Ben worked his way down the row of nesting boxes and was pleased to see the girls had done him proud. Three or four fresh laid eggs nestling in each one. Whistling tunelessly to himself he began to collect them, making sure to leave a tempter behind to remind the girls what they were about when they next sat down. Ben sold the eggs through the local supermarket though the price they fell far short of what he needed to cover his costs. Not that he minded, he only kept the old girls going for Dot’s sake. Dot had really loved her birds, talking about each one by name every evening as though they were the children she never had. When she died Ben knew he didn’t have a choice, Dot would never forgive him if he broke up the family. Anyway the farm was a lonely place now she had gone and the girls kept him company.
He was leaning forward to take the eggs from the last box when he saw it. Four normal brown speckled eggs lay nestling in the straw, but at the centre of the clutch and double the size of the others, lay an egg like no other he had ever seen. The shell was a beautiful translucent grey shimmering and sparkling like a baby star. It took a lot to throw Ben, so after a moment’s hesitation he continued to gather the remaining eggs in his steady methodical way. Then carefully placing the grey intruder on top of the others, he picked up the basket and returned to the farmhouse. Leaving the ordinary eggs in the larder for boxing he carried his prize through to the kitchen, laying it gently on a dishcloth in the middle of the kitchen table. The egg sat there shimmering and sparkling like a raindrop caught in the sun though it seemed to have grown and was now more the size of a goose egg. Stranger still the translucent grey was changing to an iridescent glow of deeper colours, as though a multi-hued Catherine wheel was spinning away somewhere inside the shell. Ben sat there entranced, then remembering the hungry young bullocks he was fattening for market leapt guiltily to his feet and hurried away to feed them. The lorries from the slaughterhouse were coming next morning and he felt the least he could do was to give them all a decent supper.
It was two hours before Ben had finished his chores and in his eagerness to check on the new arrival he was almost running by the time he reached the kitchen door only to be brought up short in astonishment. For the egg had increased in size to cover most of the kitchen table, a good four feet in length and nearly two deep at its centre. The colour had changed too and was now the purest aquamarine with thin concentric bands of flashing silver moving steadily across its surface. A strange tinkling rhythm filled the room producing a gentle soothing effect on Ben, who to his surprise found himself sitting at the table with no memory of moving from the door. He sat there patiently watching the egg waiting for something to happen. He had no idea what it would be, he just knew it was going to be wonderful.
The silver bands broadened, rapidly increasing speed until they were flashing across the egg’s surface like arcing electric fields growing brighter by the second. In less than a minute it had turned into an ovoid of pure white light that abruptly rose up on its base, increasing to a height of six feet or more. Then before Ben’s incredulous gaze the most beautiful woman he had ever seen stepped gracefully out of the dazzling brilliance. Tumbling wheaten hair framed a perfect oval face with cornflower blue eyes set above a soft and generous mouth. Ben took one look at the exquisite vision and all memories of Dot were forgotten. Her legs seemed to go on forever and his hands ached to hold the twin pert breasts that thrust aggressively against a thin sheath of satin material. Once a long time ago Ben had fallen for another girl who had looked a little like this one. He had come across her picture in a magazine while waiting for a dentist’s appointment and surreptitiously torn out the page when the receptionist wasn’t looking. He was fourteen at the time and had kept the photograph of the beautiful model for over a year, secretly fulfilling his baser teenage fantasies before he discovered the local girls were much more satisfying. But this vision was far more lovely than any of those, even and more gorgeous than the model he had romanticised all those years ago. Stepping out of the shell she held out her hand. ‘Hello, Ben, I’m Rushda,’ she smiled, and Ben felt his knees go weak, ‘I’m so pleased to be here with you, I know we are going to be the best of friends.’
Ben tried to get up, but something seemed to be holding him down, so he stayed where he was smiling feebly in return.
Rushda didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’ve brought a present for you Ben,’ she smiled, and leaning back into the light for a moment returned with a chicken in her arms. ‘You’ll find she lays much faster than the ones you keep outside, put her in the armchair over there and you’ll see,’ she held the bird out to Ben. It was a truly handsome bird, larger than the average chicken with the soft grey plumage of a wood pigeon.
Whatever weakness or force had been holding him in his seat disappeared. Ben stood up obediently, took the bird and put it in the chair as instructed. He was surprised at his submissive behaviour for as a rule he didn’t take kindly to being bossed about and usually reacted quite mulishly when ordered to do something. But then looking at Rushda he knew he could never refuse her anything. Even so there was something about her that he found increasingly unsettling. Although every time he sneaked a look at her sexy sinuous figure he was consumed by an aching lust, at the same time surrounded by the dazzling white brightness of the egg, it was somehow impossible to actually see her. It was almost as though he was seeing her body in his mind rather than physically before him and it made him uncomfortable.
The grey hen cackled loudly in boastful triumph from the armchair. ‘You see,’ Rushda smiled proudly, ‘she’s laid already. Quickly now, go and see how she’s done. Again Ben did as he was told, lifting up the bird and to his amazement finding twelve perfect translucent grey shimmering eggs.
‘Isn’t she the cleverest girl?’ Rushda clapped her hands with delight, ‘now put her down, but gently mind we mustn’t upset her, she still has the incubation to complete.’
‘Look,’ Ben began, determined to put a halt to this stream of instructions before they became a habit.
‘Dear Ben,’ Rushda interrupted, giving him a dazzling smile, ‘I know ‘what you are going to say and you’re right of course and I’m truly sorry. Please don’t be angry with me, I don’t mean any harm; it’s only that I tend to get a little bossy when excited. Now go and sit down at the table, darling, I have something very important to tell you.’
