Omen

I don’t know what drew me to the woods that night. I just had to leave.

I had come home after a completely normal day. I woke up, clocked into work at the mall, clocked out, and came back home. The routine of the day had run its course and never once ran off the rails. I returned to my apartment, sat my bag down on the kitchen counter where an old coffee stain refused to come off, slipped off my shoes, and collapsed onto the couch. I stared at the popcorned ceiling for a couple beats, then sat back up to turn on the TV.

That’s when my head started buzzing.

I never really subscribed to the idea that someone could be an “empath”, where they could sense something was inherently wrong. It sounded too similar to someone pretending to be a superhero so people could listen to them. In that moment though, I felt the closest to what I felt was described as being empathic.

Something was just wrong.

My heart began to race and sweat began to form under my arms. My eyes widened as they tried to take in every detail of the living room. What was wrong? What was off? Was something happening down the hall? Was somebody in my home?

My brain switched off at that point. As if I was sitting in a theater seat watching a movie, I watched myself stand up, put my shoes back on, grab my keys, and walk out the front door again. I walked down the hall and towards the stairs, even nodded at one of my neighbors as I passed. It was as if this had become part of my routine. I wake up, I clock into work, I clock out, I go back home, then immediately leave home after developing a sudden sense of paranoia. My feet were moving forward on their own, like they knew exactly where I should be going.

I pushed through the front doors of my apartment building and immediately went around it. I was headed to the woods that spread out behind the building.

Cedar trees stood tall and clumped together, but there was already a path worn in by dog walkers and joggers, and that’s where my feet decided to follow. It was 5pm in November, so the sun had already begun to set, but that didn’t seem to bother me. My breath formed in front of me like a cloud, and my hands buried themselves in my coat pockets to escape the cold. It was getting to the point of sunset where all the colors began to blend together. The dark blue almost-night sky was the same shade as the deep brown tree trunks, which were the same shade as the last crispy leaves attached to the branches. I couldn’t see for shit, but I just kept moving.

Finally, my brain switched back on and I stopped. What was I doing? I was in the middle of the woods during the last dregs of fall with the moon rising above me because I got an icky feeling?

Despite feeling ridiculous, I made no moves to turn back. I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to turn around and walk back to my building and back to my apartment. The thought of going back there sank to my stomach like a rock and I felt like I was going to be sick.

I don’t know how long I stood in that one spot, fighting an ongoing battle with myself. By the time I shook myself back to reality, the full moon was right above my head.

There was also a face in the branches.

My heart began to race again, but this time, I was frozen. I stared back at the pale, flat face that was perched on the branch merely a mere ten feet above me. It’s large, black eyes bore into me and I couldn’t look away. My eyes finally adjusted and I breathed a sigh of relief.

It was a barn owl.

I’d never seen one in person before. I always loved owls; my father always said they were bad luck, but my mother praised them for getting rid of the rats she would stumble across in our backyard. I thought they were beautiful.

“You scared me half to death,” I said to the owl. The bird did not respond.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I continued anyway. “‘What is this dummy doing on my terf when it’s this cold out? She has no feathers to keep her warm, and there’s no way she could hunt with that fleshy beak of hers.’ And first of all, ouch.” The owl still didn’t respond, but it didn’t look perturbed by the fact that a human being was speaking to it. It honestly looked used to it.

“Second of all, I would agree with you calling me a dummy. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I just got this…really bad feeling. Do you ever feel that?” I asked. “Probably. You are a bird of prey after all. Your senses are probably way more fine tuned than mine. Are you an empath?”

The owl still offered no response.

“You know, I had a dream pretty similar to this situation. Well, not so much a dream. It was more of a nightmare. It was terrifying.”

Nothing.

“I was in the woods, like these. I was walking and I looked up and saw a barn owl. At first, I was scared. My dad always told me it was bad luck to hear a barn owl’s call or to look it in the face. He said they brought death. I remember standing frozen, hoping the owl would never make a sound. We just stayed like that, looking at each other, until the owl finally opened its beak and said, “Who?””

The real barn owl above me adjusted, inching down the branch it was sat on.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking again; “That’s a stereotype, owls don’t actually say the word, ‘who’. Cut me some slack, it was a dream, okay?”

The real bird settled again, looking content with my answer.

“In the dream, I looked at the owl confused. It said, “Who?” again. This time, I responded, saying, “What do you mean?” It just started saying, “Who? Who? Who?” over and over and over again. Then, eventually, the owl said, “Who’s there?”

“I was suddenly back in my apartment. I heard a window shatter, and it sounded like it was coming from my bedroom. I was still frozen, like I was still recovering from the owl speaking English. “Who’s there?” I called out. A man stalked out of my bedroom. I didn’t recognize him, but he was huge. Six feet tall at least, and he definitely looked like he had a gym membership. He was dressed all in black and he was carrying a revolver. He made eye contact with me, raised his gun, and…”

I trailed off. I felt like the real owl above me would understand what happened next.

“I was at the point of the dream where I was too scared and I woke myself up. I couldn’t go back to sleep for the rest of the night. I walked around my place and made sure all my windows were locked. Although I guess it didn’t matter in my dream, since the lunatic broke a window instead. Still, I just didn’t feel safe that night. It’s been a while, but I still double check all my windows and my front door before I go to sleep. I have to sleep with white noise, or else I’ll just stay up and wait for a noise to break the silence. I’ve been…really tired lately,” I said, laughing under my breath a bit.

I looked back up at the barn owl above me and held eye contact with it. At least, it felt like I did. I didn’t know where its pupils were, the whole eyeball looked black. It felt like the owl was looking back at me though.

“I’m sorry for ranting to you, Owl,” I said after a few moments of silence. “I haven’t told anyone about that dream. I know it was just a dream, but it was scary, you know? I feel like-”

I was interrupted by a gunshot ringing through the air.

I covered my ears and dropped to my knees. I looked up and swung my head around, trying to find the source of the noise, albeit the fact that it was now pitch dark. The moon was the only light illuminating the forest I was in, a dim spotlight in vast, inky darkness.

I looked up, and my owl friend was gone.

Another gunshot pierced the night air.

My brain shut off again, and I was up and running.

I was running back to my apartment building. I don’t know how I did it, but I was leaping over the tree’s roots and the bramble that tried to get in my way. As I was getting closer to the edge of the forest, I was able to see neon alternating red and blue interrupt my vision. I burst through the trees, and sure enough, there were police cars in front of my apartment building.

I ran to the closest cop I could find and immediately heaved out, “What’s going on?”

“Ma’am, this is an active crime scene, you need to leave-”

“No, I live here, I need to know what’s going on.”

The cop sighed and scratched at his forehead, then sighed and said, “An intruder broke into the building on the second floor. Shot somebody, then shot himself. We’re still trying-”

“Second floor?” I interrupted, my breathing still heavy. “Which apartment?”

“According to reports, B17. The resident wasn’t home, so he moved to the one across the hall and…”

Everything the officer said turned to white noise. The buzzing was back, and I was frozen once more.

That was my apartment.

B17 was my apartment.

The intruder came to my apartment.

Just like my dream.

The officer was still speaking, but I didn’t care any more. I knew what he was saying already.

I looked up to the roof of the apartment building. Illuminated from above by the white light of the full moon and splashed with the red and blue police lights was my owl. I don’t know how I knew it was mine, but I just did.

It had a rat in its claws.

It looked at me, and this time I knew it was making eye contact. Then it spread out its wings and took off, prey still clutched tight. It melted into the night as if it was never there at all.