The call of Death

Do you know what blood smells like?

Not just a tiny cut, oh no, I'm talking 1.2 gallons of free-flowing blood that pools around a body. The way not only the sight, but the coppery scent makes your stomach twist with disgust. The metallic taste it leaves in your mouth when you take a deep, swift inhale.

I've wiped the blood from my face, but the deep crimson red still stains my hands; it's thicker than water but thinner than paint. I squeeze my fingers together, the viscous liquid slipping through my fist. I chuck the old rag to the ground; what was once white is now covered in red. I stumble my way out of the barn entrance.

My eyes cloud with swelling tears.

I can't believe this is happening.

Silence engulfs me. Only the soft sounds of running water in the creek nearby breaks the eerie sound of nothingness. My breath slips through my lips unevenly, taking the form of steam in the cold of the night. I look up to the full moon. Its round, daunting presence is enough to pull my mind away, if only for a moment. Back to a time when things were far less complicated. When my stepfather stood tall, his heart still beating and his blood still flowing through his veins… not seeping into the hay bales stacked high behind his limp body.

A tremble rips through my body. I drop my hands to my thighs; I seal my eyes shut and let out a deep, hollowing scream. A scream that rumbles in my chest and carves its way up my throat. I scream until my lungs are empty and begging for air. Once I stop, I expect the silence of the night to take over; instead, my ears ring with a high-pitched screech.

My eyes peel open. An overwhelming tingling strikes my chest while I look around for the source of the deathly call.

I take a few steps deeper into the night, away from the soft yellow glow of the interior barn light. My legs are trembling, and the cafeteria pizza I ate for lunch begins to travel up my throat.

"H-hello," I call out.

Another piercing screech knocks me off my feet. My ass hits the frozen ground hard.

"Who's there?" I slowly rise, waiting for someone to burst out from the abyss and tackle me to the ground.

What if they saw what I did?

I rub my cold hands frantically on my jeans, praying the blood will just disappear.

There is no explaining what happened.

"SHOW YOURSELF!" I scream into the night.

Maybe I deserve to be caught, to be locked away where I can't hurt anyone else.

This time, the screech is louder and closer. As if it was coming from right beside me. My head swings to the left, nearly giving me whiplash. A tall oak tree stands proudly, somehow darker than the night itself. Something scuttles along a high branch. The movement is almost invisible as my eyes adjust to the darkness.

I blink hard. A glowing white face peers down at me from the large tree branch. Its face in the shape of a heart, looking into its eyes is like staring into two small black holes, and its long talons clutch the tree's bark with their blade-like sharpness.

A desperate laugh escapes my dry, frozen throat. "A fucking owl," I say to myself. "There is no one out here but a barn owl." A blissful, warm blanket of relief hugs me tight.

It's just the owl and me. No one saw what happened tonight.

The owl cocks its head to the side and shuffles its buff and grey coloured wings. The fur on it's front, so white it nearly glows, with small dark speckles. It would be a beautiful bird, if it wasn't so damn creepy when it's neck rotated a full 270 degrees.

I let out a deep breath and head back into the barn, back to the mess I have made.

The smell has hardly wavered. You would think a rusty old car was rotting in the far corner of the barn… Not my stepfather. My steps are slow, the frozen ground crunching with each movement. The closer I get, the more I want to turn around and run. I want to run away and never look back.

No. I have to get rid of it. I have to dispose of the body. My mother can never find out.

In my stepfather's toolbox, he has a jug of lighter fluid. My shaky hands un-screw the lid. I walk over to his limp body, fluid spilling over my boots, its pungent smell masking the other odor. I can't hold back the tears that stream down my numb cheeks as I slosh the accelerant over the tainted hay bales… and the body lying face down next to them.

A shrill shriek takes me by surprise. The jug flies from my grasp and lands on my stepfather's back. The remainder of the fluid pours across his plaid shirt, rinsing the blood into a river, reaching for my feet.

