The Unseen Storm

It was a bitterly cold winter in Idaho. For the past weeks, the temperature had never once breached zero degrees Fahrenheit. The snow storm that had torn through three days prior had not improved the situation in the slightest. Heaps upon heaps of snow drifts covered the flat landscape, making it appear more vibrant and yet gloomy at the same time. Amongst one of these snow drifts, a lone barn could be seen.

The peak of the roof was barely visible through the onslaught of snow that blew through the night. One could assume there was a house somewhere nearby, maybe deep in the woods behind the slumbering barn. Or, perhaps, the house had been completely buried in snow as it's counterpart nearly had been.

This barn was where the man found himself. He'd stumbled in, vision blurry from alcohol, body numb from the raging storm. If he had been in his right mind- even for an hour or so the morning he left for his hike- it's possible he would have checked the weather first. Instead, he had groggily awoken, slightly ill from the previous night with his best friends; Gin and Green Tea. He then proceeded to gulp down a morning double shot of Gin, chased her down with orange juice, and set about preparing for his travel.

His journey was only supposed to be a day trip. He'd hike the fields for a while, maybe even venture onto a woodland path. He had not, however, expected to find himself caught in a blizzard. The snow grew too deep too fast, and he cursed himself for not properly attaching his snow shoes as they were lost to the worsening weather. So the man trudged on, fumbling blindly through the winter attack, until he came upon the barn.

He burst through the door, fluffy flakes of snow giving him the appearance of a yeti. Bales of hay lined the walls and strewn the floor. Thirty or so pigs were huddled together in a corner, grappling for warmth. At this point, the man was struggling for warmth as well as he slammed the door clumsily behind him with a grunt of effort.

With the door closed, the man's world was plunged into near pitch black. Huffing and puffing from his trek through the snow, he plopped down on the nearest pile of hay, taking the crushed pack of cigarettes from his right pocket with shivering hands. He quickly procured his lighter from his left pocket, the fire illuminating the room briefly as he lit a cigarette.

"You want a drag?" he remarked gruffly to a pig who had wandered into his vicinity. The pig, of course, did not reply with words. It merely turned it's snout up in the air and waddled back to it's group of friends.

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pig's reaction, before taking his phone out of his pants pocket. "No service. Of course there would be no service when I need it," he muttered, tossing his phone off to the side angrily.

The wind howled outside the barn, sounding like a shrieking banshee heralding the man's own death. The grievous storm wasn't letting up anytime soon, that much was abundantly clear despite the darkness of the barn. So the man settled in for the night, opening his hiking pack in search of a snack. However, it wasn't food the man found in the pack, or really what he was seeking at all. Instead he found his good friend Gin, though he had failed to pack her mate Green Tea.

He gulped the liquid down greedily. Some would say too much liquid found it's way down his throat and into his stomach. Regardless of the man's Olympic drinking skills, without any food in his stomach, he found himself to be far more intoxicated than he had originally planned. Intoxication had found it's way into his daily life slowly but surely, eating up every moment, making him think of nothing but the next drink. Now, the man was sure he needed his friend Gin to survive. Without her, he would go back to silent nights, laying awake in bed for hours and grappling with his own mind. The man was brave, but not brave enough.

Hence the man took one last deep swig before placing the glass bottle tenderly into the hay beside his head, closing his eyes and drifting off to a thoughtless, dreamless sleep.

That is, until he was awoken by a static-like sound above him.

Bolting upright at the sound, the man searched frantically through the darkness as if it would open up and reveal the source of the staticky echo. Of course, the man had no such luck. Instead, the static grew to a slightly piercing shrieking sound. It was guttural, and the man could feel it in his bones. The banshee-like wind whipping around his humble shelter collided with the warbling shriek, creating a horrifying cacophony of noises.

"What are you?" yelled the man into the night, "Come out so I can see you!"

Even if the creator of the sound had chosen to reveal itself, there was no way the man could have seen it in the lightless room. The shrieking ceased, and all that was left was the sound of the wind.

Taking a deep breath, the man picked up his friend Gin from her place by his side. He took another deep swig from the bottle, convincing himself that he had dreamt the sound in his inebriated state.

"Just the wind. Nothin' more," He slurred, returning the bottle to it's rightful place.

He was just settling back down to thoughtless bliss when a pig squealed, and a rodent squeaked. Now, the man was afraid. This time, it wasn't from the thoughts in his head that had haunted him since he was fifteen, or the guilt he felt at the mention of one girl's name. Instead, the fear was visceral. It was somewhere in the darkness, startling the pigs.

The man fumbled blindly for his lighter, hands shaking not from cold, but from fear. Feeling the cold metal of the lighter in his hand, it came ablaze, casting a faint light throughout the barn. There in the broken darkness, two glowing eyes stared at him from six feet away. The creature was eye level with the man, and he found himself screaming, dropping the lighter in his scramble to get away from the unidentified beast. The hay where the lighter had landed caught fire, and he was able to clearly see the creature.

