The End of a Curse

Cruising down the street I have attracted the attention of the onlookers, one by one they would swing their heads around to catch a glimpse of my form as I hasten past them, bouquet in hand, to an appointed restaurant. The burgundy Valentino Couture jacket contrasting with my white roses presented the image of an illustrious man, the dream of numerous women. But alas, for tonight at least, my eyes were available only for the woman waiting in the fine dining establishment.

However hurriedly I was though, it still felt that my presence was not imposing enough. While roses are a surefire way to mellow the defences of the heart, they are not enough to lead a charge against this work of art. Consequently, as though a sign from above, an out of place shop called “Barns & Foul” enters my vision and I deign to enter and inspect its wares. At the entrance, a wrinkled old man stands at the counter with eyes half shut but a persistent smile on his face, perhaps reminiscing of his better days. The clutter in the shop certainly doesn’t provide the best opportunity to see the hidden jewels, but these dark inquisitive eyes of mine never miss a good deal. After carefully perusing the dust-covered antiques, a pendant with a black stone in the middle caught my eye.

“Onyx.” Softly, almost like a whisper, says the senior. Even without his remark though, I decided to buy the jewellery. As I approach the counter a sound beckons me from behind the table, but as I lean over, the firm hand of the elderly man stops me from any advances.

“Woah there young man, no need to be hasty, for you know that curiosity kills the cat” exclaimed sternly the man before reverting to his laidback routine.

“But satisfaction brought it back. What is it that you are hiding, seems ironic that it is not on display like the other things” responded I quick-wittedly.

Without responding, the old man brought up the taxidermized body of a barn owl. Its plumage was white with specks of brown on its wings and belly, and as I inspected its heart-shaped head, I fell victim to those abyssal orbs. At that moment it felt like a void surrounded me as I could not extricate myself from those oppressive eyes. My predicament was quickly solved by the second object shown by the unique individual on the other side of the worktop, a typewriter. Observing the bemused expression on my face the seller just shrugs and says “He likes to write in his spare time.” Not wanting to spend any more time in this uncomfortable environment I purchase the pendant and depart swiftly. But the nagging feeling that two pairs of eyes were watching my back persisted for a long time until I arrived in front of the restaurant.

In comparison to the billowy winds outside, the inside of this place was warmer and the air was still, a great change of pace that took me a little too long to adapt to. As I approach the hostess to tell her about the reservation, a hand pops out from the sea of tables signalling me to approach. After a quick tell of my table number and name, without turning my head, I proceed to the swinging arm as it starts waving faster the closer I get.

Upon my arrival, almost mechanically, I present my bouquet and a sweet smile on the side to this lady I wanted to meet for the whole week. After the required ‘ritual’ I descend on my chair to finally gaze on my partner for this evening. She wore a plaid dress with white lines over a black background and a denim jacket. A unique combination that would raise eyebrows, but on her and just her it looked perfect. The reason has to reside in her contrasting features. While her short stature was well defined where it matters my focus was on her face, specifically her eyes. Unlike the predatory owls' eyes I have seen some minutes ago, her eyes radiated kindness and an astute mind was hidden behind that smile, truly a Valkyrie.

“So, Monica, thank you very much for joining me for dinner.” said I to start today's escapade.

“It is my pleasure, Mr Edward. This is the least I can do to repay you for your help.” stated in kind my date.

“You can drop the honorifics, just Edward. I see, though I think anyone would have done the same in my shoes” replied I with equal vigour.

After a short chuckle from both sides, we proceed to discuss and present ourselves. Monica, 24 years old, moved to the area about a year ago and has recently joined the nurses' team in the only hospital in the city. Has lived her life up until now in a nearby town and is now looking for a grand escape towards city life. We met at a party two weeks ago hosted by our friend Eve, and have hit it off after I held her hair while the alcohol was coming out where it entered first of all. I can grasp how such an event left a deep impression on her as now her hair barely touches the shoulders and it appears that she has already prepared a glass of water nearby.

