The Guardian of Canton Falls

Alana knew something wasn't right before she fully struggled through the fog of sleep. The summer night was hot and sticky, a fact that needled into her brain. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling above her.

The ceiling fan had stopped it's lazy revolution sometime in the night. There was no hum of central air taking the edge of the heat off of the night air.

The power was out.

She slid from the bed. As she opened the window, the sounds of the world around her blotted out the wave of heat for just one second. Crickets called to each other with vibrant, tireless songs.

Somewhere in the little barn to the south of the house an owl called softly. There was none of this silent noise at home, where cars never stopped and shouting and shooting were the only other natural sounds.

Something furred jumped up into the window and Alana shrieked, throwing herself backwards. She hit the floor hard. A surly meow and she looked up into the yellow eyes of the orange barn cat she'd seen roaming the property.

"Cat. You scared the crap out of me."

Out in the barn, Owl hooted again. This time it didn't sound friendly, or playful. This was a cry of irritation. A loud "why the hell aren't you answering me" call that was starting to become more threat than treat.

The phone on the bedside table shrilled loudly, startling both her and Cat, who growled appropriately at the direction of the phone. Alana crossed the room and lifted the screaming receiver.

"Alana. It's Burt. Saw your lights go out from my back window . Happens here in the boondocks time to time. You ain't been bothered by no one this evening, have you ma'am?"

Alana wasn't sure which was stranger, the question or the number of words the old timer had spoken in one sentence.

"Burt, other than Cat and a very loud barn owl, this is the most people free place I've ever seen in my life. Should I be worried?"

The old timer cleared his throat. "No Miss."

"What about the power, Burt?"

"You're going to have to go out to the barn, Miss Alana. There's a generator out there. Remember, I showed it to you last week."

Alana couldn't remember. She remembered going into the barn with Burt. Remembered the generator and the little list of instructions pinned to the post next to it. But she couldn't remember leaving the barn.

Only the owl and a pair of bright, green eyes.

"Burt, why is the power out?"

"It just happens sometime, Miss. That generator will run all night and I'll come up in the morning to check the lines and breakers. You remember, take the shot gun behind the kitchen door in case of coyotes. And don't hurt the owl."

"I'll just wait for you, Burt. I don't mind the heat." Alana was lying. She was all ready dripping with sweat. But there was something inside, some deep subconscious warning that said the barn held deep promises for her future, and she wasn't ready for her future just yet.

"Miss, you're safer there than in that big city. You go on out to the barn and get that generator going. I'll check on you come morning."

The line went dead.

Owl called again, hurry child hurry. Alana dressed swiftly and rushed through the hall, not understanding but unable to resist it's desperate call. At the last second, she caught up the shot gun behind the kitchen door and fled the house to rush to the barn in the moonlight.

Inside the barn a single, battery operated lamp sat on the ground near the generator. Her eyes took in the empty space, the abandoned stalls. Tack hung from the walls and a mouse ran across a leather bridle.

"Who are you?"

Alana shrieked, spinning, nearly dropping the shotgun. Perched on the door of a stable, sat a white barn owl the size of a small child. It called again, "Who, Who, Who?" and Alana sighed shakily.

The massive bird cocked it's head at her and blinked two enormous green eyes slowly. There was a massive red stain along the front belly of the bird. She couldn't find an injury that would have caused so much blood. "Are you hurt?"

"Who?"

Alana blinked hard. Not an animal sound, a demand.

"Alana Cartwright." She responded, wondering how her students back home would feel if they knew their teacher was talking to a bird. "From New York."

"Who?"

"You want more? Demanding fucking bird." Alana turned away, marching over to the generator. "Fine. I was a teacher. I don't know if I still am." She glanced at the instructions on the post and started to prime the gas lines. "Kind of hard to want to teach when three of your students are dead." She flipped the choke switch and grabbed the pull start. "It was the guns. Guns in our faces and blood on their chests and I can't ever go back. Is that enough?"

She yanked the generator cord with all her rage and hate and fear and the machine choked once and roared to life. The lights in the ceiling of the barn flickered and glowed brightly.

That's when she saw it. A stained, battered, white fridge in the corner, the door hanging open. Something red splashed all over the ground in front of it.

Clutching the shot gun, Alana crept closer.

There were bags of blood in the fridge. One had been punctured, and dropped on the ground She lifted the almost empty bag to find two perfect fang holes in the plastic.

"Okay, that is a serious nope." She tossed the bag down and turned to run to the safety of the house.

A man stood behind her. Long white hair cascaded down his shoulders. Green eyes watched her warily.

Alana lifted the shotgun to point it at the man's heart.

"What the . . . ? Where did you come from?"

