been off the field for ten years, but he’s still the best detective the Bureau of Investigative Research and Detection (BIRD) has. Mr. Hamburger would trust Winkle-dink with his life and then some.
Winkle-dink frowns at him. ‘What do you mean?’
Mr. Hamburger ignores the stares from other birds working away at their desks. The problem with the sewers as their headquarters is that noise reverberates like they’re in an opera house. Nothing is a secret down here. Plus, the occasional crocodile swimming by is a clear WHS violation. Unfortunately for him, treetop offices are inaccessible for the flightless and thus forbidden by their Disabilities Act.
Mr. Hamburger lowers his voice. ‘Do you remember little Susie?’
Winkle-dink nods.
‘She’s missing and her family is dead. The case is just like that one with the Morrisons two weeks ago.’ Mr. Hamburger pulls out a file and shoves at Winkle-dink his crudely drawn rendition of the crime scene.
Winkle-dink gasps.
‘See! And check it out – one fish in a tank. Belly up.’
Winkle-dink shuffles through the files with a tight frown.
‘God, what a monster,’ Winkle-dink mutters. ‘This makes eight in the last six weeks.’
Winkle-dink hands the file back to Mr. Hamburger.
‘I want you on this case.’ Winkle-dink presses his beak to Mr. Hamburger’s and holds his gaze. ‘I know how close you were with Susie. We’ll find her, son.’
The solemn look Winkle-dink gave him haunts Mr. Hamburger for weeks. It’s what keeps him going, looking for connections; he stays at the office late, flipping through files and ignoring the drip of sewage onto his head.
He sees images of the Morrisons: a family of five, dead in their sleep. A missing boy and one neglected fish, belly up in a bare tank. The Browns, a family of four, lying face down on their dinner plates. A missing two-year-old and a forgotten fish, belly up in a bowl.
The others were similar. The locations didn’t show any particular significance, other than the connection to poorly kept fish. The only evidence they’d found was a feather at the first crime scene, but they hadn’t been able to trace it back to an individual. Speculation around the office has the killer pinned as a vengeful pet bird. He shudders at the thought and pulls his hat over his eyes. He sympathises with neglected pets, of course; the images of gaunt fish wasting away in tiny containers do plenty to keep him awake at night. He swallows down panic as he thinks about when he’d been kept in an empty fishbowl as a chick. There’s nothing right about keeping innocents in cages.
Mr. Hamburger sighs. He packs his briefcase and shrugs off his waistcoat. His wife is waiting for him.
An anonymous tip comes in the middle of the night as he’s sleeping restlessly next to his wife Jeff. The pigeon relays the message to him quietly, and he tucks Jeff under his wing, admiring the sheen of her feathers in the moonlight. As he pulls on his uniform and steals off into the night, he worries he’s gotten himself in a mess worse than any before.
Back in headquarters, BIRD’s finest listen attentively to Winkle Dink as he paces.
‘I want a team of corvids on the ground ready to catch this fucker. Twinkle, a civilian budgie said she’d seen a figure lurking at 1600 hours today and notified Chicken Nugget.’
Chicken Nugget is the head of their Crimestoppers department. They all look to him, and he puffs up at the attention.
‘Yes, Twinkle informed me that her family – the Robinsons – are none the wiser that someone has been snooping around their property. The scenario fits the M.O.: a sad little fish and a family with a small child. We’ve reason to believe this is where the killer will hit next.’
Mrs. Butt Butt, penguin and Tactical Officer, scoffs. ‘They’re getting lazy if they’re scoping out houses with civilian birds. Either the killer is a bird with a vendetta or they’re not a bird at all. I’m of the opinion of the latter. What bird in their right mind would pull this kind of shit?’
‘Who says they’re in their right mind?’ asks Steve, a fat parakeet with an Italian accent. Word was that he left the mafia a few years before he’d joined the Bureau.
Mr. Hamburger kicks the ground in frustration. ‘What if it’s one of those protesters down at the wharf? They’re always complaining about how humans are eating up all our stocks.’
Winkle-dink shakes his head. ‘What would those birds want with common house fish? Or children? Goldfish taste rotten anyways… Look, we’ll find out. I want all wings on deck tonight. Steve, I want you listening on the ground for any more suspicious activities. Chicken Nugget, find every household with a kid that’s bought a goldfish in the last two months. Mrs. Butt Butt, I want your team perched in every tree around this family’s house.’
Winkle-dink squawks. He turns to Mr. Hamburger with a glimmer in his eyes. ‘Mr. Hamburger, I want you on the scene with the flock when we find this guy. For Susie.’
Mr. Hamburger nods. ‘For Susie,’ he whispers.
Susie’s memory waddles through his mind, smiling and laughing. He has to find her. ▼
Image: Elle Hughes - Pexels
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