A Black Horror Story

“Are you sure this is the spot?” Tariq squeaked.

Standing at 6’4” and weighing over 200 pounds, he recognized that he looked absolutely ridiculous hiding behind his 5’10”, 170 pound teammate Jake, but Jake wasn’t a Black man in the middle of nowhere.

“Yeah bro, the barn is just past these trees. Relax! Bring your voice down a couple of octaves,” Jake laughed.

“Bro you’re laughing but I’ve watched “Get Out”! Do you know what happens to black people in horror movies- ,” Tariq exclaimed.

“They always die first,” they both said in unison. Jake recited the line like an overplayed top 40 radio song.

“Jake this ain't a joke fam! I'm not trying to die out here, my afrosenses are tingling,” Tariq huffed.

“Your what?” Jake choked, failing to stifle his fit of laughter. He grabbed his gut, doubled over and looked up at Tariq incredulously.

Tariq stood straight-faced, shoulders squared, palms flushed against each other and fingertips pressed against his lips as if in prayer, “Yo, it's the same shit Spiderman has, but for black people,” he stated matter of factly. He pounded a fist into his palm repeatedly to emphasize his words, “...its inherited bro! We can sense when our black asses need to get out”.

Jake howled with laughter and waved at Tariq in a desperate attempt at reprieve. Tariq squinted conspiratorially and lowered his tone, “Bro I'm not joking. That’s why they always kill off black people at the beginning of the movie because our afrosenses are too strong! They know if we stayed in a suss situation long enough, we would just get the hell up outta there,” Tariq gestured at Jake, “...y’all can go check out all the sketchy ass noises you want! My ass,” Tariq placed both hands on his chest, tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, “...is hopping into my car and driving the hell outta there! Tout suite”.

Jake wheezed with laughter, gripped Tariq’s arm and gasped, “I…cant”.

Tariq rolled his eyes. Jake breathed through the laughter, wiped away his tears, slung an arm high over Tariq’s shoulder, pulled him down closer towards Jake's height and cleared the last of the trees, “ does this look like a horror movie to you?”, he gestured.

In the middle of the clearing stood a medium-sized abandoned brown barn. The barn showed clear signs of wear. A few of the wooden planks were missing as if someone had decided to take it apart manually but gave up after realizing it was a stupid idea. It had huge double doors and the only window they could see had been boarded up. Finally, in true hipster fashion, the rundown building had been adorned with fairy lights, no doubt to give it a more “modern rustic vibe”. Tariq rolled his eyes. He didn't know who needed to hear it, but he wanted to tell them that adding fairy lights to haunted shit didn't make it any less haunted.

“Do you seriously want me to answer that question?” Tariq asked rhetorically.

“Whatever dude,” Jake snickered. He rolled his eyes, unhooked his arm from Tariq and jogged towards the barn, “I’m going in! You can stay out here all alone, in the dark with whatever the hell lives out in these woods”.

Tariq watched Jake race towards the barn unencumbered by fear or afrosenses. A pang of adrenaline jerked to life in Tariq’s chest as Jake swung the barn door open. The sounds of cheers and music sailed through the air and faded into silence as Jake disappeared through the barn door sealing himself and the party away from prying ears. Tariq stood in eerie silence, a cold shiver passed through his body as the pit in his stomach gnawed at his senses.

A trill screech cut through the silence.

Tariq leapt from his position, tripped over his feet and barrelled to the ground. The sounds of weighted wings blared in quiet warning. Tariq snapped his head towards the sound and sprung to a crouching position, hands tense against the grass ready, to swing if needed as he scanned his surroundings. His dark brown eyes met the endless depths of tiny black beads framed by a snow white heart shaped face. It occurred to Tariq just then that he had never actually seen an owl in real life. He did not move or breathe, in fear that he would startle the animal and give it a reason to attack. Time slowed as they studied each other. Tariq’s head slowly tilted to the side, the owl mimicked the gesture tilting its head in a way not easily replicated by humans. The owl’s beak parted as if it would speak and Tariq leaned in, enthralled by its mystique and open to its knowledge.

“Tariq, bro”.

Tariq's eyes widened and then shrunk as his brain registered the accompanying music. Tariq shook his head and turned to see Jake standing in the frame of the barn entrance, one hand held the door open while the other held two matching shot glasses, “Stop being an asshat! Come get lit bro! There’s jello shots,” Jake shouted.

Tariq glanced back at the tree. The branch no longer housed his new white and brown feathered friend, enemy or acquaintance. It had only been a couple of seconds and he was still unsure about their relationship status. Tariq released a defeated sigh and sprung up to his full height.