The next screech is longer, the pitch so high I cover my ears with my sticky hands. "Stupid OWL!" I scream. The bird must have flown inside the barn.

Silence prevails once again, other than the awful ringing in my ears. I grab a metal shovel off the wall and turn around. I look up to the wooden support beams searching for the bird.

My heart drops deep into my chest. My lungs refuse to fill with air. I stumble backwards, nearly falling onto my stepfather's body. I don't see the owl; instead, a girl. She stands stark naked with a tan feather shawl Draping across her shoulders. Her head cocked to the side, so far it appears broken. Large black circles shape her dark, beady eyes. Her white complexion nearly glows under the cheap golden light. She walks closer, out from the wide door frame. How she isn't frozen solid in the frigid temperature tonight crosses my mind for a moment.

I raise one hand out innocently, still grasping the shovel. "It-it's not what it looks like, I swear," I begin to plead. I take another step back, my boot pressing down on my stepfather's arm, making me jump to the side, away from his body.

Her legs appear crooked as she takes slow, clumsy steps towards me. The way her stiff body moves makes it seem like she is just learning to walk. Her piercing eyes linger on me, making my skin crawl. She doesn't blink.

"Who are you?" I manage to croak out.

She doesn't respond.

My hands tighten around the wooden handle of the shovel.

Her eyes stray away from me and drop down to the dead body.

"This, this is private property! You are trespassing!" I shout at her. She isn't phased by my threat and continues getting closer, only a foot away from us. I begin taking rapid inhales. The smell of copper mixed with the pungent petrol scent warp together in my guts until I think I just might blow chunks all over my stepfather's dead body.

Her bare feet coat with red the closer she gets.

"Stay back!" I raise the shovel blade towards her.

Her head flops to the other side, as if there is rubber replacing her spine. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She takes another step closer. Now hovering over the top of my stepfather's body.

This can't be happening… I can't go to jail! Oh god… my mother… what will she think?! She will never forgive me.

I'll be alone.

I hold out the shovel, using it to block her from the body. Her head swings in my direction; I swear I hear her neck crack. A scream, so deathly, so murderous, leaves her lips. My bones tremble. My head fills with pressure, my ears feel as if they are bleeding. I scream in agony, but I can't hear myself.

I swing the shovel over my shoulder and shut my eyes. I feel the shovel cut through the air until it collides hard against something.

The sound stops.

I cry out in relief and slowly open my eyes. The shovel slips from my hands and hits the ground, but my mind is so numb I don't hear a sound. There, laying on top of my stepfather is the girl. Her body is lifeless. Her arms flailed to her side. Blood is oozing down her face from a deep gash on her forehead.

"SHIT!" I scream. "Not again..."

I kneel beside her. I check for a pulse, but her skin is ice cold, and there are no signs of life left in her ghostly body. The odd feather shawl drapes across her bare chest, blood slowly dripping onto the pallid colours.

I killed her. She's dead. Frig… FRIG… FRIG!!!

I stumble across the barn until I reach the door. Once outside, I drop to my knees and look up to the moon. My eyes are bone dry; I have no tears left to cry. In the instance of one night, I have become a murderer. I have killed two people. I have stolen their lives and spilt their blood.

My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out. I hold my hands close to my chest, my skin stained with my sins.

I will never be clean again.

The deep midnight sky has begun to lighten. The dark now ceases to enclose around me. Within the hour, it will be daylight… and my mother will be home… She will see what I have done.

No. I can still clean this mess.

Pizza comes rushing up from my twisted guts and sprays across the ground. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I focus on my breathing, searching for the owl, trying to ground myself on something, but it's gone; Not even a murderous bird can stomach what I have done.

Without another thought, I stand up and spin around. I march back into the barn without another through. I grab the matches out of my pocket and walk over to the bodies.

It takes me two tries to light the match. Once I get it lit, I hold up the small flame before dropping it onto the two bodies.

