The Ghost Owl of Bel-Air

Dear Diana,

I heard her again, minutes before lunch break. I’m sure of it this time.

Nadia and I had been working on our ballads, the same ones from last week.

Mr. Montgomery was there too, one eye on us and the other on his Agatha Christie novel, you know how he is. That’s when I heard it.

Sounded distant at first, a faint “ki-ki-ki.”

It was enough to derail my train of thought and I was not pleased. You know how easily my mind diverts. I was finally breaking new ground on the theme of my poem—something about the power of belief…yes, I reckon that will work nicely for old Montgomery. I refuse to lose to Nadia in any more literary battles.

Anyway, so there I was, all focus and determination when I heard it again! It was too close and too real to chalk it up to my imagination.

So close that I distinctly heard the “ki-ki-ki” transform into her telltale “quick-quick-quick.”

I know what you’ll say. “It can’t be, Jen, it just can’t! You watched her die.”

But you know how I know that I wasn’t imagining it this time, Di? because Nadia heard her too!

She didn’t want to make a fuss, I could tell, but she glanced at me with a startled expression before furiously scribbling away in her notebook as if nothing had happened.

I don’t know her game yet, but she’s not fooling me that’s for sure.

I’m keeping an eye out for Nadia and an ear out for the next time I hear that voice. It will be soon, I can feel it. I’ll keep you abreast of any developments, of course.

I’m writing to you from our alcove in the family room, you know the one where we hid Mrs. Gruber’s cherry pies last summer? That was a fun afternoon.

I can hear mother speaking to Mr. Montgomery in the foyer. She will be looking for me now. I have to run.

I miss you.

Love,

Jen

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My dear Diana,

I know it’s been a week since our last correspondence but Mr. Montgomery has been drowning us in classwork.

But you’ve been on my mind, Di.

Nothing to report on Pickwick, I’m afraid. I know you said it was a bad idea to call her by that name, at least until we’re absolutely sure it’s her. But I know it is. I do! Weren’t you the one who said that if we believe in something with ALL our heart, it is bound to come true? Well, I believe. With ALL my heart.

You’ll see soon enough. So will Nadia.

She has been acting rather strange these days. It could be Pickwick, or maybe the ballad has finally taken a toll on her.

Mr. Montgomery says it isn’t a competition and we are only bettering ourselves with these exercises, so why do I feel like we are being pitted against one another? Makes it worse when it’s only the two of us.

Sometimes I wonder what a real school feels like with real classmates and real teachers. Not that Mr. Montgomery and Nadia aren’t real. I guess I mean more. Yes, I wish there were more people and things to occupy my thoughts…or distract me from them.

But with Pickwick back, perhaps it's best that there are fewer people in harm’s way. Good thing that Bel-Air Manor is a fortress. It will keep us safe.

I can’t warn them yet. They already treat me like I’m different. Mother, Mr. Montgomery, the staff, the lot of them!

I feel horrible whenever they treat me like I might snap any second. They think I don’t notice, but I do. Oh, I do! They’re always so careful around me, walking on eggshells, not speaking their true minds.

I wish they would.

Sometimes, they look terrified. They think they’re doing a good job at hiding it. But I’m not daft. I can sense it, you know.

I, on the other hand, am doing a great job of hiding my feelings. I don’t let them see, either.

Oh, it makes me so angry. Only you have ever treated me as an equal, Di. I feel so much better after talking to you in these letters.

But I cannot let them know that I’ve been writing you. Mr. Montgomery wouldn’t understand and it will only make mother upset. We don’t want that. I know you love her as I do.

They’ve been on guard ever since that horrible incident with Pickwick last summer. Now she’s back, and I dare not tell them. Not yet anyway. I need further proof. And I see that you do too.

There I go rambling. What was I talking about? Ah yes, Nadia!

I think she knows how well my ballad is turning out and I worry that she’s trying to sabotage it.

I’ve seen how she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. I saw her snooping around my desk the other day. Now, what business could she have with my things, except to see how far along I’ve come in my work..?

I’ll leave you now. More in my next letter.

I miss you.

Love,

Jen

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Dearest Diana,

I saw her today.

It’s Pickwick!!

Couldn’t believe my eyes, even though I didn't doubt it for a moment.

I was sitting by the great French windows on the west wall of the study and Nadia was on the desk next to mine. It was after lunch hour and we were feeling rather sated. Cook had made her special roast. Mr. Montgomery’s listless droning about next week’s elocution was sending me into a deeper lull when I heard that old, familiar hissing.

That was all it took for me to snap into attention. I saw Nadia’s eyes shift uneasily toward me and then out the window.

I looked up, too, and there she was.

Glorious, like the first time we lay eyes on her. She had just emerged from a hole in the weeping willow, not fifteen yards from where we sat.

Even before she spread her wings to reveal the distinct jagged mark on her underside and even when all I could see were the brown-gray feathers on her back, I already knew.

