It had been a relatively quiet night and the reception was completely empty. But as the rain lashed the police station’s windows, Desk Sergeant William Rockwood knew it was only a matter of time before the storm brought him another visitor. Bill heard the bell above the door, smelt the all too familiar odour of the streets, and pushed his newspaper to one side,

"Can I help you" he sighed.

The tramp was glued to the door, peering through the glass at the wet world beyond. He was old, no younger than seventy in Bill’s estimation, and though he was tall and broad shouldered, he was weak and malnourished. Time had made a wrinkled example of his face, and his beard was almost completely white, save for a small streak of nicotine yellow on his upper lip. His long woollen coat and corduroy trousers were typically worn and caked with greenish-grey patches of grime. But in stark contrast, his black leather boots were surprisingly clean and shiny; no doubt, deduced Bill, an echo from time spent in the armed forces,

"Can I help you?" repeated Bill, a little louder this time.

The old man jumped, put his hand to his chest, and turned to face the counter,

"Er...er yes, yes of course," he shivered, "It's just that, well, I... I.. No...."

"Yes?" said Bill.

"Well, I...I was just wandering if I could wait in here for a while....ju-ju...just until the storm dies down."

"I’m afraid not, sir," said Bill, "In the event of an emergency we need to keep the reception as clear as possible."

The tramp looked down at the small puddle spreading from his boots across the linoleum,

"Yes," he said, "Quite right... I... it’s just that... Well, I was... Well, couldn’t I stay just a little while?"

"Sorry sir," said Bill, "Regulations."

The tramp nodded solemnly, his hand heavy on the doorknob, his breath steaming the glass. Oh go on, thought Bill, spin me a yarn; you’re not going to give up that easily are you?

"It’s just that," started the tramp, "...I... No..."

"Yes?" smiled Bill.

"Well..." mumbled the old man, "...Oh, who’d believe an old soldier anyway..."

Right again Billy-boy, thought Bill; the old magic was still there,

"You can trust me," he smiled, "I’m a policeman."

The tramp scratched his head, as if the thought hadn’t entered it before, and started pacing the room, mumbling under his breath,

"...Trust.... hmmm.... I suppose...But then it’s never that simple, is it?"

"What isn’t?" smiled Bill.

"No," said the tramp, holding up a callused palm, "It’s safer you don't know."

"Don’t worry about me" said Bill, "If you’re in danger, it’s my duty to help."

"Yes,...Yes, I suppose. But if anything happened to you, I don’t think I could live with myself... Besides, you wouldn’t believe me anyway......"

The tramp shrugged his bony shoulders and turned toward the door. This is it, thought Bill, he’s relying on me to take the bait... OK, he thought, all right you sly old dog, let’s play your game; let’s see what you've got,

"Why don’t you sit down and tell me."

The old man let go of the door handle and turned to look at Bill,

"You know, I’ve already risked your life coming here?"

The concern in his face was convincing; no doubt, thought Bill, from years of practice blagging on the street. Even so, his performance was first-rate and Bill was in need of entertainment,

"Believe me," smiled Bill, "In my many years on the force, I’ve come across things your average pervert couldn’t even imagine. I’m used to danger, it’s what I’m paid for."

The tramp’s marbled eyes scanned the floor as if consulting an invisible rulebook, a single, gnarled, brown tooth biting into his lower lip. Twice he grabbed the doorknob, and twice he decided against it.

"How about I make us a nice, hot cup of tea," said Bill, finally, "And once you’ve warmed up, you can tell me all about it."

"Yes," said the old man, "Warm up.... Thank you. You’re very kind."

He sat down on one of the plastic chairs while Bill found some polystyrene cups and started brewing a fresh pot of tea,

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Please" nodded the tramp.

"You’re not from around here are you?"

"Er... No, no I’m not. How did you know?"

"It's all right," smiled Bill, "I know most of the older people on the streets and I’ve never seen you before. I figured you hadn’t been in the city for long."

"Oh right.... Yeah, I arrived a few weeks ago. I’ve been staying in a wood on the edge of town, in some kid’s make-shift den of all things."

"Really?" smiled Bill, "Whereabouts?"

Bill was about to repeat the question when he looked up and saw the tramp standing at the counter.

"There you go," said Bill, handing him his cup.

"Why are you so interested in where I’m staying?" glared the tramp.

"No reason..." lied Bill, "Just curious that’s all."

The tramp took a sip of tea and sat down. Either he’s a little paranoid, thought Bill, or he’s doing this for effect,

"So tell me," asked Bill, "Just what is it that you’re so afraid of?"

"Afraid?!" spat the tramp, spraying out a cloud of tea, "Pah! I’m not afraid. I’m already done for, so what’s the point in being afraid?"

