Paradox of the Pre-Dawn
A gentle wind tickles at leafy branches in the courtyard, as I stroll underneath the twilight. Liminal moments like these always seem charged with energy, palpable to ones sixth sense. I breathe in the scent of jasmine, stopping for a minute to take in my surroundings. I observe the stony ground beneath my feet. Soon I’ll be indoors with my shoes off, sipping tea. A cat notices me, stares for a split-second, and runs away. Little does it know I wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m carrying a paper bag with a brand new novel I sought out at the book store. My wife opens the front door and smiles at me. I kiss her on the cheek and walk inside the house. She asks me what I got, and we get to talking. With the kettle on in the kitchen we raise our voices a little bit to hear each other over the boiling. I make her coffee.
Later that night I start reading my book, as my wife drifts off to sleep. The time flies by, and soon it’s midnight. I decide to get a drink of water before turning in, and walk over to the bathroom. As I’m standing there turning the tap, what appears to be headlights shine in through the window. I don’t have the lights on, so I’m startled. Even more so to hear tyres on gravel. We must have a visitor. But at this hour? I glance out the window and I see a black van. It’s running, but nobody gets out. At this point I’m wondering who the hell is on my property. I put on my slippers and hurry to the safe to get my gun. Just in case. I walk outside with the weapon concealed, and the car is still running. The windows are tinted, so I can’t see any occupants. Just then the car reverses quickly and drives away.
I walk back inside, lock the door behind me and go to bed. There’s no way for me to trace who owns the vehicle because it had no plates. I eventually settle down and drift off to sleep. The next morning when I’m taking out the trash I notice the same van parked on the street. This time it’s not running. But I have no way of knowing if anyone is inside it. I stand there for a few minutes trying to decide what to do. Is someone following me? I’m not one to call police, but I tell my wife about it and she’s pretty spooked. I’m medicated so I don’t see this being some kind of delusion. Although it’s odd, it’s just another weird experience to add to the list of things that have occurred in my life.
Later, I hear a knock at the door. It’s one of my neighbours. She tells me she’s seen two men in suits, wearing shades, loitering in the area. When I ask her if she’s seen a black van lately a look of fright flashes across her face. Yes, she has. That’s what they drive. I assure my neighbour there is probably a reasonable explanation for all this and eventually, she calms down. The lack of plates is pissing me off. I need some way to track the van, or find out who it’s registered to. I retreat to my studio to write, and the afternoon turns into the evening. The next day I call up a security firm and order a surveillance camera. That way I’ll be able to capture this pair on tape. Once the camera is set up I see the installation team off and go inside to have dinner. We have stuffed mushrooms and parmesan with salad. I go to bed without trouble counting on the camera to document the comings and goings of the van and its occupants.
The next day I review the footage, fast-forwarding through all the parts without a black van. I come to the part where it arrives. It’s around three o’ clock in the morning, and they park in the street outside my neighbour’s house. The two of them get out of the van wearing fedoras and run up the wall. As they make it to the roof they leap from chimney to chimney, dropping unknown items into the houses, illuminating each one. They glide back down onto the ground, get in their van and leave. An owl flies onto my lawn and catches a mouse. I rewind, watch the pair running, jumping and gliding again. I shake my head and clutch my chin. I don’t know who these people are or what they’re up to, but it certainly doesn’t feel benign.
I wait up the next night, till three o’ clock in the morning. I sit at the dining room table in the dark and watch the street, hoping to see something. Around three, the van pulls up. The pair exit their respective doors and stop dead in their tracks. They look my way, even though I’m in the dark. They approach the house. I reach for the gun on the table and point it at them. If they come anywhere near me I’ll blast them away. They walk all the way up to the house, get to the window, and keep walking. They come through the wall like ghosts. Then I realise, guns don’t work on ghosts. As they approach me their mouths widen like Cheshire cats. They take off their dark glasses and they have giant black, slanted eyes. I run through the house yelling profanity. My wife, a light sleeper, is stirred by the racket, runs out the bedroom and finds me cowering in the corner of the living room, with two beings over me.