Ben wasn’t exactly sure what it was that Rushda said, as his memory seemed to become distinctly hazy at that point. The next thing he became aware of was cries of joy as she pointed to twelve handsome young grey hens pecking and scratching at his carpet. ‘There now my beauties,’ she cooed with deep contentment, ‘all of you hatched safe and sound, what clever girls you are. First thing tomorrow morning Uncle Ben will take you to market and find each of you a nice new home where you can begin to lay your own eggs. Won’t you Ben?’ She smiled at him expectantly.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t make it tomorrow,’ Ben shrugged regretfully, for he would truly liked have to have pleased her. ‘The lorries from the slaughter house are coming in the morning for the beef cattle, so I won’t have time for the market’ He brightened, ‘but why don’t we make a day of it next week, then I can take you to lunch as well after the sale?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, the future of the hens is far more important than a herd of cattle; you must make time.’ Rushda’s voice had turned monotone flat and for a fleeting moment a tinge of dark red flooded the corners of the cornflower blue eyes. Then abruptly her tone changed. ‘Please Ben darling, surely you can take them in after you’ve loaded the cattle, the money isn’t important, I just want you to find them nice homes where they can lay their eggs. After all they are such pretty birds I’m sure you will find plenty of people who will be only too happy to have them and I would be so grateful.” She gave him a devastating smile and Ben’s opposition wavered for a second then collapsed.
‘All right, I’ll make time somehow,’ he nodded, none to sure how, it would mean a hell of a rush. But she was right, they were beautiful birds and fantastic layers as well and since Rushda didn’t seem to care about the money he was sure he would find homes for them in no time. Ben was about to ask her about the money once more, just to be sure, then time kaleidoscoped again and he found himself in the farmyard guiding the first lorry as it reversed through the gate. It took a couple of hours to get the cattle away, and the best part of another to crate the chickens, for Rushda was very fussy about the way they were handled, insisting on an extra layers of fresh straw being laid in each box. But she made no effort to help and wouldn’t even come outside to wave her darlings goodbye.
It was a hell of a drive but luckily the traffic was light and he made it with a half hour to spare before the market closed. Many stallholders were already calling it a day though the usual diehards remained, determined to stick it out to the end in hopes of making a last minute sale. Ben found an empty place in the centre and quickly unloaded the birds. Almost immediately they caught the eye of a particularly voluble farmer’s wife who promptly bought a pair with such loud cries of delight that word of something special spread like wildfire, and Ben managed to get shot of the last one just before the police began turning the place back into a car park.
He drove straight home, left the car in the yard and hurried into the house, proudly clutching a fistful of notes for Rushda. She was waiting for him in the light but looked tired and strained. There was a pinkish tinge to her eyes, and when she spoke her soft velvet voice sounded coarsely rough with a grating underlying harshness in tone.
‘Put the money on the table,’ she rasped coldly, ‘and come here.’
Ben froze, hair rising on the nape of his neck, alarm bells ringing in his head, instinctively knowing something was wrong. ‘Is something the matter, Rushda? You don’t look well, are you feeling all right? Shall I call a doctor? “He had wanted to please her so much, make her proud of him, be rewarded by that lovely smile as he gave her the money. But this wasn’t the Rushda he had left earlier that morning, something about her had changed, even the brilliant whiteness seemed flecked with a muddy brown. For a fleeting moment he felt almost repelled, then as quickly flooded with guilt. She was ill that was all, his beautiful wonderful girl was ill. What on earth had got into him, how could he behave so badly, think so treacherously at a time when all the poor girl needed was cosseting, sympathy, and understanding. As though reading his thoughts the old Rushda returned. Ben could almost feel what the effort of transformation had cost and loved her all the more.
‘I’m sorry I lost control just now darling,’ the gorgeous cornflower eyes widened in contrition and her mouth pouted in hope of forgiveness. ‘But I need a tonic at regular intervals and like a silly girl I didn’t bring one with me,’ she beckoned him closer. ‘ Please Ben, don’t let my silly behaviour spoil our friendship, I owe you so much for all your help with the hens, not to mention your hospitality and all the money you so kindly brought back for me. So please, my Ben, please come closer and give your Rushda a kiss to show she’s forgiven.’
Beaming with happiness Ben stepped forward to his love, heart almost bursting with joy as for the first time he felt the delicate touch of her arms embrace. Her heady scent of summer jasmine aroused him further and he raised his face eager to kiss those seductive lips at last. He could tell Rushda was equally aroused for her embrace had tightened and he could feel her melding and softening against him. Suddenly Ben found it difficult to breath as her soft embrace turned to a grip of iron and he found himself held in a python grasp of many more arms than two.
‘Gently, my darling, gently,” he gasped, the tantalising lips now mere inches from his own, ‘you’re holding me too tight.’
‘Poor Ben,’ the lips twisted then smeared into a scarlet gash, ‘I’m afraid it’s time, my darling. But I know you will understand, because when it comes down to it we both share and work for the same goals. You see, my Ben, I am a farmer too, of sorts.’ The cornflower eyes had turned to dull red coals and somehow he knew something hideously alien lurked behind the once beautiful face, something Ben didn’t want to see. He closed his eyes as the grip tightened and terrible things started to happen. He tried to scream but something had put a rigid lock on his mind and he no longer had control of his voice. But he couldn’t blot out the whispering voice so hungry with an urgency of need that echoed down the dimming corridors of his brain.
‘And today is my market day, my beautiful Ben, my market day.’