Parrot From Hell: My Buddy's Revenge

My wife, Anne Brighton, gives me a gray parrot. Every single day, it looks me in the eye and screeches, "Go to hell!" I send it to a parrot rehabilitation center, where they place it in a mirrored cage and play "I'm a good bird" on loop, three thousand times a day. Here's the thing—I've been reborn. In my past life, that parrot came into our home knowing only two phrases—"So ugly" and "Go to hell". At first, I believed it was merely mimicking what it had heard. But then my body began to fail. Sleep was the first to go. Every night, the same nightmare returned, and the same voice echoed through it, repeating those words over and over. "Go to hell." My appetite disappeared, and I wasted away until I was nothing but bones. In the end, my organs gave out. I didn't find out the truth until I was dying. The parrot I thought it was wasn't one at all. It was Ian Sawyer—my best friend, who had been dead for years, trapped inside that bird the whole time. Chapter 1 In my previous life, I died in a hospital bed. My body was riddled with tubes, and at the end, the steady rhythm of the heart monitor stretched out into one long, piercing tone. The last sound I ever heard came from Pecky, the parrot. Perched on the windowsill of my hospital room, it tilted its head at me and let out a soft chuckle—but it was a man's chuckle, which made it profoundly wrong and deeply unnerving to hear from a bird. By then, I had already lost the ability to speak, but I recognized that voice without a doubt. It belonged to my best friend, Ian Sawyer, the very man who had supposedly died of illness three years earlier. As my soul drifted free from my body, I watched a nurse pull a white sheet over my face. Outside the hospital room, Anne Brighton stood with red, swollen eyes, looking every bit the heartbroken widow. She cried for a long while, then finally turned away. I followed her to a villa on the outskirts of the city. She unlocked the front door, and inside, a man was already waiting. It was Ian, as real as the day he'd supposedly died. He wore a silk robe, his damp hair still clinging to his forehead, and there wasn't the slightest trace of illness on his face. His complexion was rosy, and he smiled with the vigor of an 18-year-old. Anne walked over, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed his forehead. "He's dead," she said. "Finally." Ian broke into a satisfied grin. "I spent the last three years inside that parrot's body," he said. "Every single day, I cursed him with those words until his life force slowly withered away. Now that he's dead, every bit of that life force belongs to me." Anne cupped his face tenderly. "You can finally have your human body back," she murmured. Ian rose from the couch, stretched lazily, and drew in a deep breath, savoring the sensation. "This body is finally mine again," he said. "After living as a bird for three years, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be human." Anne smiled. "When you were diagnosed with terminal cancer three years ago, I was terrified I'd lose you. Thank goodness that witch told us she could transfer your soul into a parrot and use someone else's lifespan to keep you alive. "She said it only works if you find someone whose life thread is magically aligned with yours." Ian leaned comfortably against her. "Your husband's life thread happened to be a perfect match for mine. His life was destined to keep me alive." Anne kissed his hair. "He was born to die for you. That's the only reason he existed." I stood rooted to the floor, watching my wife and my best friend in each other's arms as she said my life existed only so his could go on. I didn't cry. What good would tears do me now? I simply filed away every word, every glance, every single frame of that scene into my undying memory. Then, I woke up and found myself three years in the past, on the very day Anne brought that parrot home. "Joe? Joe, what's wrong?" Anne's voice pulled me back to reality. She looked at me with concern, her hand resting gently on my shoulder. Her touch was warm, carrying the familiar scent of her usual perfume. I lowered my gaze and noticed the slight swell of her belly. She was four months pregnant. In my previous life, that child had never been born. Before my body completely gave out, the baby had already died in Anne's womb. The doctor had blamed it on malnutrition, saying the fetus simply couldn't survive. Now, I knew the real story. She had never wanted my baby, so she had ended the pregnancy herself. And I had spent those final months crushed by guilt, convinced that my sickness had arrived at the worst possible time and that I had failed to protect them. I lifted my eyes to look at Anne. A gentle smile rested on her lips, but beneath it, I caught a glimmer