"I won't hurt you." The man held his hands up to her. He wore black denim pants, a black t-shirt stretched tightly over a muscled chest. Just above his abdomen was a rip in the shirt.. "I was injured. I came for . . . " He indicated the blood on the ground. "You're safe here. Allow me to finish what I started and I will leave again."

Alana took a single step forward. "I know you." She whispered. "I know your eyes." She glanced around the barn. "Where's Owl?"

The man took a step forward. "You know where the owl is, Alana Cartwright."

"It's not possible." She stepped towards him again. The shotgun was heavy.

"My name is Daniel Grant." He held his hands out to show he was unarmed. "I am the Guardian."

"The Guardian of what?"

Daniel shrugged. "The Farm. Canton Field." He glanced around the barn with genuine fondness. "This used to be my farm."

Alana blinked. A memory formed. A painting in a hallway of an ancestor, the man who had started the farm. Who had disappeared after leaving to hunt a wolf that was killing his herd.

"Daniel Grant. As in the Daniel Grant who came over from Europe to farm? Like a hundred years ago?" She shook her head. "You're a nutcase and you need to leave."

Daniel took a single step. And then cleared a hundred yards between them before she could blink. She squeezed her finger on the trigger.

Nothing.

He stood patiently before her, the gun in his hands. She watched in dismay as he tossed it towards the hay bales. "You don't need that. I will protect you."

She gritted her teeth as his hands reached for her and skirted him. "Are you injured?"

"I was. The blood helped." He lowered his hands. "Are you afraid?"

Alana snorted. "Terrified. First time I've been alone with a vampire. Helps that we're miles from anyone to hear me scream."

Those eyes watched her try to skirt him and he matched her movements. "Why would you be screaming?"

"Maybe because I don't plan to be vampire food without a fight?"

His laughter filled the barn. It was warm and genuine. His gaze traveled the length of her body, clad in good work jeans, a pink halter top and good boots.

"Are you sure? You'd make a fine meal for any man, vampire or not."

Alana blinked. "Did you just make a sex joke?" Her lips tightened. "Great. Hundreds of miles from the city in the middle of a cornfield and even the vampires want to make sex jokes."

His laugh again. It smoothed over her fear and the oddity of talking to a vampire in the middle of a barn at midnight on a Tuesday.

"My apologies, Alana. I've fed recently. I run . . . hot . . . after feeding." Daniel slowly extended one hand. "I ran into an emergency and was injured while trying to save a woman from a werewolf."

"Werewolf . . ." Alana put her hand to her head. "I'm going to bed. I'm hot and I want air conditioning."

"You're not afraid of me." A statement not a question.

"Look. A week ago a teenager with a gun walked into my school. He shot eight of my kids. Three died. Because I was scared." Rage boiled. "I don't care if you're a vampire or Charles Manson. I'm done being afraid." Tears rolled down her pale cheeks and her knees buckled. Strong arms caught her as she fell to her knees and the stranger joined her in the dirt. "I came here to die."

A single image. A woman sleeping in a bed. Bottles of pills scattered on a bedside table.

"What happened?"

"I don't know." Alana cried out, her despair washing over them both. "I just woke up."

"Think harder, Alana." His hands shook her a little. "Think."

The barn. Green eyes. She shook her head. "I don't want to remember."

Snarling. Teeth digging into her skin. Hot breath.

"There was a wolf." She sobbed. "The Owl and the Wolf fought. And then . . . " Memories. Flooding. A Guardian. Men and women from the town armed and fighting and Owls surrounding her and saving her. "The townspeople. And you. The woman you saved was me."

"I will never hurt you, Alana. You can stay here with me. No more guns or dying children. Stay with me. I'm so alone."

She struggled against him to stand and together they rose from the dirt.

"I'll think about it." She brushed off his hands and her jeans. "You better come inside. I suppose we have things to talk about."

"Are you inviting me inside?"

"I am inviting you in." She whispered softly. "On one condition."

One brow raised.

"I'm pretty sure there's a mouse in the kitchen and Cat is a lazy fuck."

"You just want to touch my feathers." Daniel's eyes were laughing.

"Turn, Owl boy."

Alana turned on her heel, her stride carrying her confidently towards the house. Behind her came a rustle of clothes and feathers and then a massive white owl soared over her head, pacing her every step. It landed on the railing of the stairs, turning it's head to check the land from every direction as she opened the front door.

"Well?" she called as she stepped across the threshold. "I don't have all night."

Winking once to the quiet world, the Guardian of Canton Fields opened it's wings and soared into the house. As the door closed, the songs of the night returned. A coyote howled in the distance and a small white owl called from the rafters of the barn.

"Who? Who? Who?"

And from the open window, a large orange cat lifted it's head and whispered back.

"Eternity."