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Entrapment

Written by Arian Mabe / Amethyst Mare

For seven decades, the house upon the hilltop stood in silence. Untouched by paw or claw for such time, it remained a forlorn remnant of better times, times long passed. From the outside, it could have been another disused dwelling that the eye of developers had glanced over without claiming concealed potential. Yet it had never been contested. The building was elegantly designed, constructed in Victorian times, but was, sadly, dilapidated in the current day and age. And, although it retained a dignified air to its silhouette rising from the crest of the hill, there was something sinister in its figure, dark and oppressive against the skyline. Understandably, there were many that wished the household had disappeared after the previous inhabitant, well, moved on.

A fine layer of dust coated every available surface within the house, leaving the underlying splendour unobserved. A desolate, stagnant presence hung over the vast rooms, cleared of furniture in preparation for a sale that had never occurred. No living soul had made a home here in decades. The sweep of the hall curved sadly towards the front entrance, as if to welcome some long awaited visitor that had been long expected and always, always, yet to arrive.

In the drawing room, a floorboard creaked. The noise was startlingly loud, breaking the silence, as the young, anthro barn owl standing in the window bay shifted her weight to the opposite foot, claws tapping the floorboards. No older than nineteen, the avian was tall and slender with pristine white feathers; a beautifully embroidered grey gown adorned her slight figure as she stood quietly. She held her arms loosely at her sides and her rounded, feathered head bowed as if in deep contemplation. Not a soul breathed as the barn owl blinked slowly.

Raising her head to stare with disinterest out of the soiled window pane, the young owl continued to blink. Her expression was blank and listless as she viewed the outside world and dark shadows augmented her shockingly blue eyes, hollows visible even through the covering of feathers. Trails of moisture lay tell-tale tracks down her fair cheeks, gleaming in the feeble ray of sunlight straining through the glass.

Above her head, a trapped bird fluttered in panic, beating its wings against the glass. It could not understand why it could not traverse the apparently non-existent barrier of the window pane. Again and again, it fought to escape, hurling its tiny body into the void only to be thrown back in the next instant. It chirped, perhaps in disgust, and flitted off to try its luck in another part of the building. It would succeed, sooner or later. She ignored its efforts with no interest or feeling at all. It was not truly trapped. It was one of the lucky ones.

Unlike her.

Her life was one of monotony, an endless fate which she had been unexpectedly thrust into. How this had happened, however, she did not know. All she knew was that this shell of existence could not be escaped or eluded and all she wished was for it to end. Forever was she waiting, and waiting, and waiting. But who was she waiting for? Her eyes closed. It was hopeless.

What was this? A figure shuffled its way up to the front door of the house, gait awkward and ungainly, as if the motions of a cripple. As the shape drew closer, it grew more discernible through the window, hobbling and stumbling. It was a stag, elderly, and walking with the aid of a stick, upon which he leaned heavily for support. His antlers were cracked and warped, faded and long disused in the spring rut. Red-brown fur had faded to a muted, muddy brown flecked with grey and he coughed into one, shaking paw. He had been a proud red deer at one point in his life, but no longer.

Something moved within her - a scrap of knowledge that this deer held importance for her, though her mind struggled with retrieving more information. Had this stag passed by the house before? Her trail of thought cut short as his cloven hooves tap the stone steps at the front of the house and she paused in mid-thought, listening intently.

The aged deer raised his paw, trembling fingers curled into a loose fist, and hesitated. Instead of knocking, his frail paw dropped to the tarnished brass handle, resting on it for some moments before pushing down and clumping noisily into the hall. The barn owl winced. So disruptive... He always had been so.

"Where are you?" He murmured softly, too quiet for the average ear. But she heard.

He limped as he shuffled from the creaking hallway into the drawing room where she stood, eyes darting fervently around the features of the room and eventually falling upon the open fireplace. The corner of his eye twitched - a nervous twitch. He shook his head and part of his antlers flaked away like the velvet that would have been shed every spring. That was many years ago though. He shivered as if he was expecting something unprecedented to leap out and knock him to the ground at any second, though the owl could not understand the fear in his eyes.

