Joan of Snark Ch. 14

"Joan Marie Hubert! Where on earth were you?!"

Joan cringed upon hearing her mother's grating voice. The older woman was seated at the kitchen table with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel, which she was holding to her nose.

Joan looked down at the floor. Tears of guilt began to well up in her eyes. "Mom, I'm really sorry about what happened earlier. I just ..."

"Answer me! Where were you?" her mother demanded.

"I was at the rectory, talking with Father Ben."

"Oh," her mother's voice softened somewhat. "And what exactly were you talking about with Father Walsh?"

"I told him about what I did ... to you," Joan said, her voice cracking. "Mom, I'm so sorry!"

"You told Father Walsh that you hit me?" Joan's mother removed the bag of frozen peas and placed it on the kitchen table.

"Y ... y ... yes," Joan sniveled as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"So, it was kind of like ... a confession of sorts," her mother said with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

"Well, not officially. But yeah ... sort of."

"And what did Father Walsh tell you to ... Oh wait!" Joan's mother stopped herself from finishing her own question. "How silly of me! Whatever it was that you discussed with Father Walsh during your confession is completely confidential."

"Mom, it wasn't technically a confession."

"Nonetheless, whatever spiritual guidance Father Walsh gave you is sacred. And it's between the two of you," the older woman decisively said.

"He told me that I needed to apologize to you," Joan admitted. "I'm sorry for hitting you. I just haven't been myself recently. You know?"

"Yes Joanie, I've noticed. But talking to Father Walsh is a good first step. I'm glad that you've reached out and asked for help. And who better to ask that a priest!"

"I guess ..." Joan uncertainly replied.

As her mother looked up at her, she suddenly raised her eyebrows as something caught her eye. "What are you wearing, Joanie? Is that a new necklace?"

Suddenly Joan remembered the pentacle that she was donning around her neck. Even though it was supposedly not the star of Satin, Joan did not think that her mother would understand. She did not believe that the conservative Catholic woman sitting in front of her would be alright with a symbol representing a pagan deity. So Joan quickly tucked the pendant past her collar and hid it under her blouse.

"Joanie, why won't you let me see your pretty new necklace?"

"Father Ben told me not to show it to anyone," the young girl lied.

"Why not?"

"Well, he gave it to me during my 'confession.' And like you said, whatever we discussed, that's between me and Father Ben."

"Alright," Joan's mother conceded with a chuckle. "I bet it's a patron saint medal. He probably gave you a pendant of the Virgin Mary."

"Yeah, something like that," Joan replied, relieved that her mother did not insist on seeing her new accessory.

"Now, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, anything, Mom."

"Unfortunately Father O'Connor doesn't seem to be doing any better. And the doctors at the hospital can't figure out what's wrong with him. They're worried he's getting weaker. I think it would be a great idea for you and I to go visit him tomorrow evening at the hospital. You know, to cheer him up and boost his morale."

Joan miserably groaned. "Mom, Father O'Connor hates me. Working for him at the rectory is the worst!"

"Joanie!" Joan's mother gave her a sharp, disapproving look. "After what you did to me earlier this evening, are you really going to tell me no?"

Joan let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," she grumbled. "Tomorrow evening I'll go with you to the hospital to see Father O'Connor. But only this once."

"Joanie, honestly, I don't understand what's with the bad attitude. Father O'Connor gave you a part-time job so that you could save money for college. That was very kind of him. He didn't have to do that for you , you know."

"Some things in life aren't worth the money," Joan muttered under he breath as she turned to leave the kitchen.

"What was that?" her mother called after her.

"Nothing. Good-night, Mom!" Joan replied as she headed up the stairs to her bedroom.

After changing into her night gown, Joan lay under the covers thinking about what Father Ben had said to her earlier. "'Even better than Lil?'" How did he know the details of her hallucination? She had not told anyone about that. It troubled Joan as she turned over and closed her eyes.

Through her open window, she could hear the rustling of the leaves on the tree outside of the house. The night time summer breeze blew in through the window. The gentle currents of air tickled the exposed skin of Joan's face, neck, arms and hands. She could feel the cool metal of the pentacle pendant against her chest.

Suddenly Joan's ears pricked up as she heard a noise off in the distance. It started off quite faint at first. But it got louder as it seemed to come within closer proximity of the house. Much to Joan's dread, it was the hooting of an owl. Oh no, Joan thought to herself. Not again! Was it even real? Was she dreaming? Or was it another sleep paralysis hallucination?

But the owl's cries were not all Joan could hear. The hooting was soon followed by the repetitive, shrill cawing of a crow. Joan's stomach flip-flopped. They're probably not real, she told herself. They're probably just imaginary sounds created by my unconscious. My brain is simply reorganizing the events I've experienced over the last few days. That's what dreams are, are they not? However, no matter how hard Joan tried to silently reassure herself, the cries of the two different birds sounded as if they were right outside her window.

Without thinking, Joan pulled back the bed covers. It was as if she was on autopilot. Her body moved without her deciding to. However, in her trance like state, this did not alarm her. Calmly, she walked over to the window. She looked out and spotted the black bird. Next to it was its nocturnal companion with big round eyes. They were perched on a branch of the evergreen tree just outside of the house. They were only a few feet from Joan's bedroom window.