of anticipation she couldn't quite mask—she was waiting for me to accept the parrot. In my past life, I had accepted it without a second thought, doting on it like a treasured pet. But this time, I thought better of it. "Thank you, darling." I smiled and accepted the birdcage. "This parrot is beautiful." Chapter 2 Anne let out a sigh of relief and reached over to stroke my head affectionately. "I knew you'd love it. Come on, Pecky. Say something nice to Daddy." The parrot tilted its head and immediately squawked, "Go to hell." Anne's smile froze for a split second before she forced a laugh. "The previous owner must've taught it that. Joe, don't take it personally." I chuckled and gave the cage a little shake. "This one's got quite a foul tongue. Darling, where did you get it?" "A friend recommended the breeder," she answered, not quite meeting my eyes. "They specialize in parrots that can talk." I knew she was lying. "Sounds interesting," I said, setting the cage on the coffee table and lightly stroking the parrot's claw. "But you're pregnant. Wouldn't it be risky to keep a bird in the house?" Anne replied immediately, "I already asked the doctor about it. He said a parrot is completely safe as long as it's properly cared for. "And to be honest, I've been so lonely cooped up here alone. It would be nice to have something that can talk to keep me company, and a good mood is important for the baby." Her lie was seamless. She had offered the exact same reasoning in my past life, and I had swallowed it whole, believing she was looking out for me. Now, I could hear the truth underneath. Every line had been scripted. "So ugly," the parrot chirped again. Anne laughed. "See? It's talking to you." I didn't return her smile. I simply picked up the cage and made my way to the bedroom. "Joe, don't take it personally. It's just parroting what it picked up," Anne called out from behind me. "I'm not angry." I turned and gave her a smile. "I just want to spend some time alone with my new pet." As soon as the door closed behind me, the smile dropped from my face. I set the cage on the vanity, pulled up a chair, and sat down face-to-face with the parrot. It tilted its head, fixing me with a gaze that was far too knowing, far too pleased with itself. I knew exactly whose eyes those really were—Ian's. He was tucked inside that gray-feathered body, watching me like I was the same fool he had always been able to manipulate. In my last life, I had been exactly that. But this time around, the game had changed. "Pecky," I said. The parrot just cocked its head and stared at me with those unblinking gray eyes, offering no response. "Your name's Pecky, right?" I leaned closer to the cage with a pleasant smile. "Nice name. My wife picked it, didn't she?" The parrot's feathers rustled with a faint twitch. Apparently, it hadn't expected me to be this calm. "But if you ask me, it's not exactly a good name. Pecky sounds like it's always pecking, chipping away at itself. It just feels fragile. Don't you agree?" I said, leaning back in my chair. The parrot paid me no attention and began grooming its feathers. I got up, walked to the vanity, and sat down in front of the mirror with my razor. The man looking back at me looked exhausted, with deep shadows under his eyes and lips that had faded to a sickly pale. "You know…" I said casually, running the razor across my face as if I were talking to myself. "If a man comes home every day only to have his wife's pet bird tell him to go to hell, would that count as domestic abuse?" Just then, I heard the soft rustle of feathers behind me, but I didn't turn back. "Go to hell," the parrot suddenly said. I couldn't help but feel those words were meant for me, though the parrot's tone was light, as though it were merely repeating a phrase it had learned. However, the timing was too perfect. It came immediately after what I'd just said. My hand paused for the briefest instant. Then, I calmly resumed shaving. "You're a clever bird," I said, tossing the razor into the trash. "You sure know how to respond." "Go to hell," it repeated, even more softly this time, almost as if it were testing me. I turned and faced the cage. The parrot cocked its head, watching me with unblinking eyes. Then, it opened its beak and let out a jumble of random noises—clicks, gurgles, and a sound like a ringing telephone—all tangled into one messy symphony. It was perfectly normal for a parrot, mimicking the sounds it picked up from its environment. But those two perfectly timed "Go to hell" stood out like a sore thumb. They were far too deliberate to be coincidence. I held its gaze for several long seconds. It stared right back. A subtle shift occurred in the air between us. It was not quite tension, but rather a wordless understanding that passed