text: You’re being threatened by a goose. You have no idea what you’ve done to make this bird so angry, but it’s been getting very scary lately. It’s been sending you notes, slid under your door, so you know it knows where you live. The notes don’t say anything except ‘honk,’ but from the handwriting you can tell that it’s an angry honk. It calls you on the phone, late at night and early morning, and ignoring it won’t work. The goose just lets it ring and ring and ring and ring until eventually someone picks up and the goose honks loudly into the receiver then hangs up. If you’re lucky, that’s all that happens, but usually the goose calls again, sometimes a few hours later, sometimes a few minutes, sometimes immediately. Soon, you spot the goose standing outside your house, next to a big sign that just says “HONK!” Your parents call the police, but they eventually say that because the goose is on a public sidewalk and not their property, they can’t make it go away. The goose honks in your direction and fluffs its wings as the police drive off. Things get worse. One of your parents is driving when they realize their brakes don’t work. They’re able to jump out of their car before it runs into the highway. The police come by again and tell you they’ve taken in the goose for questioning, but had to let it go because it wouldn’t answer any questions-it had already called a lawyer. They suggested, in the meantime, getting a restraining order. That’s what you do. The goose, legally, cannot be within 500 feet of you. You don’t see the goose for a few days after that. You feel calm for the first time in a while. You go to bed and sleep soundly. When you wake up, though, there’s a goose feather on your pillow. Your blood chills. You look around your room and see everything has been moved, like someone was going through it when you slept. Then there’s a loud knock on the door. It’s the police. You ask whether it’s the goose, but they say no, it’s you. They tell you the goose was killed last night, and that they found your backpack near the body, covered in goose blood. You tell them no, that you were home asleep the whole time and bring them to your room to show them, but then they spot the goose feather. They ask where you got it, why you have it. You say you don’t know. They compare the feather to another one they have on them and find it’s a match. The cops arrest you and you’re marched to their car in your pajamas. You keep saying you’re innocent, that you didn’t kill the goose, but they don’t listen. You can’t believe this is happening. They shove you in the back seat and lock the door. Then, as the car pulls away, you see it: the goose. Standing on the roof of the house across the street. It lifts its wing and waves at you. You scream for the cops to turn around, that the goose is right there, but they just laugh as you get further and further away, the goose growing small until fading from view completely.