The clock keeps on ticking as we enjoy each other’s company and it feels like love is in the air. Getting to know her makes me happy, unprecedently so, something is intoxicating in that laugh, in that gait as she walks to the bathroom, in her sideways tilt of the head. Whether instinctive or trained, I am playing in her hand, but sometimes life has to have its less savoury moments.

After the main meal a question I always avoid gets put on the table, “So, what does your family do?”, states Monica unaware of my grip with this family of mine.

“My father is in elderly care, my mother has died in a car accident and sister is a disappeared ornithologist and then there is me a mildly successful newspaper editor” I replied, perhaps too abrupt, accidentally spoiling the mood of the table.

“Sorry, I become a bit touchy about my unique circumstances” I smile wryly hoping to rejuvenate the situation.

I am temporarily saved as the waiter brings the cheesecake and so I change the topic of the discussion quickly to some local politician or some policy that doesn’t affect us.

Despite the deliciousness of the dessert, I am still irked by the previous question and so decide to end the date curtly paying in full, tip included. Afterwards, Monica rushes after me and apologizes for bringing up a sensitive topic and as I look at her apologetic face, I can’t help but mellow. It’s dark outside but there is a light between the two of us and as I am about to finalise our date, she gets on her toes and kisses me on the lips. With eyes wide I observe how she skips around and leaves me standing, I must seem like a fool to others, however, I come out of my stupor and get in a nearby taxi.

After telling my address to the driver in just fifteen minutes I arrive in front of my residential block. As I come out of the cab after paying, the scene unfolding in front of me proceeds to grasp my heart. A black Ford Mustang 1969 is stained red in front as a deceased owl is found 10 meters in front of it. Perhaps this visage looked even more harrowing due to the lighting. In the dark of the night, and slowly cascading light of the street poles the car appeared practically invisible with only the sound of the engine betraying its position. On the other hand, the disfigured owl landed right under a light fixture, as if its tragedy has to be witnessed by all. Perhaps this shows only audience was intended to be me. The nearly invisible car, the accentuated corpse of the owl and my inaction speak of some higher meaning, but it eludes me as I run as fast as I can to my room. After a hot shower, I check that my house is safe and that the doors are closed and only then do I fall back into the confines of my bed, floating away from today's worst, towards tomorrows best.

Touch her heart and she'll talk to God about you.

Like a phantom she faded into the mist, gracefully strolling back to where she came from. The lonesomeness struck again as she returned to her modest single room apartment. She sat down to take a breath from the thrill of the evening, and to chat with Gabriel, Raphael, Michael or whatever pigeon the one above had sent that day. 'I haven't spoken my mother's mother tongue in many years', she said.

Monica's mother was ill and passed away when the latter was not yet cognizant of how one must love and be loved, give and take. She, therefore, loved by giving all that she had, slowly exhausting any desire to care for someone ever again. Love, for her, seemed to be a rather recondite matter. To love meant you stand before a canvas watching a scenery with the one you love being fine without you. In the absence of a mother figure and discussions, it had become virtually impossible for Monica to distinguish between a modern dalliance and a mature romance. She feared that love might come and she might miss it. Yet she believed there was something unearthly attractive about her date. 'Is it his handsome looks, intelligence, him being funny ha-ha, and funny peculiar at times, his innocent amusement at my kiss?', she asked God and did not receive an answer. 'Is it that he is motherless like me?', she whispered to herself.

Monica's mother loved to paint. A myriad of cloud paintings was stockpiled in the room. She looked at the painting for a fleeting moment and remembered how foolish people often asked her mother, 'Are all of these not merely the same clouds?'. Her mother explained, always tenderly, pointing at each painting at once, 'No, my dear. These are the clouds of miserable man; these, on the other hand, of a lonely man; these are the clouds of a fortunate man...'

Monica gazed into the sky from her dormer windows, wondering if she was watching the clouds of the one falling madly in love.