between two people who had just recognized each other's game. It knew I had seen through its act. What it didn't know was how much I had figured out, and I planned to leave it that way. Chapter 3 That evening, I put together a simple dinner of three dishes and a soup. Anne ate quietly and barely said a word. Halfway through the meal, the parrot in the living room suddenly cried out, "Go to hell." She put her fork down and looked at me. "Don't take it personally. It's just a bird." "I wasn't." She nodded and continued eating as if nothing had happened. After dinner, while I was clearing the table, Anne went into the living room. I could hear her talking to the parrot in a soft, gentle voice. "Come on, Pecky. Be good. Say something nice." The parrot refused to cooperate. "Go on. Say something." "So ugly," the parrot answered. Anne laughed. "Oh, you're a crude one, aren't you?" I stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her tease the bird. In my previous life, she had been just the same. That parrot received more gentleness from her than I ever did. Back then, I had chalked it up to a love for animals. I had even respected her for it. But I knew better this time. The kindness she showed wasn't meant for the bird. It was meant for the man trapped inside it. "Darling," I called out, crossing the room. "I am tired tonight. I think I will go to bed." "Alright." She didn't even glance up, just kept stroking the bars like the bird was the only thing worth her attention. It was around 10:00 pm when Anne came in. She had already showered, and her hair was still damp. "Joe, I need to tell you something," she said, perching on the edge of the bed. "I've got a business trip next week. I'll be gone for four or five days." It was just like last time. She had told me it would only be four or five days, yet she had ended up being gone for an entire week. "Okay," I said. "Take care of Pecky for me, and don't get upset with it. It's only a bird. Whatever it says, just ignore it." "I know." She reached over and gently stroked my hair. "Have you been feeling down lately?" "No." "Good." She switched off the light. "Get some sleep." I didn't fall asleep. In the darkness, I caught the faint rustle of movement from the birdcage. The parrot was stirring. I rolled onto my side, facing away from the cage, and reached beneath my pillow for the yellow charm. I clenched it tightly in my hand. The first hours of the night passed without incident. But sometime after midnight, I felt a chill creep over me. It was not the cold air from the window. It was something far more unsettling. An icy sensation oozed downward from the top of my head, as though someone were slowly emptying a jug of frozen water over my scalp. I held still, trying my best to keep my breathing slow and even. As the chill intensified, I clenched the charm tighter in my hand. A sharp sizzle cut through the darkness, and the cold was gone in an instant. A frantic flutter came from inside the cage. The sound of wings beating against the iron bars was especially harsh in the night. It lasted more than ten seconds before everything fell quiet. I slowly opened my eyes. A sliver of moonlight fell through the curtains. The gray parrot inside the cage had retreated into the corner. Its feathers were puffed up, and its chest heaved violently with each breath. This time, it didn't dare come out again. I rolled over, put the charm back under my pillow, and closed my eyes. Sleep came easily, and I didn't stir until morning. When I came downstairs, Anne was already in the dining room. She had a cup of coffee in front of her and her phone on the table. When she saw me, she locked the screen. "Did you sleep well last night?" she asked. "Exceptionally well," I said, pouring myself a glass of warm water. "What about you? I noticed the light in your study was on pretty late." "I had some work to finish." She paused briefly before adding, "By the way, Joe... Pecky doesn't seem quite right today. Do you think something scared it last night?" "I have no idea," I replied, adding milk to my cup. "I was in the bedroom. I didn't hear anything." "Its feathers are all puffed up." Anne frowned. "You didn't scare it yesterday, did you?" I looked up at her. "I scared it?" "That's not what I meant," she said quickly. "I'm just asking. You've been stressed lately. Sometimes, you raise your voice without realizing. Birds get scared easily." My fingers tightened against the cup. She had been exactly the same before. Whatever went wrong, she always found a way to make it my fault. When I fell ill, it was because I dwelled on things too much. When I lay awake at night, it was because I was too sensitive. And when that parrot screamed obscenities at me, it was because I had accidentally raised my voice. "I didn't scare