But she knew him. That much was certain, if nothing else.

"I haven't been back since... Since..."

Her attention zeroed in on him as the deer struggled to form coherent words and a strangled cough interrupted mid-utterance. Concern stirred in her breast. Yet why should she care for this old stag? She knew him, but from where?

As she watched, unobserved observer, glimmers of memory awoke in her mind, the kaleidoscope of thoughts re-arranging themselves. Dancing across the forefront of her mind, they made links and designs, thoughts presenting themselves to her as if by some otherworldly being tugging at their strings.

Her dark eyes widened.

No...it could not be. It could not be him. She knew him, yes, yet this was too much to comprehend. Was it... Had she been engaged to marry this deer? Yes, she had, that was it. She was convinced now - although he had aged somewhat he was still recognisable with the same kind, brown eyes, the same soft mouth, so ready to curve upwards in a smile. How could she have forgotten this?

A smile parted her beak for the first time in decades, yet she wavered as she reached out her feathered fingers towards him. He did not seem to look at her and she wondered just what had happened, how much she had forgotten. Did she look the same as he? Had she been in an accident? She had been his betrothed, but they never had married. What had happened? What was her memory hiding? The stag began to cry, breath wheezing pitifully as he strived to heave oxygen into his body. She started, arm and feathers extended, her anthro wing-feathers falling in a sweeping ark from 'paw' to shoulder.

"Why did you leave me, darling? Why did you do it?" He cried, pressing the sleeve of his right arm against his eyes. "Why did you go? Why? What did I do wrong?"

"William!" She shouted, flitting and waving her paws before him as he stared right through her, seeing nothing. Her wasted cries echoed silently through the room, almost as if she was merely making the sound in her mind, although she worked her beak furiously to form the words she so desperately needed to say. Why did he refuse to see that she was right there? Was he crazed? A screech built in her throat.

He couldn't be in his right mind, she determined, shoulders slumping in defeat. The stag mumbled and lowered his head, antlers dipping. Something was very wrong- she would never have wanted to leave him, she wanted to be at his side forever, to be his always. She had never gone.

She had to get through to him. Steeling herself, the barn owl wheeled about in a flutter of feathers. A metal stoker lay discarded by the fireplace and she dashed for it. Her frantic fingers clutched wildly - she had to have it! - and closed into fists. Confused, she tried again, grasping at nothingness. Her fingers passed through the solid metal like a bird through air and she reeled backwards, beak gaping. Her body was as insubstantial as water. What was going on? Bile rose in her throat and she shook her head, forcing down the urge to vomit. William rubbed his forearm, nose dripping with misery.

Icy realisation hit her like the night chill of a full moon and the hysterical giggle that slid from her beak only to never be spoken was near comical in face of the situation. Oh, it was truly too good.

He would never know how she had died. Nobody would ever know how she died. Nobody would know that life had been stolen from her when her back was turned. That eagle owl, the one she had believed of her past, had returned on the eve of her wedding to vent his jealous rage. How dare he thwart her dreams, leave her laying in a pool of cooling blood, feathers tinged red. They believed that she had committed suicide. A young lass taking her own before the wedding. It was not unheard of. But she loved William. And they would never know.

The two lovers stood apart, far more than the length of the room separating them. His head hung and tears tumbled to the floor as he mumbled words of love and sorrow, over and over again, words running into one another like water. She raised her paws to her head, gripping her head-feathers with wild abandon and twisting her fingers in roughly, shrieking out soundless torment at this fate.

Outside, the trapped bird had discovered a release and was delighting in its newfound freedom, darting and wheeling sharply in the air. He peeped in joy, rediscovering his fellows, and darted with them into the trees, back to the roost as the sky turned red with the sunset. The day drew to an end, once again, and he revelled in his freedom, leaving the sad, little house on the hill behind forever.