The Owls are Not what they seem

My family and I were renting a cabin on a 6 acres farm in Sonoma County, about a 10 minute drive from the Bohemian Club. The property was surrounded by old growth redwoods, and when I would explore the property at night, the darkness felt suffocating.

The moon was completely blotted out by the dense tree tops, and I would often compare it to a dream.

Now, I have been an outdoor enthusiast all my life. I would often times hike solo into the wilderness for up to a week at a time. Completely alone and comfortable taking care of myself. But there was something about this property that was different. Even walking to the garbage can near the road, I would find myself jogging there and back in an attempt to get back to the house as quickly as possible. Trying to outrun the darkness.

One night my wife and I were up late watching tv, around 1:30 am, laying in our bed, with the window open behind our heads. Suddenly, we hear very loud shouting far off in the distance. The voice repeatedly shouting “Boo-Boo”. We instantly recognized the voice as our landlord, the owner of the property. “Boo-Boo” was the name of her Great Pyrenees ranch dog, who would often escape the property over the fence and into a large apple orchard next door.

So this evening, when I hear her shouting from the orchard at full volume “boo-boo”, I turn my wife and we both comment on the fact that our landlord is out looking for the dog. We continue to watch TV, and as we sit there, the shouting continues, and becomes even louder. More desperate. After another couple minutes, I hear my landlords husband come out and start shouting in full volume as well, repeating the dog’s name again and again.

I thought this was strange they were out looking for him at almost 2 am, in the past, if the dog had runoff in the night they always wait till the morning to see if he comes back. But the shouting continues, desperately and more emotional sounding. We both noticed that they sound like they were in distress, and my wife asked me to go and help them look for the dog.

I get dressed and put on my headlamp, and open the door. As soon as I do, I can hear both of my landlords voices, amplified and crystal clear echoing through the trees.

I start heading on down the path towards the orchard. The night is unnaturally still, not a single branch is shaking, no wind, no crickets or animal sounds. It was the definition of deafening silence. The only sound was the magnified, panicked shouting. “Boo-Boo, Boo-Boo”

But as I got closer to the orchard, their voices seem to be drowned out and muffled, and further away. “They must be walking further away from me, over the saddle of the hill where I can’t hear them” I thought to myself. I reached the edge of the property line of the orchard, and rested my hand on the fence post, and it’s silent. Complete silence.

Now the orchards big, but not that big. I should be able to hear them to some degree, and in this moment I could hear a pin drop. An intense feeling of dread washed over me. I decided to walk back to my landlord’s house, to confirm that they were awake. I continue down a different path towards their house, which was surrounded by dense tall bamboo. I turned the corner to where their large bedroom window is, and it’s pitch black. The house is completely dark. I even hear my landlord violently snoring from the other side of the window. I am completely alone, and it dawned on me that there was nobody outside shouting. There was no lost dog. It was just me, standing alone in the darkness.

When the realization set in, I instantly felt something watching me. I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach that is setting off alarms everywhere, saying you’re in danger and you need to get out. I felt that something unnatural had successfully lured me away from my house.

I begin to run. Literally run, up the path and back towards my cabin. As I approach, I see my wife is inside the house, looking out the window waiting for me. She said “did you guys find the dog?” I stand in the light of the house, shining through the window outside. I tell her, there’s no dog, nobody’s in the orchard, and our landlords are asleep. The look of confusion washes over her face, and I see the same dread reflecting in her eyes. In that exact moment, almost as if it was answering our question, The biggest barn owl I had ever seen, perched on a branch not 10 feet over my head, produced a violent screeching sound that was unworldly. My wife and I are both visibly terrified, and I run around the side of the house and into the door as quickly as possible. I had the feeling like I wanted to go hide under my covers. We heard it screeching long into the night, though it didn’t sound even remotely like the two distinct voices we had both previously heard.

Strangely enough, that evening a few hours prior to this event, my wife and I were re-watching some classic Twin Peaks. After what had happened that night, we found ourselves recalling the words of Major Briggs “the owls are not what they seem.”