Two.

There should be TWO dead bodies.

Instead, I look down at my stepfather and a dead owl. A barn owl, looking remarkably similar to the bird from earlier. Only this one has a gash above its eye, staining what was once its smooth white face.

The match slips out from my fingers.

"What the fuck!"

I am losing my mind.

Fire begins to burn brighter and bigger. Engulfing their bodies and leaving a wretched stench in the air.

I close my eyes. The burning light dances behind my eyelids. My mind begins to play back the events that started this mess...

I arrived home from school early. I had a headache and decided to walk home rather than worry my mom. It was a chilly fall day, but the fresh air was exactly what I needed. I noticed my stepfather's truck in the driveway, which is odd because he told my mother that he would be out of town for work today.

I walked down the dirt path. The house lights were all off. I looked down the trail to the barn, the door was wide open, and I could hear my stepfather's nineties rock music playing.

I'm not sure why I continued to the barn; if anything, he will be angry that I left school early. There was a feeling in the pit of my stomach that I just could not deny. A sense that used me like a puppet and took me to the open barn door.

I stood at the door and peered around the corner. Tobacco smoke slivered up my nostrils and lingered in my chest. I held back the cough that was climbing its way up my throat.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

There, leaning against the stacked hay bales, was my stepfather. Against him was a woman, A tall blonde woman, who was most certainly not my mother. His hands were grabbing at her ass as she unbuttoned his plaid shirt.

"How could you," I blurted out.

They didn't hear me. They continued making out like two pre-teens under the bleachers at a football game.

"How DARE you!" I shouted. My fists clenched tight; I felt heat racing to my cheeks.

My stepfather, Greg, pushed the women away from him. She stumbled over a loose hay bale in her 6inch heels.

"Ryan?" He gasped. "Wh-what are you doing home from school so early?" his fingers fiddled with the buttons trying to do them back up and hide the large eagle tattoo across his chest.

I scoffed at him. "Seriously? That's all you have to say to me right now?!"

"I should go," the woman muttered. She grabbed her blood-red blouse from his tool chest and bolted past me.

I can't look at her. I can't take my eyes off of him. His face is riddled with panic, but not guilt; I bet he doesn't even feel sorry.

"Ryan, please let me explain."

"NO!" I shouted. I walked over to him. A glare bounced off my grandfather's fishing knife, catching my eye.

"Why?" I cry out.

"Ryan, you have to understand your mother, and I have been having problems for a while now."

He was just like the rest of them. He was no better. Just another disappointment, who wiggled his way into my mom's heart only to destroy it. My head was overwhelmed with the men's faces over the past decade that came into our lives only to cause heartbreak. Starting with my father, who abandoned us, left us to fend for ourselves.

My stepfather took a step towards me, he reached his arm out. "Please don't tell your mom. I would hate for you to break her heart."

"ME!?" I smacked his hand away. "This is not my fault!"

He reached out again. Only this time, he grabbed hold of my arm before I could react.

"Don't touch me!" I pulled away, but his grip was too firm.

"Stop acting crazy Ryan, this can be our little secret."

All the men. They all hurt her. I couldn't count how many times I had brought her a box of tissues as she sobbed on the floor, how many times I had rinsed the vomit out of her hair after she drank her pain away, how many times I had been told we weren't worth it. She always blamed me. She said it was my fault these men left her, that I pushed them away.

She's going to blame me for this.

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. My heart began to race, and all I could see was red. Not just the colour either, but blood as it splattered across my face.

I gripped the fishing knife, and I drove it into my stepfather's chest repeatedly.

"This is not my fault!"

He screamed.

"You are the monster!"

He tried to grab my arm, but I sliced his wrist with one swift movement.

"Ryan!" He gasped. "Please, stop" He held his hands out in front of him innocently.

He was not innocent.

Each time the knife sunk into his body, I felt my own pain release.