Bill could see this wasn’t going to be easy,

"Well you didn't come in here just to avoid the storm did you?"

"Er, no,..." said the tramp.

"So why did you come here?"

"I...well...Because of Harry..."

The tramp’s voice croaked as he said the name, and Bill knew that if nothing else in the tramp’s story was real, at the very least ‘Harry’ was more than just a convenient narrative ploy. The tramp reached inside his coat and pulled out a battered biscuit-tin.

"Is Harry in there?" asked Bill, immediately regretting he’d done so as a look of contempt flashed across the old man’s face,

"No," sneered the tramp, "This isn’t Harry... Might as well be, for what it’s worth..."

Bill wasn’t good at ‘the mushy stuff’ and, realising the old buzzard was gaining an advantage, he began to worry about the very real possibility of another surprise visit from the Super.

"It’s not much," said the tramp, "But I promised I’d give his share to his family. He once had a wife and kid somewhere in the city. He never said much more about them, but I was hoping you might find them."

"Oh really?" smiled Bill, glancing at his watch, "That’s nice of you."

"Well," said the tramp, sitting back down, "It’s the least I could do.... terrible way for a man to die..."

Bill took a deep breath,

"And how exactly did Harry die?"

"They tore him to shreds."

"What?"

"I said they tore him to shreds."

"And you saw this?"

"That’s why I'm in this mess. I mean, if he’d listened to me, none of this would have happened. I told him; I said ‘you‘re always safer in numbers’. I begged him not to go off on his own. But no, not Harry; stupid, stubborn fool..."

The tramp’s jaw began to quiver,

"And you know what he called me?" he said.

"No...", said Bill, "What did he call you?"

"Mad, that’s what. Me? Mad?! Me: Mr Careful; the one who’s kept us alive all these years years! And I’m the crazy one? Can you believe it?"

Maybe, thought Bill, just maybe... The old man stood up and paced the room,

"I’d been watching them, see? I’d seen what was happening. They’ve been knocking us off like flies for years now, one at a time. Harry should have known better. I warned him, I warned everybody, but nobody believed me. But I don’t care what they say; I saw it with my own eyes!"

Should have never given him that cup of tea, thought Bill, it was making him jumpy.

"Bastards!" spat the tramp, "They’ve taken my best friend! My only real friend!..."

"All right," said Bill, "All right, calm down. One thing at a time. OK? Right... Now, what exactly happened to Harry?"

The tramp marched over to the door and peered through the glass,

"I told you!" he said, his nose wrinkling with contempt at the outside world, "They tore him apart... BASTARDS! THEY SHOULD ALL BE SHOT! HANGING AROUNG LIKE THEY OWN THE PLACE!"

Bill lifted up the counter and stepped through to the waiting area. The old man was shouting so loud he was likely attract someone from upstairs,

"All right, all right..." said Bill, "...calm down..."

He put his hand on the old man's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly,

"You’re not doing anybody any favours working yourself into a frenzy-"

The old man span around to face him, his beard glistening with tea and saliva, his eyes red and raging like two small volcanoes,

"I AM NOT MAD!"

Bill took a step back, and after a quick fumble with his belt, realised he had left his handcuffs behind the counter,

"I didn’t say you were..."

"No-one understands!" crowed the tramp, turning back to face the window.

"Try me..." said Bill

"But then they’ll come after you as well!"

"It’s all right, I’m prepared to take the risk... Now, are you going to sit down and tell me about this calmly, or am I going to have to arrest you....?"

The old man breathed deeply, and took a moment to compose himself,

"Yes," he said, "You’re right. I... I’m sorry. I apologise."

Bill looked past him to the spit-lacquered door: it had stopped raining.

"And you don’t think I'm crazy?" asked the tramp.

"Nnnooo..." said Bill.

"Promise?"

"Promise..." lied Bill, "So, erm... Why don’t you sit back down and tell me exactly what happened, eh?"

The tramp nodded and sat down while Bill went back behind the counter and found the handcuffs. He re-attached them to his belt and climbed back onto his stool as the old man started his tale,

"Well it was night-time, see? We were staying in a huge abandoned warehouse, and well, I mean, I knew I was all right where I was ‘cause they don’t like fires much... But he was only supposed to have been gone five minutes."

"Where was he?" asked Bill.

"Round the corner, getting something from the tin."

"Didn’t you carry it with you?"

"Never, in case someone robbed us. We used to put all kinds of things in there. You know, stuff we found: money, letters, old coins, medals, anything. We’d stash it and pick it up whenever we needed something."

"Oh right, I see."

