The Night Screamer

Margarette tried to visit as often as she could but her job, even working from home two days a week, was too demanding. As she looked in the car mirror to check her makeup, she thought, “I got the promotion of a lifetime and now I have no time for life.” She was still in the driveway when her dad came out to meet her. He looked tired and she noticed that he seemed to be aging faster. She could tell by his walk which was slower, and he was more hunched over. The bags under his eyes would have to be checked in if he were flying anywhere.

Jacob was a proud man and he kept himself well-groomed. Even since retirement he got up every day, showered, shaved, and dressed like he had somewhere to go. Despite looking so tired, he was still a commanding figure. He showed loss of memory and confusion sometimes, but mostly he was pretty sharp.

They sat on the porch of what used to be an old farm, and he immediately started complaining about a barn owl that woke him up at night. “The damned thing screams over and over for about five minutes and then it just stops. Then I can’t get back to sleep. I keep telling your mother I want to shoot the bastard, but she won’t let me. You know how she loves animals, Margie. She would yell at me if I suggested a skunk should use deodorant.”

Margie sighed about his plight, and the skunk joke she’d heard a thousand times, but she really didn’t know what to say about the owl. She had never heard of owls screaming, only the common “who-who” sound. She suggested he get some earplugs for sleeping. She said she would have to leave soon so Jacob reminded her sternly, “Don’t leave without talking with your mother, she would be hurt.” Jacob knew she didn't want to, but he was a traditional family man and family is family, after all.

Margie entered the farmhouse and returned a few minutes later. She got in her car and drove away, back to her non-life. She didn’t think about her dad, her mom, or the owl for several days – way too busy for that. On the way home from work one evening, she heard about a new COVID variant on the car radio that was especially lethal for the elderly. Guilt and fear kicked in and the car seemed to turn itself around and head to the farmhouse. She had just tested negative, so she was not too worried about infecting him herself, but other people visited sometimes.

When she arrived, she found Jacob wandering around babbling something to himself. As she exited the car and got closer, she could hear him yelling, “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch, I DON’T CARE WHAT SHE SAYS.”

She took him by the arm and gently escorted him inside. As she walked up the sidewalk toward the front door, she noticed that the sign had been freshly painted. “The Farmhouse Care Center” was etched in white letters with a red background. “I’m so glad I was able to get him in here,” she thought, “the place looks a lot like our old house.”

Margie knew it was time to have the talk with Jacob again. “Dad,” she began. “You are in a nursing home and have been for three years. Mom died seven years ago.” “There is no barn owl,” she continued, “I checked with the staff.” They had told her that he sometimes woke himself up screaming, but she saw no need to tell him that because it would only embarrass him. She pleaded with him to try to get some sleep and suggested he start by taking a nap right then. Looking totally defeated, but calmer, he complied.

Margie sat there a while longer watching him sleep and feeling a little better about the situation. She was looking around his room and she spied a stack of books. “I wonder what he’s been reading,” she thought. She got up and browsed through the stack and she noticed a colorful picture book. “Owls of the World” was its title.

She took it back to her chair and started thumbing through it until she found the page with photos and information about barn owls. Listed at the bottom of the page were the following notes:

• Barn Owls don’t hoot the way most owls do; instead, they make a long, harsh scream.
• The screams are made mostly by the male, who often calls his mate repeatedly.
• A softer, more wavering version of this is called purring.
• Barn Owls MATE FOR LIFE…

Margie held the book in her lap, squeezing it so tightly that her nails made marks on the book sleeve. She wept silently for a long while before she could get up and leave. The next evening, she went to a gift shop and bought a small figurine. She took it to Oakwood Cemetery where her mother was buried. She had a difficult time finding the gravesite because she had only been there once. She stumbled several times and strained her ankle a little. She finally found what she thought was the right one, but it was so dark by then that she wasn’t sure. She reached for her cellphone to light the stone, but she had left it in the car. “This’ll do,” she whispered. She laid the porcelain figure on the headstone, and she spoke a gentle eulogy to her mom. “I’m still upset with you, but if dad loves you this much, I must try to forgive. I want you to know he cries for you every night.”

Oakwood is a small, quiet memorial park about a mile from town. The caretaker lives on the property and most nights he sleeps like a baby. She knew that because she recalled asking him what it was like to sleep in a cemetery. That night, Margie dreamed that the caretaker was awakened by a screaming sound. She was in the background watching it unfold as the female barn owl flew in to answer the call. The owl mates perched together and made a soft, purring sound as they huddled, necks stretched as far as they could to wrap around each other. They were finally together.

The next morning Margie received a text message from the Head Nurse at the Farm House. It simply read. “Call me please or stop in if you can. It’s important.” Margie got in her car and drove over immediately. She knew that bad news was probably waiting for her. She was met at the door by the Head Nurse and the Staff Psychiatrist. They asked her to come in and sit down because they needed to say something to her.

The nurse softly announced, “Margie, you must stop pretending that your mother is dead. It’s causing too much stress for your dad and her. If you don’t want to visit her, we understand, but we would like you to get some help before you visit again.”

Margie looked at them with a hint of surprise. She protested at first, “But, she’s at Oakwood, I just went there.”

“No, Margie, her sister was buried there seven years ago,” the psychiatrist chimed in. “You were very close to your aunt and your mother developed early onset Alzheimer’s at about the same time.”

“She stays here in the room next to your dad’s, Margie,” the nurse added.

Margie realized the weight of the moment and she sensed that her delusion was on the brink of shattering. She didn’t resist any further. She shook her head for a minute, then she looked at them earnestly and cried out, “I don’t know what to do!”

A month and several painfully productive therapy sessions later Margie was ready to visit the Farm House. When she arrived, her dad was waiting for her on the porch. He nodded and she nodded back. They walked hand in hand to her mother’s room. Evelyn was sitting on the bed staring at the floor. She turned to see Margie and she asked, “Who are you, you’re such a lovely young lady. Where did you get that t-shirt with the beautiful owl on it?”

Margie was reminded why she had harbored the delusion that her mother was dead. It was easier than this. She made herself hug Evelyn and identified herself. Her mother seemed to recognize her for a second, then faded away again. Maybe more visits will bring her back a little,” Margie thought. After a slight pause, the words streamed through her mind, “And me too!”

She looked at her parents and, for the first time in years, she smiled at them both.