The secrets a bird would tell

Eerin is aware of the barn owl watching her at night.

Sometimes, when the moon is bright enough, she can make out the full outline of the small owl perched on the top of the crumbling barn outside her window. It seems to never rest, or look away from the old farmhouse her family inherited from her grandpa. In the beginning, she even wondered if the owl was grandpa, watching over the home he never wanted them to have, but the eyes don’t feel familiar. They are weighty and lonely and secretive.

She hasn’t told anyone about the watchful owl. Not Mom or Emily, no one at her new middle school, and not dad. She also hasn’t told them about the words the spiders left for her in their webs or the ritual she walked upon by the armyworms or the hummingbirds speaking to her through morse code. If she told anyone about the things she’s seen and heard, her family might become scared, call a priest to have an exorcist, or worst of all, leave the farmhouse for good.

If Eerin wants to stay where she is, she must endure these things alone.

_____

“Eerin, what are you staring at?” Emily asks from the small kitchen table where she sat surrounded by school work and college applications.

“I’m waiting for the mailman,” the small girl replies absently from the couch. This was only partially true. Eerin loves staring out windows, regardless of if there is something to wait for or not.

“Honey, the dogs will bark when he drives up,” Mom assures. “Come get some breakfast.”

“Didn’t dad say he’d start sending his things out last week?” Emily asks.

The older woman flips the bacon. “The snow might make delivery difficult.”

“He’s only in Brooklyn. I thought it would take less than a week for it to deliver.”

“We can’t control how quick things move, Emily.” The bacon is burning.

“No, but we can control how long we wait for them.” Her voice has risen. “Is he even coming here, mom?”

“Emily, don’t start.” It is said in a rush, like the quicker she says it the less weariness can seep out of the words and invade the room. Neither woman speak non move. Eerin gets up and takes the bacon off the stove.

“Eerin, have you fed the chickens yet?” Mom asks after a few moments of passive silence.

“I can’t feed the chickens anymore,” Eerin mumbles, sitting beside her sister and taking a mouthful of toast. Emily flicked her crumbs in Eerin’s direction.

Mom sighs, placing more bacon in the sizzling pan. “And why is that?”

“They want to eat me alive.”

“They do not—“

“They told me they did!”

Emily rolls her eyes. “Here we go again.”

“I don’t want to hear you complaining about the chickens,” Mom says sternly. “You’re the one who volunteered to feed them when we moved out here.”

“They said they wanted to peck my eyes out and steal my toes—”

“They did not say that.”

“God, you’re so weird,” Emily exclaims, collecting her papers. Eerin hates when her sister calls her names. It’s more insulting when it comes from her than when it comes from the kids at school. Out of rage, the little girl shoves her sister's papers off the counter as hard as she can, which results in an outburst of emotions from each woman in the room.

It doesn’t end kindly, and more bacon is burnt.

_____

The little girl shoves her coat and boots on and grabs the bucket of feed by the door. Standing in front of the large chicken coop, Eerin wills herself to make this quick and easy. Bitter wind ruffles the small girl's unkempt hair. A flock of birds soar overhead, catching her eye. They make their way past the farmhouse and over the old barn, where the large door swings open.

“What are you staring at now?” Emily’s voice shocks the girl she almost falls over. “Hurry up and feed the chickens, you dweeb!”

With shaky hands, Eerin enters the fenced-in portion of the coop. It’s quiet. Eerin starts tossing food on the ground cautiously. Could they be sleeping? She steps closer to the enclosed portion of the coop, where the chickens sleep and notices a single egg in the center of the coop. Why would it be laid there? Where is the mother to keep it warm? Eerin steps closer and sees the egg shake. She steps even closer. The egg jiggles again and Eerin blinks. Is it real, or could it just be her eyes? Her hand involuntarily reaches out for the quivering egg, fingers cold from the weather and shaky from curiosity. And yet, before her skin can make contact, the herd of chickens hidden inside the coop burst out, squawking and pecking. The feed bucket falls from Eerins grasp and she turns on her heels, screaming and tossing her arms over her head. She attempts to slam the fence shut behind her but they are at her heels, jumping on top of each other to peck her harder than the other. In the midst of it all, Eerin questions if they’ve always had this many chickens.