On a Saturday night, while watching the propagandist news for the cleanup of the slums, I receive a knock on my front door, quickly followed by the sharp sound of the doorbell. I rush to the entrance so as not to keep the mysterious interrupter waiting and after a quick undoing of the lock, I am met by a man half a head taller than me with features obfuscated by their clothing. Seconds pass and the silence is pierced by his thick voice, “Package for Edward Serrno.” and without waiting for even a second, the parcel is shoved into my arms. However, while my focus was targeted at this gift the person who gave it to me vanished from in front of me with the words “My condolences” floating in the wind. Not wanting to pay any additional attention to this incident I head to my living room where the same TV still spouts the same story. After grabbing a nearby knife and expertly twirling it around in my hands for a non-existent audience I slash the cardboard cube. Inside were just three objects: a letter, a book and a photo.

I recognized the formatting of the letter immediately. It was a pale-yellow telegram from the elderly care residence where my father lived. I suspected it from the start but following protocol, my father has died and as the only accessible relative I inherit his last possessions. My body ran cold, my heart stopped beating and my vision became darker. I had to fall on a nearby chair as my legs cannot support the grief in my chest. The erratic breathing accompanied by the irregular beating of my heart did not allow me to inhale in the air properly. The old man left us after the incident, perhaps the death of his wife, and by proxy, our mother, has incapacitated him to a life of being mute. He never came back for us and so we had to work twice as hard as others to become respected people, but now it is just me. “Damn you old man, you could have at least said goodbye” I mention silently to anyone willing to listen, as tears start cascading on the floor. As I pick up the photo from the box it shows a time and place I do not recognise. It looks to be a sunny day in some kind of forest, but for some reason, the heads of my parents are cut off and just the childish visages of me and my sister can be seen. Perhaps he resented himself for leaving us or perhaps he wanted a last glimpse at his last treasures on Earth. With numbed feelings, I proceed to the last item, a book that has seen better days. Its dark green cover besieged by different cuts sports the title “Leyla’s diary”. With an expression of disbelief, I open the last known remnant of my sister after her disappearance two years ago.

“xx/yy/zzzz

My team and I have reached the inner ring of the Greatmbra Forest. I may sound pedantic but the naming sense is the worst I have seen so far. Just call it the Dark Forest for god's sake, no need for an exaggerated name, sheesh…

We are looking for Tyto alba, the barn owl, it was spotted in this part of town but it piqued the teams’ interest as the owls should not be here this time of the season.

We will investigate the centre of the forest for any hints of the unusual sighting.

Leyla, out. “

“xx/yy/zzzz

Godless place.

Nothing but ruin awaited us there, hundreds of pairs of eyes embedded on white fluffy twitching pedestals. We had to run from that hive of monsters, they seemed way too smart, there was control over those beasts. We were surrounded from the sides by these owls and one by one they picked up everyone from the ground. I am uncertain of my colleague's fate, but they have possibly met their demise. I managed to run from the pack, however, those eyes are following me. Forgive me family if I implicate you in any of my troubles but it seems I have to escape the radar.

Crap, the screeching gets closer, I have to run but I will make sure you find out about my plight.

Bye, Leyla.”

“What is this?” I kept asking myself even after reading the journal at least thrice. Could Leyla’s actions lead to the unfortunate accidents of my family? Was that owl lying in the street during the night of the date just a vengeful recreation by this hive mind? “Sick taste.” I tell myself as I lose grip with reality. Who are these owls and what do they want from me to ransack my life to such an extent. After a long overdue thought session, I could not help but become regretful, perhaps nostalgic. These beasts have played me like a fiddle and have taken away my dearest people…

Monica, wait, what about her, has she been in any deep trouble? I need to meet her and discuss this predicament of mine and so I contact her as fast as I could. Perhaps surprised by the prospect of a date on such short notice Monica had trouble agreeing right away, feeling that something was off, but after hearing that the reason was a present not given on the first date she decided to meet this mysterious young man once again. They would meet the day after tomorrow, same time, same place.

