An Owl’s Eyes
For as long as she could remember, Eliza's mother had always loved owls. Their home had been adorned with her creations, intricate drawings and delicate wood carvings, every piece with their own story and spirit. Then, the tranquillity of their lives was shattered the night Eliza’s mother was murdered. The home that had once been a place of laughter and creation fell silent and the pieces that had once been so full of life now seemed to mourn their creator.
One evening, just as she did every night, Eliza peered out her bedroom window to look at the night sky, at the stars that twinkled above and the moon that cast its silvery light across the treetops. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the faintest whispers of the night breeze, the rustling leaves the only sign of movement in the otherwise still night.
Perched high on a gnarled old oak tree standing sentinel in her backyard was an owl. Its feathers were a rich velvety brown and had eyes luminous with a deep amber glow. The powerful wings, wickedly sharp beak, and imposing talons exuded predatory strength. It embodied the very essence of the night, a solitary guardian watching in the darkness, both guardian and silent companion.
From that night, Eliza began to leave small offerings by her window—chunks of bread, slices of apple, and bits of cheese. Each night, she watched as the owl drew nearer and accepted the treats. Soon, it became accustomed to her nightly offerings, fluttering closer each time, until it landed on the edge of the windowsill. Their nightly interactions grew into a quiet ritual of friendship. The owl, once aloof and distant, seemed to appreciate the company.
Then, once again, everything changed.
It was a particularly dim evening, the clouds shrouding the sky making the night seem unnaturally still. Eliza had left her usual assortment of treats by the window but they remained untouched, and she noticed with growing unease that the owl was absent from its perch. She spent the evening returning to the window, hoping to catch sight of her friend. Finally, close to midnight, she caught sight of the owl's head, peering over the bottom of the window frame. The eyes, the familiar amber color she’d admired so many times, glowed unnaturally bright. Eliza approached the window slowly and silence fell as though the night itself was holding its breath.
She drew closer, watching in horror as the owl's eyes transformed, turning unsettlingly human.
The window creaked open and the figure rose, looming over Eliza. Its body, unnervingly human in shape, had smooth skin, pale gray in colour, that stretched over its skeletal frame. Its head was unmistakably owl-like, with large, glowing eyes that seemed to bore into her soul. The feathers around its head were ruffled and dishevelled and created a haunting contrast against the pallor of pale skin beneath. Its mouth began to open slowly, stretching far beyond the natural limits of any earthly creature, revealing a cavernous maw lined with sharp, irregular teeth.
Movement caught her eye as the true owl, her owl, finally appeared, its eyes shining with recognition and sorrow as it mourned the abomination before her. In that final terrifying moment, the bird's gaze held a silent apology for its failure to protect her from this dreadful fate.
Terror settled deep in her stomach as one final word caught in her throat, a question, a plea, and an accusation all at once.
“Mom?”
