Death under the Owl Branch

The large stuffed barn owl sat fixed against the severed tree branch, which hung over the fireplace. Three iron nails secured the decorative piece over the stone hearth for forty years. The owl’s massive wings stretched out on either side, almost concealing the entire branch. Deep brown and white speckled feathers fanned out, frozen in mid-flight. Large talons reaching out to grasp an invisible prey. Little had changed over the years, not a flick of a feather or twinge of a limb. The owl remained caught forever in a moment of determination, while its prey vanished out of sight and into the unknown.  

The only change, came gradually over time, moving reflections in the large glossy black eyes staring down.  The first images were the taxidermist placing the eyes, one by one, in place. A proud smile slid across her face, as she stepped back and admired her finished work. The smile faded months later, as she starred solemnly with three hundred dollars cash in hand. The image of the taxidermist became thin curved line, almost like a single parenthesis. It was eclipsed by a new face with an enlarged nose and small round eyes. The deal left the bird in a new owner’s hands, which carried it to across the length of the yard. Reflections of grass whizzing quickly by in the black eyes. The eyes brightened somewhat as they reflected the tan interior fabric of the car, but the solid color left them glazed and empty. It wouldn’t be until hours later, when it sat in its new home above the cabin’s fireplace, that the firelight would glimmer in the owl’s eyes.  

Days became years, fire after fire burned in the owl’s eyes, watching silently over the family in the cabin. First, it was just a family of two, Dennis and Mary. Most afternoons, the two of them snuggled under a blanket watching tv. They fed each other noodles in their small kitchen. At night, they disappeared behind the wall where the owl hung. It was good that the owl could no longer hear, for the noises the couple made would have startled it from its perch. The wings would have carried the animal far into the night sky, if they could still move.  

In no time, two became three. Little Mindy was born. A small figure bumbling around the sofa. Falling with a plop on her chubby bottom, only to rise again and again, into a wobbly stance. Mary sat at an arm’s length away. She called out, “Come to momma. Come to momma, before that mean old owl gets ya.” The little toddler would collapse into Mary’s arms, and let out a high pitch squeal, as Mary lifted her into the air.  

Just two years later, a fourth person came on scene. Stacy tucked peacefully asleep in a wooden cradle, as her older sister pushed and pulled from side. Her father’s giant hand covered hers as Dennis said, “Not too fast, Mindy. She’s sleeping. You don’t want to rock her out of the crib.” 

It wasn’t all giggles and peaceful slumbers. As the girls grew up, the owl witnessed all the secrets and fights a family could dish out. The large bird looked on, as Mary paced the floors and checked out the windows, when her husband didn’t come home. It stood rigid and firm, as Dennis tossed and turned on the sofa some nights. It was an unwilling accomplice for Stacey, who concealed cigarettes in the feathers since she was fifteen. It made a enticing attraction for Mindy, who lured boys over when her parents were out.

The most important moment would come when the girls were grown. The day their father passed away from a heart attack. The three women held each other, while their tearful eyes looked up at the massive owl. Their mother slowly recalled the story of how she found the stuffed animal and bought it as a special gift for her husband. She ended the story, by remarking how fond Dennis was of the scenic piece.

For forty years, the creature rested over the mantle. Occasionally the girls would stop by for a visit, but one image was a constant reflection in the dark eyes, and that was Mary. The owl shared all her precious moments and secrets, from its spot over the fireplace. And in her final moments, the owl was the sole witness of her violent death.

The frosty air clouded the dull ovals, but an image of a Mary’s corpse on the floor blurred together in a swash of colors. A blob of red, from the blood pooled beneath her head and torso. A fleck of brown and sliver from the kitchen knife, jetted out from her abdomen. A large burst of bright blue, that made up her nightgown. From far away, it would have seemed like a wild flower resting against a gray stone, but up close the reflection was undoubtedly a dead body.

The heel of the sheriff’s boot was settled an inch from the dry, tacky blood pool beneath the victim’s stomach. He stood nose to beak with the owl, as he looked deep into its eyes. It had been several hours since the incident had transpired. The blood was beginning to darken to more of a brown than red. Most of the watery blood had seeped in the the grout between the stone tiles. There were no maggots present and no flys hovered, but it was rare to see in the deep months of winter. A chill cause the Sheriff to shutter and he pulled his jacket together.

“There are times I wish walls could talk, Brandon.” Sheriff Bill Montgomery turned and looked over at his deputy. He turn back to gaze into the dull black ovals of the owl’s eyes. “Our job would be much easier. I wish I could just ask Mr. Owl here, what he saw. I bet he had a grand view of what happened. I wouldn’t have ponder and vex myself over who could have done such a horrible thing, just listen and write it all down” 

“I wasn’t aware you spoke barn owl, sir.” Deputy Brandon responded flatly.

“No, Maybe a little duck or a few words of dog, but nothing in the way of owl. But, even if I did, I’m afraid wouldn’t get a hoot out of this sad character.” He turned back to his deputy and then looked down at Mary’s dead body. The sheriff squatted down and tilted his head to the side. “Not much blood here, I wander if she bleed out.”

“I’ll wager it was the knock on the head that finished her off.” Deputy Brandon pointed to the blood under Mary’s head. “There’s more blood from the head wound than from the stab wound.”

“Well, we’ll know more when Tom gets here. He’ll gives us the official cause of death. We’ll go from there.”

Brandon shook his head and said, “I still don’t understand why someone would beat up a little old lady and then stab her. He didn’t get much for his trouble. She didn’t have much.”