“Fine! I’m coming! But yo, if I die, imma be pissed,” Tariq emphasized.

“Don’t even worry about it! I got you, “ Jake grinned back.

Tariq raced towards the open door, half-relieved to no longer be alone at night in the middle of the woods and half filled with dread about the inevitable serial killer, that would inevitably show up, and inevitably murder them all.

Jake shoved the jello shot towards Tariq, warding off almost all thoughts of serial killers.

“You’re not too much of a bitch to take shots right, because you, my friend, are not stepping foot into this party until you take two fucking shooots,” Jake yelled, drawing the attention of the other party-goers. A chorus of people began clapping in unison yelling the word, “shot” over and over and over again.

Tariq took both jello shots, circled his index finger inside the edges and ceremoniously released them both from the hold of their containers. He skillfully gulped down both shots at once and hoisted the empty containers to the sky. The barn erupted into cheers.

“That’s my boy,” Jake shouted, slapping the back of Tariq’s shoulder and pulling him into the barn, “Hey everyone! This is my boy, Tariq”.

Hoots and hollers blared to life, initiating Tariq into the barn. He did a quick sweep of the space. No one looked like an obvious axe murderer. Great start, he thought. Some of the faces were new, but most of them he recognized from his new highschool and basketball team. Just like in school, it became strikingly clear that he was the only black kid in the space. Also, as an aside, he knew sucked ass at basketball and truly should not have been on the team, but if he was going to be racially profiled in so many other ways he might as well reap some of the benefits. After all, girls loved ball players.

Tariq’s journey towards racial desensitization fully began after his parents made the ridiculous decision to start a farm and move to Caledon, one of the whitest, most conservative towns in Ontario. His moms had said something about “not letting fear dictate their decisions” and “deserving to live full, rich lives” whatever the hell that meant. Then they packed him and his 5 siblings up, left the known predictable dangers of the city and ventured out to what he was sure was the set of “A Cabin In The Woods”.

As one of the few black kids in his new school, he had quickly acclimatized to being the “one black friend”. He knew what slang to use or not to use, what stories would be too “urban” or how to navigate sentences that began with, “I’m not racist but…” and for the most part, it had become an unconscious skill, simply a part of his new normal. If he was being honest, he would say that he tolerated and ignored most of the questionable decisions or statements. He knew that the majority of the non-black people he interacted with didn't mean any harm. The understanding and acceptance did not make the feeling of being “othered” sting any less, but it did help him to survive in a space where no one could truly understand what it meant to live everyday with black skin.

“Oh my god! I love your hair,” screeched a girl Tariq had never met before. She gripped one of his dreads and ran her fingers up and down the length of them. Beady eyes flashed through his mind.

“Thank you! That means a lot coming from someone so beautiful,” he breathed, catching her hand in his, he let his thumb slide down the side of her hand gently coaxing her fingers away from his hair while maintaining smouldering eye contact. She flushed.

“You’re so sweet,” she gushed. Tariq flashed a broad grin.

“I have to catch up with my boy but I hope we can chop it up later,” Tariq proposed. She flashed him a coy smile, bit her lip and nodded.

Tariq turned his attention back to Jake, his demeanour switching from sultry and mysterious to alert and intrigued, “Dude,” he shouted, compensating for the music, “...have you ever seen an owl?”.

Jake squinted at Tariq, elongated his neck for emphasis and tilted his face to the side, “What the hell?” he demanded.

“What?” Tariq asked, knitting his eyebrows in confusion.

“You just stopped talking to that cute ass girl to ask me if I’ve ever seen an owl,” Jake commented.

“Yeah, cause I just saw one outside. It was so trippy,” Tariq replied.

Jake shook his head, “ Nah bro, I’ve never seen an owl. I didn’t even know we had owls out here”.

“Me either,” agreed Tariq. His jaw worked thoughtfully as he contemplated the encounter.

“Bro, I love you but you’re mad weird. Have some drinks, enjoy yourself! Be chill, you weirdo,” Jake laughed once again, gripped Tariq by his neck and led him towards the table of drinks.

Each swig of the honey-coloured liquid burned away a piece of Tariq’s lodged anxiety until he could barely feel his face let alone the nagging discomfort of his piqued afrosenses. The night passed in a montage as Tariq floated between spaces in time, winning beer pong tournaments, laughing at the quick quips traditionally handed out to the losers of the match, rapping the lyrics of the latest Drake song and of course focusing on being focused as the girl from earlier spoke to him about herself. His body was buzzing as he swayed on unsteady legs. He could not remember her name but he nodded periodically to show that he was invested. Her voice and the music melded together into a steady rhythm reminding him of the beating of wings.

