The Barn Owl

I was 15 years old when I saw the barn owl for the first time. My pa had sent me down to the barn. When I went in, there he was. The barn owl.

I could hear Pa’s footsteps behind me. He walked up beside me, put his calloused hands on my shoulders in a reassuring way that only he could, and said “Hey Bill, check out that barn owl.” I gulped. “I see it Pa. I see it,” I answered back.

The next day Pa and I were watching Iron Chef on the big TV out back and enjoying some nice cold Hard Mike’s. During the commercial break, Pa said those words to me I hoped he’d never say. “Hey son,” said Pa, “go to that them barn and get your old man another pack of Mike’s Hard.”

I broke out into a cold sweat. My limbs felt numb. My whole world went black. “Pa... won’t the barn owl be there?” I asked with a shake in my voice. “Yeah,” said Pa casually, “I named her Jennifer. She keeps the mice out of the Mike’s Hard. Now go get me a Mike’s Hard.”

I couldn’t even feel my body as I walked to the barn. I felt like a shell of the man I once was, haunted by the fear of the barn owl. When I opened the barn door, my heart sank. I knew I’d see it there, staring at me.

But when I opened the door, nothing. The barn owl was gone. Had it been my imagination? No... Pa had named it Jennifer. He had seen it too. Something was wrong.

Then I heard it. A sickly popping sound, and then a hard sigh like air being let out of a Mike’s Hard. My head quickly whipped to my left. It was the barn owl, popping open a Mike’s Hard.

“Hey,” said the barn owl, “I’m Jennifer. Bobby said it was cool if I had a Mike’s Hard from time to time.” I was frozen in place. I couldn’t approach the Mike’s Hard (lemonade) with the barn owl standing so close to it. It was dangerous.

I heard a shuffling sound behind me and almost jumped out of my skin, but then I quickly relaxed when I saw the benevolent father figure approaching. It was just Pa.

“Bill,” announced Pa, “iron chef will be back on soon. You were taking too long so I came to get the Mike’s Hard myself.” Pa then turned to the barn owl. “Hey Jennifer. Mind if I grab a case of Mike’s Hard?” The barn owl nodded and handed him the aforementioned case of Mike’s Hard. “Thanks Jen,” said Pa. “No problemo,” responded the barn owl.

I still thought of the barn owl for years after that. Sometimes I would be sitting up in bed in the middle of the night and my wife would ask me “Is it that barn owl thing again?” and I would nod in shame.

One night, the air hung hot and humid over my small town in Florida. I sat on the porch, thinking to myself how ridiculous I was. I was miles away from any barns now, there was no possible way on this plane of existence that I could ever, EVER encounter a barn owl here. But then, I heard large barn owl-sized wings beating in the distance, approaching at a speed my human brain couldn’t even fathom.

I ran back inside my home as quickly as I could and slammed the back door shut, and as I fiddled with the lock I saw it. The barn owl. It tapped on the glass door, beckoning me to open it. Somehow, as if I was possessed, I found the courage to open that door.

The barn owl, with its eyes locked on mine, said only three words. “Hey man would it be cool if I slept in your garage for a little bit? I saw some mice in there. I can keep those mice in check if you let me have a Mike’s hard from time to time.”

A stronger man would’ve said no. But I, a weak wretched thing, simply nodded my pitiful head yes. “Sweet,” said the demon barn owl, “see you later.”

I haven’t entered my own garage in 10 years. My car was in there and I had to buy another one. My new car is a used Kia Sedona and I don’t even like it.

I’m not even Bill anymore. All that remains is cowardice.