It was about 14 inches long, with long legs. Pale feathers covered the creature, with brown feathers scattered throughout and lining it's face. Two big black eyes stared the man down as it spread it's wings and took flight to the rafters of the barn. Then the man realized his own foolishness. It was nothing more than a common barn owl.

Sighing with relief, the man quickly realized the fire was a bigger problem than the medium-sized owl, and cursed as he scrambled to put the fire out. With a few hard stomps of his still-wet boots, the fire extinguished with a hiss.

The man chuckled then, and that chuckle turned into a booming laugh as he flopped back down onto his bed of hay. He groped around for his friend Gin, taking another few deep gulps.

"Just a stupid owl," he slurred, "Tryin' to scare me, no way, not me. Got my liquid courage here, ain't nothin' scary now."

The barn was silent in response to the man's brash statement, save for the lamenting of the banshee-like wind outside. The man began to feel the cold of the night then, and his grin melted away slowly. It wasn't cold from the raging blizzard anymore; instead, he was cold from the unbelievable darkness that seeped through his eyes and into his veins. The dark reached down his throat and into his guts, making his stomach shiver and his brain ache.

For the first time in his life, the man realized how truly alone he was. He had family, sure, and people he called his friends. He had even had a shot at a life, at settling down- multiple times, in fact- but each time he had run from the feelings and drowned them in liquor. He had pretended for years that everything was fine, the alcohol was his friend, helping him through his darkest hours by numbing his pain. Now, however, the man realized this wasn't so.

The alcohol wasn't his friend. It wasn't helping him by numbing the pain, it was numbing him entirely. It wasn't shielding him from the unseen storm that raged in his mind. The alcohol was making the storm bigger- making the man mean and hurtful to his core. He had stopped caring about living, about love, friends, family...it all came second to getting his next drink. He had burned bridges by drowning his emotions in a sea of alcohol.

For the first time in years, the man's tears began to flow. They came slowly at first, before gradually evolving into a gut-wrenching sob. The man cried and cried, allowing his mind to wander through all of his heartaches and griefs. His mistakes and losses were fresh in his mind as if they had happened yesterday. Above all, the girl's name echoed through his mind like the rumble of the train off the subway walls; Hope...Hope...Hope.

Wave after wave of grief and pain ripped through the man's consciousness as he stared into the dark and the dark stared back. The man found himself yearning for comfort, longing for the gentle touch of another. Anything besides the piercing sound of the wind battering the barn.

The shrill call of the barn owl from somewhere in the darkness answered his unspoken pleas, but it was not the answer the man wanted. The owl's call moved and joined with the wind, making the girl's name echo louder in his ears; Hope...Hope...Hope.

He hurled his friend Gin into the darkness with a cry of anguish, cursing the barn owl for worsening his mourning. The glass bottle shattered somewhere in the abyss of night, causing the pigs to squeal and scatter through the barn.

Slowly but surely, the man's sobs ebbed away to pitiful sniffles. Once more, the man drew the crumpled cigarette box from his pocket and flipped open his lighter. As he went to light a cigarette he paused, noticing the medium- sized figure perched on the hay bale to his left.

The owl sat not even a foot away from him. It's black eyes blinked slowly at him, seeming to gaze right into his soul. It opened it's beak slightly and the owl's static-like song filled the dark air, momentarily dispersing the unnerving howl of the winter weather. The man returned the owl's dark gaze with unblinking eyes, wishing vaguely to himself that he could understand the owl's language.

As the two vastly different creature's sat in the howling of the storm, the man found his sorrows slowly melting away. He forgave himself for the mistakes he had made. He forgave himself for burning his bridges. He even found himself forgiving those who had hurt him so deeply at such a young age. Above all else, he forgave his loss of Hope.

The man didn't remember falling asleep, or know for how long he slept. All he knew was when he awoke, it was to a soft light streaking across the hay strewn floor where he lay. His head didn't hurt, his eyes were not heavy. The banshee was no longer shrieking.

He stood and looked around the barn. He scanned the bails of hay, and the rafters. Much to the man's bewilderment, the barn owl was nowhere to be found. He did not dwell on this fact, but instead said a silent thanks to the owl for keeping him company through the harrowing night. He picked up his much lighter backpack and bid farewell to the pigs, before exiting the barn with a newfound sense of peace.

The winter sun danced on the snow and warmed his face. Icicles dripped from the peak of the barn, glistening in the sunlight. The footprints of a small group of deer could be seen, stretching from the edge of the barn out into the snow covered landscape.

The man's journey home would take a long time, but he was going to experience every mile of it with a quiet mind and acceptance.