With the fence left open, Eerin runs as quickly as her oversized muck boots will allow. Chickens hot on her tail, she spins away in terror when she realizes they are blocking her path to the house. Without much choice, she is herded towards the old barn, the one she’s not allowed to go into, the one the owl perches on every night. The large wooden door swings open as the wind bustles by and she slips in, slamming it shut behind her.

Darkness swallows her whole.

Eerin has never been in the barn before, only seem glimpses of dusty farm equipment from the outside. Mom says that it’s too dangerous to go inside because the building is slowly collapsing and the tools inside are rusting. Now that she’s here, Eerin feels an eeriness that caresses her bones. The smell of dust and mildew and metal is strong, and the sound of heavy wind outside creates an otherworldly impression. Daylight streams through the small, cracked windows on either side of the structure.

Shadows of tools and unknown objects make the girl uneasy, but it's one dark figure that keeps her in place. The silhouette of an owl sits in front of a large, dusty window on the edge of the loft. Eerin, for the first time since her father said he wouldn’t be leaving with them, feels scared.

“We’re not leaving,” she states. Her voice quivers. The owl shadow doesn’t even twitch. “What do you want? WE’RE NOT LEAVING!”

There is a whooshing sound and wind rushing past her face, so strong it knocks her over. A flap of wings and a long, harsh scream rattles Eerin’s bones. She shields her ears with her hands and curls up on the dirt floor, shouting over the whooshing wind that they aren’t leaving—

Familiar hands grip her shoulders. “Why are you screaming?!” Her mother cries, concern coating her features. Emily stands behind her without a coat. The two women pull the little girl from the floor and lead her out of the barn, through the horde of chickens that have taken station in the front yard and back to the house.

The barn door shuts behind them and exists just as it did before.

_____

“That’s not it. This is different than before.”

Eerin should be asleep. Eerin shouldn’t be sneaking through the house to hear her mother speak to her father on the landline. But this is the only way to know her father still exists.

“I don’t know what to do. She was on the ground in the barn, screaming. I’m worried about her.”

The little girl creeps over the wooden floor with bare feet. She stays in the living room, shielding herself from view. Her mother stands in the kitchen, blanketed in shadows and moonlight as she uses the phone attached to the wall.

“Having a big imagination is one thing. Eerin doesn’t seem to know how to draw the line between reality and fantasy. You should hear some of the things she says. When I asked her about the barn, she said something about an owl attacking her….Don’t “Rebecca” me, this is different from New York and you know it. The only thing that seems better is that she’s not being bullied. She still doesn’t have friends…Oh yeah? And what if what she needs is her father?”

There is a long silence where her mother doesn’t move. And then she slumps against the wall heavily and says something into the phone Eerin can’t understand. She decides she’s heard enough anyway.

_____

The next day, Eerin finds her sister and mother arguing in the kitchen.

“Why is that my fault?” Emily grits out.

“I never said anything was your fault.”

“Then why should I stay close? How would me staying close make a difference in Eerin’s wellbeing.”

“It was just a suggestion. I worry about how big changes affect her.”

“The only reason why I would go far is if I got a full-ride scholarship somewhere, and the only reason I need one of those is because we can’t afford anything!”

“Do you really think I need to hear these kinds of things from you?” Mom says, slamming her hand down on the counter.

“Who else is gonna say them? And if you want to talk about her wellbeing maybe we should stop deluding her into thinking dad is coming out here.”

Mom doesn’t change her facial expression. It’s almost like she’s too tired to put in the effort. “Why would you say that?“

“If he wanted to be here, he would be here.”

“It’s more complicated than tha—“

“No, it’s not. He never liked it here. He never liked grandpa and grandpa never liked him. Grandpa was forced by grandma to let you inherit this land anyway. Everything feels a little cursed, don’t you think?”

“So what do you suggest I do? Go back to Brooklyn with a husband that wouldn’t follow me, where my daughter gets bullied and we can barely afford the mortgage?”

Almost before she gets the words out, the older woman falls against the kitchen counter, her legs giving out. Emily reaches out, saving her from hitting the ground. Eerin rushes over.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” their mother assures. Once the older woman insists that she is fine and can stand on her own two feet, she asks why Eerin is awake.

“This was in my room,” the little girl announces, gesturing to her clasped hands.

