That Night

The night air had a peculiar and crisp chill to it that couldn’t just be attributed to the harsh bite of winter. One could barely make out the shape of a decrepit barn, the snow falling mercilessly, covering the structure in a thick blanket of white. Other than the sound of the blizzard, there seemed to be no movement at all, as if all the world lie dormant. Small footsteps rustling through the snow broke the stillness, almost abruptly. The small figure of a young girl labored slowly through the snow, stopping every few feet to breathe deeply and readjust the sack she carried on her shoulders. She held a small flashlight in her hand, its waning light barely enough to make out the formation of the aged barn. Stopping outside the massive barn entrance, she began struggling to pry it open through the heavy snow. With an audible grunt the doors gave away just enough for the girl to slip her tiny frame through. Stumbling inside, she turned and peered through the open door, as if waiting for something to follow her. She shone her flashlight around the interior of the barn before making her way to a small stall near the back. She threw the sack off her shoulder and sat down in the very back corner of the stall, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head upon them. She inhaled deeply, her every breathe distributing a small cloud of steam. Time passed and the girl scarcely moved, except to pull her coat tighter around her, warding off the icy air. As she sat in the darkened barn, the only noticeable sound was the wind and snow beating against the ancient shelter’s sides. The world fell hushed again, but much like how her footsteps broke the calm of the winter storm before, the small rustling of wings could be heard entering the barn. She raised her head, and a small smile crept across her face. Reaching inside her sack, she pulled out an old lantern and lit it, immersing the stall in a warm glow. The newfound illumination revealed a small barn owl perched at the top of the enclosure. Its white and brown speckled feathers glistened, still wet from snow. The flame in the lantern danced and mirrored off the owl’s seemingly clever eyes.

“Hey pretty boy,” said the girl, her voice soft and childlike. “It’s cold out here, I know.”

As if in response, a small shudder ran through the tiny bird’s frame. She smiled again, reaching into her sack and pulling out a carton filled with various types of food, mismatched and thrown together. She crawled slightly forward, placing the container underneath where the bird was settled. As she moved back into the corner she was huddled in, the owl drifted down onto the stall floor, carefully investigating the contents before hastily nibbling at them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring anythin’ better, boy. I didn’t have any time, ya know?” Her voice trailed off as she looked down to the ground, her eyes beginning to gleam with the hint of tears. “I needed to get out fast. I had to do this fast.” The bird looked up from its makeshift meal, watching the girl tug at her coat sleeves and bite her lips as she struggled to keep her tears back. He made a few small hops towards her and tipped his head to the side. It almost seemed as if he was offering sympathy to the girl, as if he knew as to exactly what she was referring. The girl laughed slightly, brushing the water from her eyes. “It’s just this time is different, boy. See I won’t be bringin anymore food for you. And it’s just..I wonder who is going to take care of you when I’m gon-” Her voice was choked off by a small sob. The owl twisted his head again, gazing at her with an intense stare. He continued to hop forward, coming close enough for the girl to reach out and hold him if she desired. “They wouldn’t listen to me, boy,” she began again. “Not anyone. Not even Mama. They kept telling her I was making up stories. They kept saying I was angry cus he wasn’t Papa but it’s not true. It’s not true, he’s lying to them, but they think I’m the one lying.” She looked down at her sack, this time her tears falling without restraint from her eyes, covering her delicate pale cheeks like a river. “He’s hurt me for the last time, boy. I can’t go back this time. He can’t do this to me anymore. And no one would listen.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a sealed envelope and a small bottle of prescription medicine. “They are gonna read this and they are gonna know the truth. Cus well…see the doctors say this helps Mama sleep at night.” She looked up and into the owl’s fierce gaze. “It’s gonna help me sleep too, bo-,” she was cut off by the sharp screech of the owl as it frantically leapt back and flew to the rim of the stall. Locking eyes with the girl once more, the owl let out another deep squeal, almost mournful in nature as it uncontrollably ran along the borders of the stall. “Shhhhhh! No, boy, no! You gotta listen to me,” the girl sobbed. She sat on her knees and clutched her fists to her heart. “I’m tired boy, I’m so tired! This will make them see! Don’t you understand! They are going to see!” The owl stopped its frantic movement and fluttered down to the girl. They sat in silence for some time before the girl let out a long sigh and leaned back against the stall wall. The owl hobbled forward to hop on her leg, and she ran her finger along his slender chest. “I’m gonna sleep,” she whispered, breaking the silence. “I’m gonna go to sleep and he’s never gonna hurt me again.” The owl cooed softly, almost woefully. He leaned his head on her lap as she stretched out on the chilly floor, pulling the lantern closer to them. Eventually, the light from the lantern faded, and the old decrepit barn was filled with the frigid darkness once more.

For that night, the girl and the shrewd night bird would sleep in quiet calm in the cold winter gloom. They would be warmed only by the gentleness and good nature they held for one another. That night was the last night the girl would weep, and the owl would faithfully stand watch over her in her final moments. Soon, the very same tranquil barn would be flooded with the disturbance and commotion of numerous people. People who should have done more, who could have done more. Soon, the very same owl’s shrieks would be mimicked and amplified by the tragic screams of a mother who wouldn’t take heed of her child’s pain, and the loud cries of sirens would cut through the winter air like the sharpest knife. But for that night, the girl would remain in the company of the only creature willing to listen and be kept at peace knowing she was finally safe from the cold grasp of the worst parts of humanity.