She swivelled her head to look me straight in the eye. I was transfixed by the hold of her gaze. So unusual, so familiar. Just like last time.

All was calm for a moment. She swooped out of sight for one volatile second.

Then like a spectre she emerged from the seemingly bottomless abyss of the haunted Bel-air grounds. She soared by the window, snowy plumage glistening in the dying of the light as that obsidian glare pierced out of her pale face to petrify everything in its wake. An terminable moment.

As she flew by, her magnetic eyes remained fixed on something past me. I followed her gaze to find Nadia staring back with wide, horror-struck eyes.

She’s been marked.

Pickwick, Bel-air’s ominous barn owl has returned. And no one knows! Except us, Di.

The townsfolk may have fooled themselves into believing that it’s all an old wives' tale, but we’ve seen the truth with our eyes, haven’t we?

One look into the eyes of the ghost owl of Bel-Air,

You have unlocked a fate neither desired nor fair;

Escaped with your life, and to what end?

Now, she takes away your dearest friend.

The prophecy is etched in my mind.

We know what happened to Harry after we saw the ghost owl last summer. She had marked him, too.

Nadia was too scared to speak or corroborate my story. It’s no point. They wouldn’t believe us anyway.

Belief is undeniable. If we believe, it will happen. I believed, and it’s all happening now.

I’m scared, Di. It’s like déjà vu. But I must be brave. I must find the strength to right this wrong.

The beautiful, wretched, graceful, ghastly thing is back.

Oh, how I wish you could have seen her as I did.

It is her, there is no doubt in my mind.

I’ve finished my ballad.

Nadia just excused herself from class. I should go after her.

I miss you.

Love,

Jen

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The detective cleared his throat as he finished reading the letters. He had barely slept a wink when he was urgently summoned to Bel-Air Manor after a frantic call from Mrs. Wilson, the lady of the house. Now here he was, standing in the study, in front of a very distraught Mrs. Wilson and a stricken, middle-aged sort who introduced himself as Arthur Montgomery.

Mr. Montgomery had been homeschooling Mrs. Wilson’s daughter, Jennifer, for two years. His niece, Nadia, who was near Jennifer in age, had come to live with him last summer and on Mrs. Wilson’s behest, the two girls were being schooled together.

They were reading their afternoon lessons when Nadia had excused herself to use the restroom. Jennifer had followed shortly after. They hadn’t returned since, and no one on the grounds had any inkling as to their whereabouts.

Upon scouring through the girls’ belongings, the baker, Mrs. Gruber, had found some letters in Jennifer’s poetry journal. They were written in her distinctive scrawl and addressed to Diana. None of them ever posted.

The detective found these last three letters particularly intriguing because they spoke of the barn owl. Everyone had heard of the legend, most of them had written it off as balderdash. It wasn’t the first time, either.

Last summer, Mrs. Gruber’s son, Harry had disappeared in a similar fashion, after Jennifer had reported sightings of the same owl. She had always had an overactive imagination, so no one paid her much heed. But the detective did not believe in coincidences.

Just as they were about to send out a search party, loud noises erupted from the foyer. They all rushed down to find the groundskeeper carrying Jennifer with mud smeared all over her face, hands, and clothes.

Her eyes were unfocused and she was unresponsive to anything happening around her. A serene smile on her lips. The detective’s gaze fell on her right fist curled tightly around a piece of paper. He loosened her grip to extract it, unfolded the parchment, and read:

The Power of Belief

a ballad by Jennifer Wilson

A lonely heart among joyless murmur,

Lifted in a beat when you came last summer;

Traipsed into my world without a care,

Friends like you were new and rare;

Three weeks spent in frolic and fun,

Those precious moments spent under the sun

Came to an end sooner than I wanted,

Life changed again in the manor so haunted;

With Harry around your affections changed course,

I liked him too so I felt no remorse;

Slowly it began drifting us apart,

How could I not take it to heart?

We heard stories of the ghost owl,

We were the only ones who believed;

Finally saw her on that fateful night,

I didn’t tell you then, but I felt relieved;

For she had marked Harry with her piercing gaze,

What happened next is a blurry haze;

You always said, “If you believe with all your heart, it will come true”

I believed from the start, so I saw it through;

The owl, we called her Pickwick, had instantly chosen me,

Who was I to defy her, I had to carry out the prophecy;

So I pushed him off the hill,

You swore you wouldn’t spill.

Now everything would be alright,

I’d taken control that dreadful night;

The owl was dead and so was he,

Now we would be happy and finally free!

But the unexpected happened, it made you sad,

Took away any ounce of friendship we’d had;

I see my folly now as you write in your book,

I will set you free, Di, and let you off the hook;

I have been writing you letters—it’s how I get my manna,

I only rearranged your name from Nadia to Diana;

We saw the owl again today, but now it won't be so scary,

You won’t be so alone now, I’ve reunited you with dear Harry.