ooo ooo

Sarah held the porcelain cup to her lips, and sipped the rose tea slowly, while staring through the shear-laced curtains. On a clear day, she could see well-passed the overgrown oak tree with its swaying branches to the old barn built by her grandpa’s bare hands eons ago. The reiterated family tall tale told of how ol’ Bud drew up the plans to the hand-cut lumber to the wagon haul down a mountain (there were none around) to hand-carried planks on his back to molding his own nails.

No one ever told the real truth, other than what lived inside or why it remained on the property long after generations, and every terrible thunderstorm that should have blown it over years ago.

And yet it stood.

Until, her brother William got a wild hair idea to knock it over. The replacement, a fire pit. Why? Long shrug, because he owned the farm now and a small inheritance went to his head like all things did. That was William. Bless his little heart, at least that’s what Mom always said.

Painted bright white, the old barn was now crackled brown from turbulent winds. Although, Papa said he would repaint it, nothing transpired, time got the best of everyone. But, one tall-tale that remained true is that the old barn housed a historic creative deep in the eaves only seen in the late fall.

Some said, it appeared on a dare to keep from taking another lick of a tootsie roll pop. Was it one or two? Everyone knew that the chocolate nougat was far more appetizing then the candy-coated shell. Sarah agreed it was definitely one lick, considering, most roll pops were eaten, during hollow’s eve, it seemed. At least, that’s when she saw them in the store: orange and brown wrappers.

Then there was the time, something flew overhead, while Sarah was wrangling in a group of full-range chickens. The wingspan was from the tip of the barn back to the house, shadowing the entire yard. Sarah ran at least that what she told her old body to do in a slow motion movement, because she lost one shoe. It was hard to determine who ran faster her or the chickens.

William teasingly convinced her it was an albatross or a hawk or even a buzzard. For months, Sarah refused to go anywhere near the barn. She collected the chickens from the porch, bating them with chicken feed.

Rona, the next door neighbor, collected owls from all of her travels. Actually, her father, Tim began her collection, when she was a child. A traveling salesman, he grabbed trinkets from town-to-town, preferally not a spoon, shirt, sea shell turtle or hat, specific instructions from his wife. So owls it was. When it came to everyone getting tatoos for their 18th-birthdays, she was the only one that didn’t. She claimed that she couldn’t decide on the colors, we all knew however that her Papa said ‘no.’

Sarah's would’ve too, if she'd mentioned it, but she didn't until her 30s, and by then he didn't care much as long as she was happy. A small tear slid down her face as she searched for Papa to come out of old barn. She lowered the cup, placing it on the table. How she wished for one last hug.

A breeze rustled through the branches with a faint cry in the distance.

“He’s back,” she rushed to the window, pushed back the curtains, looking upward. "William can you hear him. William!"

William kicked an old wooden box in the barn. It was horrible the amount of junk accumulated by Papa, he never threw anything away. Something rustled in the eaves, but he ignored it.

"Probably the wind," he grunted, tossing a handful of boards into a corner. "In two days, this will all be history. Fire pit, lounge chairs, here I come. Just stuff and junk. What's that up there?"

Squinting, he looked upward, focusing on a pile of feathers. "Damn birds built a nest like that's gonna stop my pit. Find a new home, birds," he shouted, poking at the mound of feathers.

Until it moved, and the top of the mound spun around. Gold-orange piercing eyes stared back at him. William dropped the board, and bolted out of the barn with the old barn owl swooping overheard.

Bang. He hit the door, panting.

"What happened to you?"

"There is something in that barn," he huffed, pointing, collasping at the table. He gulped tea from Sarah's cup.

"That's what I said earlier, I told you to come and see."

"I saw it. It came after me."

Sarah laughed aloud, holding her stomach. "It almost got you, huh?" She laughed twice as much. "Now do you believe me, albatross."

William nodded, thinking. "We'll keep the barn, who needs a fire pit, anyway."

Sarah rubbed his shoulder, "thank you."

Who licked a lollipop?

Who glided above our heads?

Who was considered a tatoo?

Not me, not you

But, who?

ooo ooo