Brilliant light flooded in the windows and beamed across the outside of the cabin. It was the first distraction from the body, since Sheriff Bill and his deputy had arrived on scene. Then, a sudden return to darkness.

“That must be Tom now.” Bill commented as he moved closer to the door. “You can stay and observe, if you want, but stand back so he can work.”

A few moments later, a tall thin man came in and knelt beside Mary’s body. “Hi Bill. Let me take a look at what’s happened here. I’ll do a few readings and then we can take her out.” He looked her over and made notes on a clip board. He carefully pulled out a stethoscope and pressed it to Mary’s chest. Then, came the electric thermometer, which was placed in the women’s ear. Bill and Deputy Brandon watched on patiently, without so much as a word. Leaving the medical examiner to his work. Tom jotted down more notes, before standing up. Once he was up right, he glanced around the room. First, his eyes went to the front door. Then, they moved from the kitchen to the sofa and over to the other side of the room, where a bag rested on a table. Finally, they landed on the stone fireplace and the owl above the mantle. He softly breathed out, “Huh.” He walked around the body to where Bill stood. “I'm done. I’d tell your photographer to get lots of shots of the scene. I’m pretty sure I know what killed her, but I can’t say for sure before I get her back and open her up.”

Brandon moved in closer and quietly asked, “Can you tell if it was the knife wound or the head wound that killed her.”

Tom shook he’s head and said, “I don’t want to say, until I make a full examination. It could cause problems later on in this situation.” He looked over to Bill and continued. “ Time of death is gonna be tricky, also. She is deceased and you can move her now.”

“Thanks, Tom.” Bill nodded and directed his attention again to his deputy. “Make sure Shane got enough photos, and tell Kevin and Avery to get ready to move her.”

Deputy Brandon reluctantly made his way past the examiner and the sheriff. He glanced back as he stepped outside, hoping to hear one last tidbit of secret information.

As soon as the deputy was out of earshot, Tom grabbed Bill’s arm and pulled him more inside the cabin. He leaned close and said, “I didn’t want to say anything with your new deputy around. I think I know what happened. You being Mary’s friend and all, you’re not going to like it. Cause of Death was probably hypothermia.” 

“Hypothermia?” Bill exclaimed. “With the knife wound and the huge gash on her head.” 

Tom explained quickly, “The knife wound was self-inflicted. It was pointed slightly upward in her body. When another person stabs you, they tend to come from overhead, so the knife should be pointed downward. It wasn’t in very deep, and she missed major organs. She didn’t have much room to thrust it in and she was anticipating the pain. Most people panic when someone else stabs them and they pull the knife out, and that’s when they bleed out. The knife was still in. She didn’t even wrap something around it, like a dish towel. You found her over here. She didn’t try to call for help on the phone in the kitchen or her cell over there on the desk.” 

  “But, what about the gash on her head.” Bill quickly asked.

 Tom calmly responded, “She probably had time to think afterwards, when she realized that she wasn’t going to bleed out and die right away. She may have noticed things that she didn’t consider before she started down this path.” 

Tom turned over the nearest sofa pillow and reveal a small tear. “Yep, just as I expected.” He brushed around the small tear with his hand and tiny shards fell on to the sofa. “There are a few small bits of glass in this pillow. She used it to smash in the window above the doorknob. She wanted to make it look like someone broke in. Then, after she stabbed herself, she realized that no one would just break in and stab her, then run out. They would probably rough her up a little. That’s when she thought about hitting her head on something. My guess is the mantle. She smashed her head against it as hard as she could and knocked herself out. She fell here.” 

“You’re sure? Both were self-inflicted? I mean, someone could have broken in, stabbed her, and then thrown her up against the fireplace? Some of the electronics are missing. What about that? It’s Mary. Why would she do something like this? 

“I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, Bill. I have seen more suicides than you, and not just in this county. This feels off. The window busted out. The door was open. The heat wasn’t on. No fire in the fireplace. I have a feeling that’s what happened. She stabbed herself and knocked herself out. She probably wanted to end her life, but didn’t want it to look like a suicide. My guess is there is an insurance policy. They won’t pay it out in the case of a suicide. But, it was lying on the stone floor, in middle of winter, with hardly any clothes on, that’s what killed her.”  

The deputy returned and called out to the sheriff as he walked in. “Shane says he’s good. He got plenty of photos. The guys are coming in now to mover to the truck.”

On Brandon’s cue, two men came with a stretcher bed and laid it down next to the body. They placed their gloved hands around her and lifted over onto the stretcher. The older one tossed his younger partner an end of a white sheet and they covered her head to toe. They lifted her and carried her out.

Bill watched solemnly as she cleared the doorway. He turned toward Tom, “I hope you’re wrong. Can you tell me as soon as you finished and know for sure? I’ll make some calls. Look into some things, like recent doctor visits. I’ll talk to the girls tomorrow. Let them sleep tonight. I really wish walls could talk. Tables and sofas, and stuffed owls too. I’d like to know why she thought that was the only course of action.”

The stuffed barn owl remained silent and still over mantle. The body of its owner no longer visible in its eyes. Secret knowledge tucked in its feathers. It alone witnessed what truly happened. And if it could say, it may have agreed with the medical examiners theory. It may have explained the reason why, in order to satisfy the sheriff. It may describe in detail the images of Mary crying over a terminal medical diagnosis. However, understanding takes time. It takes forty years of overseeing moments of joy, hardship, pleasure, longing, and sacrifice, before you can begin to understand the death under the owl branch.