"You can't leave us if you are already dead," I sob.

Smoke. All I can smell is smoke. My lungs are filling up, and I can't breathe. I gasp out as my eyes burst open. My skin is burning. The flames before me have grown, and they have completely swallowed his body.

I stumble backwards before turning around and running through the thick layer of smoke. I can't see a thing. My lungs burn with each deep inhale, the crackle of the fire consumes my mind as I hold out my palms, searching for the exit.

I'm going to die!

"H-hel—" I try and choke out the words, but I can't.

My hand hits something hard. Blisters emerge on my skin instantly, the hot searing pain is nearly too much to manage, but I continue forward, praying I have reached the exit.

After a few more blind steps and feeling as if I am ready to collapse, I break from the suffocating cloud of smoke into the brisk air. I collapse to the ground. My cough sounds like that of a 65-year-old smoker; Dry and raw.

After what feels like an eternity, I hear sirens off in the distance.

I bolt to my feet and use what little strength I have left to race over to the creek. The icy water nips at my hands as I frantically scrub away the blood. The blood washes away, becoming too transparent to see as it flows down the small stream.

When I am finally satisfied, my hands are raw, red from scrubbing and welting with blisters, but no blood in sight. I sit beside the creek, the sun making its way up past the horizon.

I hear a commotion behind me as firefighters and their trucks come barreling onto our property. I don't turn around; I don't let them know I am here. They are far too busy trying to clean up the mess I have made to notice me sitting only 10 feet away.

Then I hear her voice…

"RYAN!!!" My mother screams. I can hear the worry in her voice, and it nearly breaks my heart.

I try to stand, but I am too weak. I can hardly breathe without wheezing.

"Mom!" I croak.

She takes a moment to look around before she spots me.

Smoke steams off the burning building, swallowed by a hellmouth of flames. The large hoses drown it, trying desperately to put the fire out.

She drops down beside me. Her eyes watering, like she has been crying.

"Are you okay? What happened? Oh my gosh, are you hurt?" A bundle of questions blurts out of her mouth within seconds.

I give her a sly smile and nod my head. "I'm Okay."

She gives me a worried look.

"Where is Greg?"

His name cuts through me like a dagger. Or a fishing knife…

"I-I think he was in the barn," my voice is so dry it's hardly comprehensible.

My mom places her hand over her mouth and lets out a soft cry. Her diamond engagement ring catches the rays of the upcoming sun. "What happened?" She asks.

I take a deep breath. A deep, painful breath.

"I don't know." Lies. "I was in the house when I smelled smoke—" A harsh cough interrupts me; I try to catch my breath. "I ran out to the barn. I-I tried to find Greg." More lies. "B-but by the time I got here, the smoke was so thick—" I clear my throat. "I couldn't find him, mom. I'm so sorry."

She wipes away her tears almost faster than they can release. "And you? Are you hurt?"

I shake my head. "Just a few burns on my hands, but I will be alright."

She stares at me. She gently runs her thumb along my jaw, stopping at my chin. I smile softly. It warms my heart to know she still loves me, that she won't blame me for Greg's infidelity.

It's not my fault.

"You don't have any cuts?" She asks.

"No?"

She purses her lips together. "Then why is there blood on your face?" Her tone drops dramatically.

No. No. NO. There isn't blood on my face. There can't be! I was careful… I washed it off!

I look down at her thumb. Her skin has the slightest hint of red, mixed with black ash from the fire.

I look into her eyes. Seeking forgiveness, but all I can see is hate.

How did this happen?!

Then it comes back to me…

Pizza comes rushing up from my twisted guts and sprays across my boots. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Mom…" I stammer. "I can explain."

"Ryan." She snaps and harshly grabs hold of my arm. "What have you done?!"

I can't look at her. I can't stand to see the disappointment, to know that soon enough, I will be alone. Instead, I look over to the oak tree. Perched on its thickest branch is a barn owl, watching me from the shadows.