it," I said, meeting her eyes. Anne watched me for a moment before nodding. "Maybe it was the thunder last night." There hadn't been any thunder, but I didn't bother exposing the lie. After breakfast, Anne went into the study. Once I had finished washing the dishes and returned to the living room, the parrot flapped its wings inside the cage. "Go to hell." I ignored it. "Go to hell. Go to hell. Go to hell." It squawked "Go to hell" three times in a row, and the sound got sharper and more piercing with every repetition. I turned and fixed my gaze on the cage. The parrot tilted its head, studying me with those gray eyes that seemed to hold my reflection. And behind those eyes, I saw Ian—my best friend, the man who had taken my wife and my life. "Say it again," I said softly. The parrot clamped its beak shut. It never said another word. Chapter 4 That afternoon, Anne came out of the study with her phone in hand. "Joe, I checked with the friend who sold me the parrot. He said its previous owner was an elderly woman. She had a habit of rambling all day, so it probably picked up those words from her." "Oh." I flipped through a magazine on the couch without looking up. "He said it'll get better after a while. If you say more nice things to it, it'll learn them." "Okay." Anne hesitated, then added, "Don't keep ignoring it. The more you ignore it, the more it'll keep saying those awful things. Talk to it more." I set the magazine aside and looked at her. "Darling, are you seriously asking me to chat with a parrot that keeps insulting me?" "It's just a bird!" she snapped. "It doesn't even know what the words mean. Why are you taking it so seriously?" "I'm not." "Then, why won't you talk to it?" I parted my lips to answer, then thought better of it. That was exactly how it had been in my past life. Every disagreement ended with me conceding. I loved her, and I didn't want to argue. I just kept telling myself that if I just endured a little longer, things would get better. In the end, I held on until I was gone. "Fine." I stood up. "I'll talk to it." I walked to the coffee table and crouched down to the parrot's level. "Pecky," I called its name. It tilted its head and studied me. "Say something nice." It opened its beak and squawked, "So ugly." "Try again." "Go to hell." Anne laughed beside me. "See? It's responding to you." I didn't smile. "Why don't you teach me a few nice phrases?" Anne stepped forward and gently moved me aside. "Like this." She turned to the cage and said, with a gentleness I had never known her to possess, "Pecky, say hello." The parrot cocked its head, ignoring her. "Hello," she repeated patiently. "Hello." This time, the parrot echoed her. Anne beamed. "See? There's nothing wrong with the parrot." It didn't take a genius to figure out what she meant. I was the one with the issue. She said nothing else. She just turned and disappeared into the study. I stood there in front of the coffee table, watching the parrot in its cage. Its eyes were fixed on the study door, and I saw everything in it—anticipation, yearning, and love. It was waiting for Anne to come back, because whatever lived inside that feathered body loved her. After I died in my previous life, the two of them had finally been together. I crouched down and lightly tapped the cage. The parrot turned to look at me. "You don't have to wait," I said softly. "She's gone." It tilted its head again, as though trying to understand what I'd meant. I stood and returned to the bedroom. After closing the door, I leaned against it, pulled out my phone, and searched for parrot training services. The call connected almost immediately. A crisp, businesslike voice answered, "Hello, Avlon Parrot Training Center." "I've got a grey parrot that won't stop telling me to go to hell, and so ugly. Can you do something about it?" "Yes. Our primary solution involves a mirror cage, paired with positive reinforcement." "Mirror cage?" "It's a cage lined with mirrors on all sides. The bird experiences mild stress, and during that time, we play positive words repeatedly at high frequency. Normally, the cursing stops within a few days." "Will it be distressed?" "Some distress is normal. It's part of the process. Don't worry. Our professional trainers monitor the bird the entire time, so it won't be harmed." I paused for a moment. "Fine. I'll bring it in next Monday. Full boarding." The call ended, and I found myself standing alone in the dim bedroom, still clutching the phone. Through the window, a breeze slipped in and softly lifted the curtains. That parrot had spent six months in my past life telling me to go to hell and so ugly, every single day, until it finally got exactly what it wanted. This time, I would place it in a cage of mirrors, where it could spend every hour staring at itself.