White Owl Island

In My Room

Within minutes after taking off the glasses I sought out and returned them to the cloaked woman, whose name I then learned was Sister Sara. I guess she wasn’t willing to impart any personal information until after I passed the time test – no need for introductions for those who weren’t staying.

“And how do you know I actually wore them for the requisite five minutes?” I asked her. “You weren’t even there after I put them on the second time.”

“I can just feel it,” she said as she balanced the glasses in her palm.

Okay. Who was I to question her response? So, I moved on to my next concern, “Do you know where I can find the abbess? I need her to help me interpret some of my visions.”

She considered a moment and then said, “What day is today – Tuesday? I’m sorry to say she’s gone and won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. Tuesdays are her days for visiting the elderly on the other side of the island, and then she spends the evening with a good friend who lives there. If you’re in a hurry, there’s the abbey’s library to the right of the great dining hall. You might find some materials there to help you.”

“Uh, thanks. Maybe I’ll try that later. I’m thinking I should go lie down for a bit; all of the sudden I’m feeling rather tired, like I just ran a few dozen miles.”

“Seeing can do that to you. Sometimes we’ll find people sleeping with the glasses still on. At least you have the energy to return to your room. Has it been set up yet?”

“Well, I suppose. If ‘setting up” means that there are sheets on my bed, as well as a candle, an ink well, and some paper on my table.”

“What else should you need?” she asked as though it was normal to live with such sparse accommodations.

“Um…” I didn’t want to say, “A computer and a table lamp would be nice,” knowing how deliberately technologically deprived the abbey was, so I simply responded, “Nothing really.”

“Then dinner will be in two hours, if you’d like to dine in the great hall with the rest of the guests. Will I see you then?”

“Uh, sure. Two hours.” As far as I knew if I didn’t eat in a couple of hours I wouldn’t eat at all. We were miles away from any commercial activity and transportation to and from the abbey was pretty much nonexistent after sunset. Of course you could canoe on the lake at any time of the day or night, but that was more for meditative purposes than an expected mode of transport. And besides that, the last time I tried to maneuver a canoe I wound up with my oar stuck in the bank.

Sister Sara turned to talk to another nun who walked into the entryway, so I snuck off down the hall toward my room to avoid any further conversation. My brain felt like the oatmeal I had for breakfast, pure mush. I heard my bed calling me and I knew if I didn’t respond to it within the next ten minutes I’d most likely end up curled up somewhere in the middle of the hallway. I actually turned into the wrong room first, which in the abbey is easy enough to do since there are no locks and no room numbers. It’s more count how many doors down you are from the beginning of the hall – and counting, even to nine, proved a challenge at that particular time for me. Fortunately no one was home in the first room. And, to be honest, the only reason I knew it wasn’t mine was because I didn’t recognize the suitcase.

I cautiously opened the next door down, relieved to see my paisley bag sitting beside the bed. No sooner was I in the room that I sat, more fell, onto the blue quilt that covered my sheets. I expected more of a give in the mattress, so was a bit stunned by the impact, but I recovered quickly and pulled the pillow beneath my head, nestling to find a comfortable position.

Seconds later a howling awakened me. Not having seen any animal of any sort around the abbey earlier in the day, the suddenness and the nearness of the cry confused me. I opened my eyes to see the moonlight shining in my room. No, I take that back, not shining in – filling the entire frame of my window. A low, cathartic howl seemed to come from directly behind the moon, and then as if it were a beach ball, the blinding orb was lifted from my view only to reveal a person backing through the window into my room. Too frightened to react I watched as the intruder’s body, barefooted and dressed in a long, flowing gown maneuvered over the ledge, and then turned toward me, but it was not human – its body was, but not its head; it was a dog and once she stood next to my bed, she threw back her head and howled again. I wanted to run, but there was no opportunity for me to even move. I said nothing because I feared the reaction of the beast that stood over me. I just lay there, willing my terror to remain contained within me, unleashing no sudden movements or telltale scents. I’d heard many a story of how an animal can sense your fear, and I knew unbridled panic stirred within me. Just as I felt my terror ready to explode, a noise outside my window drew my guard’s attention. As she turned her head, instead of hair where the right side of her head should be, a lioness’s face appeared. I moved to rise, but she leaned into me and let loose a deafening roar; the heat of her breath and the smell of her most recent catch warned me to be as still as petrified wood. I’m not certain how long she intended to stay in my room or for what purpose she had come. If I were to be her next meal, I wanted it to be sooner than later because my bowels could not wait much longer. A knock at the door startled us both. She raised her hand to signal me to stay and then turned toward the sound. I calculated I had a second to make my escape through the open window, but the growling of the dog’s head as it passed seized my moment. I felt the pressure from the anxiety like a weight on my chest, and just as I closed my eyes, giving way to the strain, a horse whinnied from somewhere in the room.

I awakened to a persistent knocking and the sound of Sister Sara’s voice, “Madam? Madam? I just wanted to let you know that dinner will be served in five minutes. Madam?”

I turned toward the noise, and struggled to understand how the setting sun could be casting shadows across my empty room.