The Alarm

Twenty-three minutes had passed since the owl was stolen from its barn. The reinforced metal door was ajar. A bloody handprint was smeared across the side, glistening in the fluorescent hallway light.

If not for distant shrieks echoing down the hallway and the remains of the unfortunate feeding roster employees, it would be a peaceful evening. The Park Manager on the night shift would catch up on her emails, the feeding team would wash up after doing their rounds through the nocturnal enclosures, the customer service team would make sure the park is ready for the eager guests already lining up at the admission booth to see the nights’ spectacle.

But not tonight. Instead, tonight would be branded a massacre, an example of negligence and poor risk management. Tonight was the grandest and most pleasurable feast for the Banuslythe because a boy entered a barn.

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It was sixteen minutes after the wide-eyed bird was taken from its perch that Ed heard the first scream of terror from within the enclosure. The sound froze Ed’s body in place. A bucket, now emptied of meat, shook in his hands. The dark environment plagued with shadows looked so still and lifeless before they had hurriedly entered, rushing to feed the beast before it woke. His coworker disappeared in the blink of an eye, yet not one branch in the space looked disturbed. Even if his glasses weren’t sliding down his nose bridge while he scanned the trees carefully, Ed’s eyes would never see the predator in the dark, not like the pair of slitted eyes hidden in the canopy which stared directly at him.

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Tonight’s fateful shift had begun like any other: he had clocked in, helped his coworker line up the first serving of food for the night-beasts on their trolley before heading down the concrete hallway along the back of the enclosures. It wasn’t until fourteen minutes after a clammy set of trembling hands took the owl that the feeders realised their mistake. They had spent too long in the Moasecarp pen.

This species of rodent stood on two legs reaching shoulder-height of the men. The feeders usually enjoyed delivering the breakfast to the Moasecarps. Sometimes they even brought in some food themselves to eat with the bipedal animals, sharing a meal together. Tonight, however, the Moasecarps’ juvenile crawled out of its burrow, stretching its two front paws high above its head, its lips pulled back over its long teeth in a yawn. They stared in amazement, shocked to see the youngling out so early. Their expressions of awe slowly faded into ones of dread as they realised the animal was not out early. They were instead running behind schedule.

‘Say, Ed, it’s been rather quiet, right?’ his eyes were wide with fear.

He already knew the answer. They hadn’t heard the alarm that they relied upon. They hadn’t heard the owl yet. The hooting of the owl usually began before the most dangerous beast would rise. If it hadn’t already, the Banuslythe would be awaken soon. They had to hurry.

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A distressed chittering sounded from within the cage a teenager held to his chest. His employee badge with Kye written on the front magnetised to the metal bars. He didn’t have time to stop to fix it back on his shirt yet.

‘Don’t you worry, nearly there Einstein!’

Only four minutes had passed since Kye had coaxed the majestic owl into its cage. It was a simple task; his mother had given him the responsibility of being the owl’s trainer this year. Directed by Kye, Einstein would fly gracefully through his enclosure, backed by a mural of fields and a miniature building of an old barn. Kye’s mother said that as the Park Manager’s son he should take on more responsibility instead of slacking off in the break room. For the first few months, Kye genuinely tried. Truthfully, though, he cared little for responsibility. He wanted it gone. The owl wouldn’t be his problem anymore. An ecstatic grin spread across his face and he hopped gleefully up the North stairs to the ground floor where the diurnal animals were on show during the day. He was so close to freedom!

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The disaster of tonight’s events began as Einstein stared at Kye intruding in his barn. Kye crouched to enter, ducking his head beneath the scrubbed and weathered white beams. Inside it smelled musty with a hint of sweetness; dry straw topped the thin layer of dark, rich dirt they’d shovelled from outside. They set the peaked roof with a small loft where Einstein slumbered in a small straw nest. Rubber toys in the shape of rats littered the space, and a sturdy model of a lamb lay curled in the corner, a fine layer of dust settled onto its wool.

Einstein watched Kye, cocking his head to the side, wondering where his food was. Sure enough, the boy had Einstein’s favourite snack in his gloved hand. If possible, Einstein’s eyes seemed to grow wider. The golden feathered bird dipped its head into a bow like Kye had trained it to, and Kye rewarded him with a worm. The boy swung open the door of a metal cage and placed his glove with a worm on top inside before tapping on the metal grate three times. Allured by a second snack, Einstein hopped close enough for the boy to wrap his hands gently around his wings and push him in. Einstein tipped and lost his balance as the teenager snatched the cage and raced out of the miniature barn that usually held Einstein.

Not a feather was left behind. The owl’s hoot would not grace these halls tonight.

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Ten minutes before the owl was stolen, the girls rostered on the admission booth for the evening waved at the Park Manager’s son as he emerged from the door leading to her office.

‘Friday night, Kye, I think you will have a crowd at your demonstration tonight. Say hello to Owl-bert Einstein for me!’

‘Oh, I will!’ he beamed a brilliant smile at her, waving over his shoulder.

Gilly closed her till, staring after him in wonder. She had never seen him so cheery before. Still, it put her in a fantastic mood and filled her with energy; she was ready to smash out this shift! They were expecting thousands of people to attend throughout the night.

Einstein, although a simple barn owl, was popular among the children along with the Moasecarps in the neighboring enclosure. His golden wings would enrapture the little kids’ hearts as he flew around Kye in their show before perching on an outcropping beam from the old barn.

The next boom in visitors would be just before midnight when the famous Banuslythe would hunt for its lunch. Gilly shivered, unsettled by the crowds that enjoyed a poor animal being hunted as prey in a live show. The Banuslythe had always terrified her, but it was what she just couldn’t look away from: it was so magnificent. Its graceful fluid movements, the way its eyes never shifted while its body slipped through the canopy, the speed with which it pulled its prey into the air, the way it became part of the shadows unless it wanted to be seen by the crowd. It would bear its fangs dripping with saliva and blood after the show, showing just enough of its maw in the glow of the dim enclosure lights to hush the crowd.

There were few things in this world that could instill enough fear into a cheering crowd to force them into a dead silence, but the Banuslythe was one of them. Some people go skydiving, some people swim with sharks, and some people pay to bask in the mere presence of the Banuslythe. Even if they don’t glimpse the beast, it still feels like a death-defying experience.

Tonight, however, nobody could defy death. Only a singular barn owl and its trainer escaped, leaving an empty, small old barn and chaos behind them.