As I jump on the sofa to read the diary once again for clues, a small business card falls from the stuck pages. “Barns & Foul” it reads and the memory of the old man springs in front of my eyes. “What does he have to do with it?” I ask myself as the card looks to be in much better shape than the diary, it must have been recently put here. Consequently, my next plan of action is formed, to visit this stupid shop and identify its connection with my sister. However, to do that I need to wake up the next day and so I head to bed…

Ah here I cross this door again, I hoped not to but alas, there is a reason. “Old man, cough up, what are is your relationship with the writer of this diary” I hastily interrogate the same elder that sold me the pendant a few days ago.

“Oh, that lass, I told her not to go when we first met but it seems she ignored my warnings and you, her relative I presume, come knocking at MY doorstep. How ironic, maybe we are linked by fate boy.” rebuts the man.

“Screw your destiny bastard, what happened to her, what is this deal with owls and their appearance in my life. Is it connected with the death of my parents as well, come on answer you sack of bones” said I making sure to unleash my potent anger on this frail individual.

“Hah, it is too late if you have reached this point. The curse, like poison, travels from person to person associated with you and I can feel you got heavily invested with someone recently, you reek of pheromones.” spoke the man eloquently.

“What do you mean, will they also target her and put her in danger?” asked I apprehensively.

“Of course, the owls never stop, the prey will always exist as long as they let it play around and it seems you have presented them the next target, I would take care of her if I was you.” comments sardonically the old man.

“How then do I stop this? What has my sister done to warrant such a curse to b…” but before I could ask I was quickly interrupted by the old man “She interrupted the ascension, such is the price she has to pay and perhaps you would be willing to pay it for her.”

I take a deep look at the elder and my imagination seems to be acting as his eyes become increasingly darker, his face longer and his smile slowly reaching his ears. I must have fallen in a trance as I want this all to end, the curse, the pain of loss, I do not wish to inflict suffering upon Monica. In my life of desolation, she is the only spark I have found, a boisterous little angel which holds only goodwill in those eyes. Oh those eyes, even as I am met by the despair of my actions I can only think of her, the only person who showed me that darkness could also be warm and loveable. In this slowed-down world, there is no me, it's just the choice between the passion of love and the tyranny of a curse. As such, If I am to be forever tortured, I would do it for love. No person perhaps would ever understand me, I do not expect to. The shadows look different aboveground, cave dwellers would never comprehend another form.

“I will do it, anything to save the one I love” replied I as fast as lightning.

The man looks satisfied and with the flick of his fingers, I open my eyes to a different situation, one I can hardly comprehend. The light hurts my eyes and the field of view looks different, it feels like my peripheral vision is twisted and that I can only focus in front of me. I turn my neck to the left and surprisingly it rotates to at least 180 degrees, unseen before in humans.

“So little one, I consider that an equivalent exchange has been made” I hear the old man mumbling.

He looks a little taller which is peculiar but as I turn my head, even more, I can see the answer to my questions. With that white plumage and deep dark eyes, that short stature and heart-shaped head, I have become an owl.

“Now stand straight little guy, we have a customer” says the old man and as if by magic my head reverts to its initial location and I freeze in place.

“Wow, this looks like a novelty in this part of the city.” exclaims the young woman entering the shop.

“I would like to buy a present for a special someone, what would you recommend?” continues the eager customer.

“Well, I have all these antiques here, not for sophisticated ladies like you, how about this pretty owl, it is quite fresh brought.” responds with a cunning smile the aged figure behind the counter.

“Hm, a unique present for sure but is it not costly?” asked the unknown woman.

“Not at all, I will even present a 50% discount, it even has some history with you…hahaha” curtly replies the businessman before proceeding to laugh uproariously.

The lady, satisfied by the price, acquires the taxidermized animal hoping to impress her special someone.

“Oh and take this as well, it is a surprise gift, waiting for the specific person to come and pick it up and it is meant to you.” says the old man before presenting a pendant with an onyx rock in the middle of it.

The young woman, perturbed by such acts of suspicious kindness thanks the seller for the gift and takes her leave abruptly. The old man tries to stop her disappearance but he falls back on his chair looking over the last object under the counter, the typewriter.

“Oh Monica, he likes to write in his spare time too” says the old man, uncharacteristically of him-to speak when no one is around.