Page 4 of Dark Rapture
A massive bird is perched in the gnarled branches of my parent’s ancient maple tree, sitting at the center of their front yard. An owl, oversized and unusually dark, sits silently among the vibrant red leaves.
The raptor’s beautiful feathers are dark like black smoke, with pale grey speckles catching the beams of sunlight as they break through the leaves. What bothers me the most are the two massive, black globes of eyes like infinite voids set in its pale face.
I am struck by both the sight of it, and the oddity of seeing it out in broad daylight in the middle of suburbia. This has to be the largest owl I have ever seen, watching me with its unnerving gaze, as still as a statue.
If its head wasn’t following me as I moved, I’d almost believe it was a lifelike decoration my dad stuffed up there himself. He loves birds, and he has a few special figurines of his favourite types on the mantel in the living room. A cardinal, a blue jay, a yellowhammer, a starling, and a swallow. I remember each one, because my mom and I bought them for him as gifts for holidays over the years.
As I watch the unusual owl, a shiver travels from the nape of my neck all the way down my spine. Pulling my dark grey cardigan tightly around me, I keep my eyes on the bird as I will my feet to move and keep walking up to the front door.
I wish it would do something normal, like flutter its wings or hop along the branches, but it doesn’t. I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong with it, like it’s another omen promising the coming of something bad.
“Today just keeps getting weirder,” I murmur out loud as I step up onto the modest, covered porch. With a narrowed gaze, I offer the owl another few seconds of my attention before a noise pulls me away.
The door opens, though I can’t remember knocking, and my mother ushers me inside.
“Oh, honeybee, it’s so chilly out. Come in!” she says, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead as we move. I step into the entry way of their cozy two story home on the outskirts of North York.
“The sun is still warm, though. I’m looking forward to curling up with a book and a blanket tonight,” I tell her with a smile, and the smile she returns is beaming and full of adoration.
“Oh, and a hot cup of tea!” she exclaims excitedly, taking my bag from me and setting it on the tall side table on the right. It must be genetic, because my mom’s love of tea rivals my own. I’m fairly certain we both polish off anywhere from three to five cups of the steamy brew every single day.
“Don’t worry, we’ll send you back with a belly full of home cooking, and it will be perfect!”
My sweet mother. She is the epitome of gentleness and warmth. If she knew what her brother did to me whenever she left me at his house for him to babysit me, she’d never be able to recover from it. I am almost certain that confessing his crimes to her would give her a very real heart attack.
I never had it in me to be the reason my mom develops something heavy like depression. Not to mention the risk of my uncle killing her, like he always promised he would do, if she ever found out about the abominable things he was doing to me.
“Come say hello to your father!” she says with excitement in her voice, guiding me deeper into their home with a gentle hand on my back. I walk through the entryway and into the living room, the cozy modern feel is as welcoming as Mom is.
The warm beige walls are adorned with black framed photos of birds, and many photographs of me and my brothers. The bay window is open wide, the brown and honey coloured curtains fixed to the sides to let in all the gorgeous evening light.
I find Dad sitting in his favourite recliner in one corner of the room, pointing at the TV with a scowl on his face, raving about the football game he is currently watching with my brothers Josh and Sam, my grandpa Rick, andhim.
I choose not to look at Uncle Jake. “Hey, Dad,” I say, only to be met with my dad’s cheesy grin.
“Hey, Selene!”
As he rises from his chair to come greet me, he opens his arms for a hug and I immediately step into them. His soft cotton argyle sweater vest smells like his woodsy cologne, and I bury my face in his shoulder to delay the inevitability of saying hi to everyone else. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
“Thanks sweetheart, I’m glad you came,” he tells me, giving me one more squeeze before releasing me.
My dad loves me, of course he does, but I am also certain that he would catch a murder charge if he knew what his wife’s brother did to his only daughter. Telling my family what happened to me would cause too much damage, and that’s the main reason I’ve kept my uncle’s secret for so long.
I love my family, and the last thing I want to do is destroy them all with the truth of what happened to me. Even if it means enduring the monster’s presence at family gatherings.
I smile up at him as I exit the safety of his embrace, leaning around him to wave to the small group of people sitting on the big, comfortable tan sectional facing the wall mounted TV.
“Hey, guys.”
My two older brothers greet me with a wave before turning their attention back to the game everyone is watching, while my uncle just stares at me without uttering a single word. Nobody notices, because he is notorious for being quiet and keeping to himself when we all get together. I only offer him a split second of a glance before turning my attention to my grandpa.
“Hey, babydoll,” he says with a soft smile, his kind eyes full of warmth and happiness. He loves spending time with us all like this, he’s always bragging to everyone about how amazing his grand-kids are.
“Hi Grandpa,” I greet him warmly as I step into his arms for a hug. My grandpa is a good, kind soul that really loves the outdoors. He’s the sole reason Dad developed a love of bird watching, who in turn passed that same hobby on to me.
Once I am done saying hello to the people that matter, Mom wraps an arm around my shoulders and ushers me into the kitchen, where my aunt and grandma are busy putting our dinner together. I greet them both before pulling the requested supplies from my bag, depositing them on the counter before stepping aside to wash up at the kitchen sink so I can help with the remaining cooking and baking.
As we settle into our appointed tasks in preparation of family dinner, the conversation between us flows easily. Mom tells us about the pottery class she runs every Saturday, and grandma gives my mom and my Aunt Claire a cookie recipe she tried recently that was a huge hit at her church a few weekends ago.