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My wife runs to the kitchen and grabs a pan. To my surprise, she hits one of them over the head and he collapses to the floor. The other one reaches into its suit pocket and takes out something the resembles a pen. He holds it up to my wife’s eyes, it flickers, and she faints. I reach for my gun and pull the trigger. I miss. He tries the flicker trick on me but I close my eyes and punch him square in the jaw. He loses his footing and falls over. I shoot him in the chest three times, and he’s dead. I drag both bodies out to the van, break one of the windows open and dump them in the back seat. I grab a can of petrol from the garage, make sure I have my lighter, and return to the van to hot-wire it. I have my wife follow me in our car while we drive to the middle of nowhere. I douse the van in petrol and set it alight. We watch the van as it burns, then get in our car and go home.
When I pull up to the driveway back home I see the owl, sitting on my fence. It watches us intently as we walk inside. At three o’ clock in the morning I’m awoken to footsteps on the roof. Then a flash of light throughout the house. I run over to our bedroom window and see another black van. Two people get into the van and drive off. Again, no plates. The owl returns. It stares at me. I walk out to the fence and try shoo the bird away. It lunges at me and starts pecking at my face. I cover my head and ball up while this dreadful creature attacks me. I grab it by the wings and wrestle it to the ground. It’s squawking and pecking at me violently. Everywhere. Eventually, I lose my grip, and it flies off into the night sky. I have a cut above my left eye and it’s bleeding. I wake up my wife and she tends to the wound. I need a doctor, so we drive to the emergency room.
The next day I’m sitting in my studio writing and I feel a presence in the room. I turn around and no one is there. I wonder for a minute if I’m losing my mind. Who were these men in black? What’s with the owl? So many questions are swirling around in my head. I decide to take a walk to clear my head. On my walk I see a moving truck. Twenty-Four Seven Movers. The logo on it is an owl. Just a coincidence, right? A few blocks down I see a black van. I glance down and it has plates. Whew. Thank God. I look through the window and on the passengers seat is a fedora. I dig in my pocket to grab my phone so I can take a picture of the plate. As I’m readying myself for a snapshot, someone clears their throat behind me. I turn around and see an owl in a suit. He reaches in his pocket with one of his wings and grabs something. He tries to flash it in my eyes. I turn my head and run down the street.
The further I run, the more disfigured the houses become, until they’re all built upside-down. People with oddly shaped heads start coming out of their upside-down houses. The cars have square tyres. I look up at the sky and it’s green. I glance down at their lawns, and they’re blue. I start running the opposite direction and the people start looking normal again. I notice a shadow on the ground. It’s an owl, flying in the sunny sky. It dives toward the road and turns into a black van. The windows come down, and two owls glare at me. I look at my hands and they’re paws. I’m a mouse, and I get the distinct impression I’m their prey. I escape into a nearby field. The windows go back up, the van turns back into an owl, and it pursues me.
There’s a humongous tree in the field. It’s covered in cobwebs, and a giant spider dwells among it. It sees the owl scanning the field, and decides to assert ownership over its territory. The spider shouts out to the owl that it has no business here. They get into a spat, and the spider bites the owl on its neck. Instantly, the owl takes a nose dive. I emerge from the grasslands and thank the spider for her assistance. She introduces me to her young, and we feast on the prey she’s caught in her web. Night falls, and I part ways with the queen spider — an air kiss on each cheek. She wishes me well, after which I slowly become a dot on the horizon. The minute I make it across state lines I’m human. As I approach my home I notice the road signs have all been replaced with the symbol of the owl. I look down at a stop street and there’s an owl painted on the tarmac. I see what used to be a crossing that is now a series of owls. I look up, hoping to see a clear sky, and I do.
I get home. My wife is waiting for me, panic stricken, and worried sick. We embrace. As the sun sets owls begin to circle our home. They land, one after another, lined up on the fence in our yard. Then a black van arrives. And another, and another. Soon the street is filled with black vans and the fence is covered in owls. I look around and none of my neighbours appear to be home. Their cars are not in their driveways. Perhaps they’re in the garage? Later, there’s a knock on the door. I answer the door, and two owls in suits greet me. They offer me a large sum of money for what they consider prime real estate. I tell them to get lost, after which one of them reaches into his suit pocket, pulls out a little elongated object and flashes it in my eyes, before I can realise what’s happening. Thereafter, I never saw another owl or black van in the area. And I only have a subconscious recollection of these events.