“Have you ever seen an owl?” Traiq slurred.

“What?” the girl yelled as she moved to the music.

“An owl, have you seen one?” Tariq repeated louder.

The girl tilted her head to the side in thought and furrowed her brows. “You know what, I don’t think so. Have you?” she asked, eyebrows still pinched in concentration.

Tariq nodded sloppily and answered, “Yeah, it was outside”.

“That’s so cool,” the girl gasped and slapped her hands together, “I think they’re supposed to mean something, like wisdom or something”. The girl ducked her hand in the back pocket of her jeans and whipped out her cellphone, “Let’s look it up”.

POP POP POP.

The sound crackled through the barn, sparking to life all the remaining sobriety in Tariq's body. He hurled himself to the ground keeping his body as low as he could and covered his head. He shook ferociously as he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a pressure on his back and let out a high-pitched yelp. Tariq's eyes shot open. The girl he had been talking to had crouched down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she questioned. Concern dripped from her voice.

Tariq quickly scanned the room. Everyone was staring at him. He was sure a gun had just gone off and people were standing up…staring at him. He ran his hands up and down his body looking for the blood, his hands came out clean every time.

“Dude get up. You’re fine,” Jake stressed. He held out his hand. Tariq gripped it and used the resistance to propel himself to his feet.

“Was that a gun?” Tariq questioned.

“Yeah. Don't worry though, it's not a serial killer,” Jake laughed, “They usually shoot bottles out back and do this target tournament thing”.

“Isn’t that illegal?” Tariq stammered.

“Yeah, the same way smoking and drinking when you’re underaged is illegal, don't be a bitch dude,” Jake laughed, slapping a hand firmly on Tariq’s back, “Don’t worry we do this shit all the time, I’d never take you somewhere that wasn’t safe. Plus, we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Jake grinned as he patted the dust off Tariq’s clothes. “Trust me. No serial killer will mess with us now, you should be happy”.

Tariq’s mouth dried.

“Come check it out,” Jake urged as he stepped through the back door. Tariq’s steps felt laboured as if wading through a sea of molasses determined to swallow him whole. His vision blurred as he reached for the back door of the barn.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Tariq flinched. He trusted Jake completely. If Jake said it was safe then it was safe. His hands dampened under the cool wooden door as his legs locked in place. He wouldn’t bring me somewhere that wasn’t safe, Tariq repeated to himself. He clung to the words like a desperate life raft and willed his stubborn legs to move. His pulse rattled against every inch of his frozen body, turning his stomach and mounting his nerves to a rising crescendo.

“Hey! Forget those dumbasses. They do this at every single party, the cops have even caught them a couple of times already but they don’t listen. Come hang out with me and my friends instead,” a familiar voice snorted.

Tariq released the crescendo in an audible sigh, as if finally given permission, his limbs unbuckled themselves from their position. He yanked his hands from the door, closed his eyes to steady the spinning and slowly turned, coming face to face with the girl he had been speaking to earlier.

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. Pop. Pop.

The owl, he thought in alarm. He recalled the black beady eyes that had studied him so intently, burrowing deep into his soul, as if he had known him his whole life while also seeing him for the very first time. The mix of golden and dark brown feathers told a beautiful story of juxtapositions. He was both old and young, light and darkness. Basically the owl was just freaking majestic! Tariq couldn’t understand how someone could see something so innocent, so beautiful and so harmless, then immediately think, shoot. Tariq felt a strange inexplicable grief rise to his eyes.

“Are you…crying?” the girl stuttered, concern and confusion melded seamlessly in her voice.

“No,” Tariq replied confidently.

“Ok…well you’re leaking from your eyes,” the girl said slowly, as if speaking to a child, “I’ll go get you some tissues”.

Tariq reached for his eyes and dragged an already clammy thumb across the damp base. Confusion rocked him. Something was very wrong.

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

The sound became shrill, rising over the music. He whipped his head to the right, half expecting to see the owl beside him. The party raged on as people bobbed up and down swinging their bodies mostly off beat, completely unaware of the owl that had somehow gotten into the barn.

Hoot. Hoot.

Tariq swung his head to the left, this time sure he had located the sound. He searched the barn. People stood in small crowds by the drink table, some shotgunning beers, others enjoyed a heated debate. He even spotted the girl searching for tissues, but no owl.

