The White Owl

I called him Patty, because he looked like he tasted like peppermints. At least, that was what I thought when I was a child. Now I surmise he or she would taste more akin to chicken, though if I ate Patty, I'm sure terrible things would happen, terrible things already have.

My first memory of Patty was as a child, he would sit outside my window staring in, at first I was in awe, bewildered by the strange guest. His presence soon turned to harrowing dread as his visits always accompanied the most terrible nightmares.

They say in many cultures that birds are the messengers for the spirit world, each being their own omens. Owls in particular were considered where I lived, by the native tribes, to be messengers of the dead. I don't think I was dead, seems redundant a statement, I know, but when I first heard that I actually began to check after patty's visits.

We lived in an isolated and cold part of Canada, a small town called Kodak. My family was well off but there was never a lot to do. One Christmas, as a child, I received a recorder as a present. I would go about the house with it pretending I was a private investigator, hell, it was so much fun I'd even use it against my siblings in arguments. never missing an opportunity to use the damned thing, much I imagine to the dismay of my parents who never intended for it to be so overly cherished and misused.

The real trouble began one night after I began my private investigations into Patty. I still have the bloody thing, here, I'll play you the tape.

'Captains log, private investigator division, agent 01 reporting.

Patty has visited again

big smelly bird

what a turd! (giggles)

Go away Patty

I don't want more nightmares'

(Static sounds, heavy breathing, door slams)

who are you!? you better leave, mum and dad won't be happy'

It's creepy as hell isn't it. I stopped investigating patty fairly soon after that, because... there were more 'incidents' such as that, mostly to the same nature. static noises and a door, always the same thing I'd say. 'Who are you? you better leave, mum and dad won't be happy'

But who exactly was I talking about? well that question wouldn't be answered for a long time. I choose, quite wisely in hindsight not to pursue the mystery of Patty. As an adult my life deteriorated fairly heavily into alcoholism to mask an anxiety disorder. I do miss the days of being secret agent 01, a captain, and a private investigator all in one. I digress.

So, recently I went to a therapist to talk about my life story, from Kodak winters to Christmases and lonely feelings, how I would drink and feel anxious for no good reason, how the nightmares would continue sometimes and even Patty, who, 20 years later is still alive! she suggested I try something called hypnotherapy. I had nothing to lose so I gave it a go.

Our first few sessions went well, we revisited the quite sleepy winters of Kodak and a few good memories. The problem really came when we decided to focus on Patty one session. We went back to the first time I tried to investigate Patty with the recorder. I was there, watching my younger self giggle and call the bird names. Then, something happened that horrified me... static sounds, a bright light, the door slams open. In walks a long grey and slender figure, about seven feet tall. It approaches me as I say

"Who are you? You better leave. Mum and dad won't be happy"