"Anyway," said the tramp, "I knew where he’d stashed it and I’d warned him that they probably knew as well, the scum... I tell you, they never miss a trick. They were probably waiting for him, and that’s exactly what I should have done. But after a while I started to get worried, and then I heard something, someone shouting... I suppose it must have been my army training, but I don’t know what came over me: I just stood up, quick as you like, and ran as fast as I could to help. God knows why: if I’d have had any sense I would’ve stayed put... But anyway, I followed the screams and quickly realised it was Harry’s voice, so I ran and I ran till my lungs started to burn. Then, suddenly, everything went quiet and I couldn’t hear him no more. I was standing at the end of the alley where we’d stashed the tin, and I thought, ‘maybe he’s hiding’. Then, from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw one of them lurking on a roof. And well, where there’s one, there’s always sure to be more close by. So, I started running down the alley, screaming Harry’s name and flapping my arms like a big mad bird or something; which was stupid, I know, but I thought it might scare them away. So I ran and ran and screamed and screamed, and I turned the corner and... and... And that was when I saw..."

The old man covered his face with his hands and burst into tears. He said something, but the words were muffled and Bill couldn’t quite hear it,

"What was that?" said Bill, "Did you say ‘Gremlins’...?"

Bill lifted up the counter and went and crouched down next to the blubbering old tramp.

"Say that again," said Bill, "I didn’t hear you."

"...were all on top of him..." mumbled the tramp, "... pulling and tearing his flesh.... I... I threw up then and there...."

"Never mind that now," said Bill, "Look at me! Tell me what happened?"

The old man lifted his head, a spittle stalactite hanging from his top lip,

"I managed to scare them off," he cried, "But it was too late. They’d already killed him..."

"Who did?" said Bill, "Who killed Harry?"

"...One of the bastards even shat on him as it flew off..."

Hang on a minute, thought Bill,

"Did you say, flew off?!"

The tramp leapt to his feet, knocking Bill off balance.

"YES!" he screamed, "That’s what I said. THEY FLEW OFF!"

"But I don’t understand..." said Bill, nervously reaching for the handcuffs.

"The pigeons!" crowed the old man, "It was the pigeons!"

"What?"

"The pigeons! They were eating him alive!"

"Oh come on..."

"They’ve been at it for years!"

"Who? The pigeons"

"YES!" screamed the tramp,"THE FUCKING PIGEONS!"

Bill took a step back and held up the handcuffs for the tramp to see. The old man paused and glanced at the door and the wet street beyond,

"It’s stopped raining."

"Yes..." said Bill.

"I should be going.."

"I think so."

The old man nodded, walked over to the door, then paused and turned to face Bill,

"Be careful," he said, "I’ve been in here too long. They’ll be on to you."

And with that, he was gone. Bill shook his head and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the old guy was just plain crazy, or maybe he’d just successfully to escape the rain for a while. One thing was for sure: Bill was glad to see the back of him.

Bill looked at the floor and groaned: there was water, spit and sticky tea everywhere; he was going to have to clean it before someone came in and slipped and broke their neck. He went back behind the counter, found the mop, and returned to the ‘crime scene’. Twenty years in the force and it’s come to this, he thought. He should have made ‘Superintendent’ by now. His superiors said that he lacked aggression, that he was too sensitive and didn’t take enough risks. Oh well, sighed Bill, what do they know; they wouldn’t know a criminal if one came up and robbed them...

"Eh? Hang on... What’s this?"

The tramp had forgotten his tin. Bill bent down and picked it up. It was tightly bound with a dozen or so rubber-bands, and it felt pretty heavy. Shame, thought Bill, the old fella’s whole life is probably in here; maybe I shouldn’t have let him leave like that. After all, you can’t blame an old man for just trying to keep safe and dry...

Bill glanced around the empty reception. It was quiet, and it would only take a couple of minutes... The old goat couldn’t have gotten that far...

Outside, morning was breaking and the harsh light of day ricocheted off the wet tarmac into Bill’s tired eyes. He squinted and looked up and down the street. It was empty, not a vehicle or pedestrian in sight. He walked into the middle of the road and scanned the street some more. But other than a large group of pigeons near the bus stop, there were no other signs of life.

"Pigeons!" chuckled Bill, shaking his head, "Pigeons! I’ve heard it all now!"

He turned and started walking back to the station, watching the birds absentmindedly as they fought each other for scraps. There was a fair number of them, at least thirty, a plethora of grey, brown, and oily purple and green. There were also a couple of large, black ravens, he noted, towards the far edge of the flock; two shiny, black...

Bill cupped a hand to his mouth to stem the flow of bile,

"Oh... my... God..." he gagged, "Oh please God,...No....."