AN OWL’S EYES

Eliza's love for owls had always been intertwined with memories of her mother, whose passion for these majestic creatures was tender and profound. Before she was taken from this world, her mother had been an artist of exceptional talent, devoting her life to capturing the essence of owls in various forms. Their home had been adorned with her creations. Intricate drawings and delicate wood carvings, each piece brimming with the same reverence and wonder she felt for these nocturnal beings. Eliza remembered the warmth of her mother’s hands as they traced the delicate lines of an owl’s feathers on paper or carved out their elegant forms from wood blocks. Each creation was a labour of love, a tribute to her fascination with these enigmatic birds. The walls of their home were a gallery of her mother’s work—drawings of owls perched in moonlit forests, their eyes wise and knowing, and wooden sculptures that seemed almost alive, each with its own story and spirit. But the tranquillity of their lives was shattered in an instant. Eliza’s mother was murdered, a brutal act that left an irreplaceable void in their lives. The once vibrant and artistic home was now a place of silence and sorrow. The walls that had once celebrated the beauty of owls now seemed to mourn their creator. Eliza found herself clinging to the memories of her mother’s work, trying to find solace in the art that had once filled their home with love and light.

Every evening, just as the moon began its ascent, Eliza would draw back her curtains and peer out of her bedroom window to look at the night sky. The night sky was a breathtaking expanse of deep velvet, sprinkled generously with a dazzling array of stars. Each one twinkled with an ethereal light, creating a shimmering tapestry that stretched endlessly above. The moon, full and luminous, cast a gentle silvery sheen over the landscape, bathing everything in its soft glow. Its light danced across the treetops and flickered off the surface of a nearby pond, where it created ripples of shimmering light. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the faintest whispers of the night breeze, rustling the leaves and adding a sense of serene movement to the otherwise still night.

Perched high on a gnarled old oak tree that stood sentinel in her backyard was a majestic owl. The owl was a vision of nocturnal majesty, with its commanding presence. Its feathers were a rich velvety brown, giving it an almost otherworldly camouflage against the night.

The owl’s eyes were round, and luminous, with a deep amber glow. They held a profound stillness, their gaze serene. When it turned its head, it did so with a slow, deliberate grace, as if contemplating the mysteries of the night. Its beak was sharp and curved, a dark and polished contrast against the softness of its feathers. The owl's talons were formidable, strong yet delicate in their precision, gripping the branch with an effortless strength. Despite its powerful physique, there was a certain elegance to its movements—a smooth, silent flight. The owl's overall demeanour was one of pride and calm, its posture regal as it perched high on its chosen branch. It seemed to embody the very essence of the night, a solitary guardian watching over the world from its lofty perch. With feathers as soft as midnight and eyes gleaming like twin pools of starlight, the owl seemed to be both a guardian and a silent companion.

Eliza was enchanted by the owl's proud demeanor and mysterious presence. She began to leave small treats by her window—crumbs of bread, slices of apple, and bits of cheese. Each night, she would watch with growing delight as the owl drew nearer, its movements deliberate and measured as it approached the treats. Eventually, the owl became accustomed to this nightly offering, fluttering closer each time, until it would land on the edge of the windowsill, its gaze never wavering from Eliza. Their nightly interactions grew into a quiet ritual of friendship. The owl, once aloof and distant, seemed to appreciate the company, its once-imposing stature now a symbol of trust. But one night, the atmosphere changed.

It was a particularly dim evening, the clouds shrouding the sky and making the night seem unnatural still. Eliza had left her usual assortment of treats by the window but noticed, with a sense of unease, that the owl was absent from its usual perch. She turned away, her heart sinking slightly. After a few moments, she returned to the window, hoping to catch sight of her friend. There, to her horror, was the owl's head, eerily peering over the bottom of the window frame. Its eyes glowed unnaturally bright, but something about them seemed wrong. A chilling silence enveloped the scene as Eliza approached the window slowly. The rustling of the leaves ceased abruptly, and the usual night sounds seemed to hold their breath. As Eliza drew closer, the owl's eyes transformed—what had once been celestial orbs now appeared unsettlingly human, small and piercing. The owl’s skin began to shift, revealing an unsettling texture beneath the feathers.

The window creaked open, and as it did, the figure began to rise. The entity slowly emerged. The entity that loomed over Eliza was a grotesque and unsettling sight. Its body, unnervingly human in shape, was entirely devoid of clothing. The skin was an unnervingly smooth, pale gray, stretched over its skeletal frame. The humanoid form was emaciated, with limbs that seemed too long and too thin. Its head was unmistakably owl-like, with large, glowing amber eyes that seemed to bore into the soul. The feathers around its head were ruffled and dishevelled, their dark and light patterns creating a haunting contrast against the pallor of the humanoid skin beneath. As Eliza watched in terror, the entity's mouth began to open slowly, almost impossibly wide. The opening stretched far beyond the natural limits of any human or owl, revealing a cavernous maw lined with sharp, irregular teeth. These teeth were uneven and jagged which made them appear even more menacing. The mouth gaped open wider and wider as if it were a sinister portal to an abyss of darkness, its unsettling, primal hunger palpable.

The creature's presence was the embodiment of a nightmare.

As the creature loomed closer, a heartbreaking scene unfolded. From the corner of her eye, Eliza glimpsed the true owl, its eyes reflecting sorrow and a single tear tracing down its feathery cheek. The majestic owl, once her nightly companion, seemed to mourn the abomination that had taken its place. In that final, terrifying moment, the owl's gaze conveyed a silent apology, as if it had tried to protect her from this dreadful fate.

“Mom”? Eliza whispered.

The night was silent, save for the rhythmic pounding of Eliza’s frightened heart. The last thing she saw was the owl, still perched on its tree, the tear glistening as a final symbol of its silent sorrow before everything was engulfed by the darkness.