Hoot. Hoot.

He was losing his mind.

“Screw this owl,” he slurred.

A group of girls standing nearby looked at him with deep confusion and a hint of fear. He nodded at them, for what reason, even he couldn’t say. His vision blurred and their snickers contorted into cackles as he swayed back and forth in place, blinking with exaggerated force as if that would stop him from seeing double. He stumbled into a sloppy strut, desperate to get fresh air. He needed to sober up before he embarrassed himself more. His uncoordinated arms flailed around as he attempted to carve a path through the crowd. His body bumped up against several people, sending him stumbling on each impact. He focused all of his attention on his feet, determined not to faceplant. In what felt like the most dangerous trek he’d ever managed, he finally reached the barn’s entrance with only one red blotch of vodka spiked fruit punch on his fresh white tee.

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

He rolled his eyes. At least he knew the owl had survived. He put both hands up in front of him and pushed the heavy door open. A blinding light attacked him, both hands sprawled wide in front his face as he clamped his eyes shut against the harsh beams. He took a blind step forward.

Hoot. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

The shots echoed around him reverberating through every cell in his body. His hairs prickled as chills raced up his spine, something deep inside him knew that this time, it had not survived. The buzzing of distorted voices rose around him, people were yelling but he couldn’t make out the words. The light began to dim as the dark spots of his vision took over pieces of the light. The weight of his body suddenly became too much for his legs and he crumpled to his knees ever so slowly allowing his body to fall to the side.

He sank deep into the grass, the wetness of the newly formed dew soaking into his clothes, making the stain spread. He thought about the lecture he would get when both of his moms saw the stain. His vision teetered between light and darkness as he slipped in and out of consciousness. A quick nap couldn’t hurt, he thought, allowing his heavy lids to fall over his eyes. As soon as he was sober, he would sneak back into the room he shared with his younger brother and bribe him into silence. His moms would never know that he had left. He might have smiled at the thought if his face muscles had agreed to cooperate.

A feeling of sudden panic shot through him; he couldn't pass out on the grass, in the middle of nowhere, but his body wouldn’t move the way he wanted. If he survived this night he would never drink again he swore internally, to no one in particular. He gathered the dregs of his fleeting energy and wrenched open his eyes. Standing perfectly still in all of his feathered glory, fluffy white heart-shaped face stark against the edging darkness, was him, the owl. A quiet gasp escaped Tariq’s throat and his pulse slowed as his breath hitched. He was fading. The darkness wrapped around him like an old friend sucking him far past the realm of consciousness.

He was floating, drifting in a sea of souls, some young, some old, but all new and known. Time and space collided with the here and then as he watched in a shared space, through strange eyes, a familiar face. They studied him together, as he crouched on his hands and feet, a feral animal so acutely aware of his body's finite existence, yet ignorant of the power he had used to call them there. They belonged to him just as he belonged to them, so they waited and watched. They watched him as he fought to move through the knowing while still searching for the truth. They called to him over and over again, begging him to heed the call that he had made all while knowing it was already too late. They watched as armoured creatures stalked closer with their fangs bared and claws pointed towards him, spotting their prescribed sins dyed into his skin. They watched as his chest burst open 10 cruel times, giving way to the crimson of his life line. They watched his legs shudder and collapse as a gasping herd circled his broken body. They watched him fight the knowing one last time and wrestled his eyes open to the inescapable. They watched as he finally saw himself, as the knowing settled into every edge surface and crevasse of his mind, draining the attachment and cutting all tethers. They watched as he faded and waited as he made his way home, back to them.



.......................................................................................................................

Authors note:

I skipped this prompt the first time I seen it on Vocal. How could I, with all of my experiences and intersections, write a story about a barn owl. What the hell would we, black people, be doing at a barn in the middle of the night anyway? I decided to leave the prompt to folks whose experiences or imaginations would allow them to write stories that take place in barns.

When I saw the prompt again somehow it became clear. I was wrestling with the intersections of blackness and safety. Truthfully, even writing this story felt unsafe. There are spaces, experiences and things we deprive ourselves of because of the real life consequences. For many black people (because we are not a monolith) barns and farms have been inaccessible to us and many of the accompanying reasons are attached to safety.

I took this prompt as a challenge and wrote this story as honestly as I could. It is a black story, one that many black people will understand intimately. There are nuances that might be missed, but I also wrote this story for non black people, for our friends, neighbours and allies as a way to see the world through our eyes.