“What is that?” Emily asks, a little frightful.

Eerin shows them the small orange and green soldier beetle resting in her palm. The two women rush the girl onto the front porch to release it. Cool air bites her skin as she leans down on the porch and nudges the beetle away. It says goodbye as it crawls away.

_____

“Eerin, come help me fold these clothes,” Mom says later that night.

“Okay.”

Her mother sits on the couch as Eerin stands next to her. They work their way through the t-shirts, socks, and underwear. Eerin picks up one of her mother's favorite shirts and folds and refolds it three times so there won’t be any wrinkles.

“Why did Emily say all of those things about dad today?” The little girl asks, rolling one of her sister's socks into the other.

“She’s just angry your father is taking longer to meet us down here than we expected. You know how she gets.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eerin replies. “I meant, why did she have to say all of those things out loud?”

“I…don’t understand.”

“Why did she have to say things that we already know out loud?”

Mom slows down what she is doing, lets her working hands hover in the air for several seconds before shifting back into motion.

“You don’t think dad wants to come out here?”

“No.”

Her mother drops her hands in her lap and turns to her youngest daughter.

“Do you?” Eerin asks.

Moms face skews into something unpleasant, like the look Eerin suspects she wears when she is forced to eat meat. And then, she looks like she is about to reveal a deep, deep secret.

“No,” her mother says quietly. “I don’t.” She looks down at her lap. “I’m sorry for not being truthful with the two of you from the beginning.”

“That’s okay, mom. I keep secrets too sometimes.”

Mom smiles sadly. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Eerin shrugs. “They’re secrets.”

Mom takes her small hands into her own and stares deeply into her eyes.

“How about we make a promise? No more secrets. We’ll tell each other everything we are feeling, okay?”

Eerin feels a little weird about this but promises anyway. They go back to folding the clothes. Halfway through the basket, mom speaks again.

“Do you tell anymore at school your secrets?”

“No.”

“Do you talk to many kids at school?”

“I talk to teachers.”

“You don’t have kids your age that you talk to?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t you want to talk to kids your age?”

Eerin wonders about this. It hasn’t been long since the last time they spoke about this subject. “I don’t think the age of who I talk to matters.”

Her mother doesn’t say anything, and Eerin wonders if she’s upset her. She noticed a while ago that subjects like this tend to make her mom sad. After she told her that the kids at school pushed her down and called her weird, her parents fought for days. One night, she even found her mother in the bathroom, crying.

“Maybe you should try to make friends, Eerin,” her mother says, folding the final piece of clothing.

“Why?”

“Because having friends can be fun, and it can save you from feeling lonely.”

Eerin wonders about being alone and doesn’t feel anything bad about it. And then she thinks again about changing the things she says, ignoring the things she sees, fighting against the feelings she feels, and suddenly, being alone is the worst thing in the world. She wants to convey this to her mother, assure her that she likes seeing stories told in water puddles and doesn’t mind when the birds whisper their secrets to her, but she knows her mom just wants her to have a simple life, not the secrets a bird would tell.

“Do you think you could try to make friends at this new school? For me?” Mom asks, staring up at Eerin. The linen lace curtains cause the light from the moon to distort itself on her face, making her look like she’s crying. Does she need to change? She doesn’t know why she should, except to make others happy.

“Okay.” Eerin reiterates. “I’ll try.” Her voice echos.

_____

Eerin crawls into bed that night, with the moonlight draped over her and the barn owl perched on top of the barn. Eerin watches it for a few minutes, thinks of the linen lace on Mom's face, and lays down. Emily wants to go to the University of Chicago, which isn’t too far from here, but Eerin knows mom will worry endlessly. She wonders if dad will come to see Emily leave, but decides she doesn’t want to wonder about that anymore.

There is a sudden presence near her that wasn’t there a moment ago, and when she looks away from the stars on her ceiling she sees the familiar small owl perched just outside her window sill. It seems to have made itself comfortable, with its eyes half shut and its chest puffed out against the cold. Eerin thinks of sitting up and shooing it away but then remembers what her mom said. It can save you from feeling lonely.

Nestled tightly within her covers, the little girl wonders how something can be saved from a feeling. Yesterday, she would’ve asked this question out loud. Today, she thinks she’ll keep it to herself.