A gust of airy summer wind passed over Joan. However, this time it felt different. The light breeze did not blow through the loose hair on her head. And she could not feel the wind on her skin. Joan turned her head to the right and looked down at her arm. She was surprised when she did not see the sleeve of her nightgown or her tanned bare forearm. Instead what she saw was an black feathered appendage. She quickly turned to the left and glanced downwards. Once again she was shocked to see another wing covered in dark feathers.

This is a dream, she thought to herself. But if this is a dream, then why can't I wake up? Don't people usually wake up as soon as they realize that they're having a dream? It must be a lucid dream that I'm having, she decided. An experience in which the dreamer is aware that it's not real. But they remain asleep and dreaming anyway. There's nothing to be scared of, she told herself firmly. This is just a scene that my unconscious is letting me play out. Nothing bad is going to happen.

Once again, the owl cried out and the crow cawed. Joan tried to open her mouth to say something. But no coherent words came out. Instead, what emerged from Joan's throat was the deep raspy croak. It was the call of a raven.

She looked down and saw that she was standing on the windowsill. But the olive skin of her bare feet and toes were not there. Instead there were a pair of black taloned claws with white stripes growing out of a pair of skinny leathery legs. This dream is really detailed, Joan observed.

The owl in the tree outside let out an urgent shriek. It then flapped its wings and took off flying away from the house. The crow looked expectantly at Joan. It cawed a couple of times and then quickly followed suit, not far behind the owl.

Deciding to see where this bizarre dream would take her, Joan unfolded her dark wings. She fluttered them up and down until she could feel herself being lifted up. Her gnarled black feet were no longer touching the wooden windowsill. She was airborne. Taking a deep breath, she angled herself forward. Beating her wings, she left the safety of her house to fly out to where there was no surface directly below her. If she fell, it would be a far drop.

But she did not fall - she was flying. Continuing to flap her wings, she chased after the owl and the crow. Much to her surprise, it did not take her long to catch up. It was almost is if they had been waiting for her.

As she looked down at the ground below, she thought to herself, this really is a dream. Instead of seeing the rooftops of the houses that made up her little town, all Joan could see were green leafy trees. They were flying over a dense forest. She wondered where they were headed. Did the forest just go on forever?

It did not take long for there to be a break in the foliage. They flew over a grassy clearing. The owl and the crow swooped down and landed deftly in a tree overlooking the meadow. Joan, not far behind, came to rest on the limb of a tree nearby. The three of them looked down into the pasture.

There was a herd of sheep grazing in the meadow. The white woolly animals looked serene and did not seem bothered by the presence of the three feathery visitors. Joan could not help but feel slightly disappointed. Was this the best that her unconscious could do? A bunch of sheep chewing on grass? Could her imagination not come up with something more exciting? Joan looked over at her two new fowl friends. They looked down at the flock, not taking their eyes off of the baby lambs. Were they hungry? She was not sure if watching an baby sheep getting torn apart by two predatory birds was the type of excitement she was seeking.

However, it was not the owl or the crow she needed to be worrying about. From the other side of the clearing, the sound of hooves could be heard heavily pounding against the ground at an startling pace. As the sound got louder, a deep grunting could also be heard. Joan could hear twigs and branches being broken as something large and loud was swiftly approaching.

Bursting through the trees from the other side of the clearing was a cow. No, Joan realized. Not just a cow. It was a charging bull. The big burly ox galloped across the meadow. It was headed straight for a group of lambs in the center of the flock. Joan tried her best to yell a warning to the docile animals down below. But the best she could do was make a gruff, throaty squawk. Some of the sheep began to bleat in distress at the presence of the bovine intruder.

Fearing the worst, Joan turned her head to look away. She could not bear to watch the ox trample all over the innocent lambs. But from somewhere down below, there was another set of hooves, which could be heard clomping through the woods. Directly below Joan, a goat leaped through the tree line and into the pasture. It was a dark grey with a patch of white fur on its neck.

Joan could not believe it. It was the goat from her previous dream. The one who had ripped off her dress. The slate colored animal bolted across the meadow and ran directly at the bull. The ox stopped charging for a moment and took in the sight of the horned challenger. He narrowed his eyes and snorted as he glared at the dark buck. He then began to run directly at the goat. The grey billy did not shy away. He lowered his head as the ox came at him. The bull also lowered his head, preparing himself for an inevitable collision with the smaller beast.

Joan cringed as she observed the size difference between the two. There was no conceivable way that the goat would be able to withstand the weight and power possessed by the ox. She prepared herself to witness the grey buck's imminent demise. If the bull did not kill the goat, it would at the very least severely injure him. She let out a weak croak of anguish.

However, before the two could smash into each other, the ox stopped in his tracks and let out a pained grunt. Joan looked over and saw that directly behind the bull was a mass of russet colored fur. The tawny form began to back up. Joan was amazed to see that it was the red goat from her earlier nightmare. And the it had blood all over its horns. It was evident that she had gored the ox from behind, piercing his undercarriage.

Joan could not determine how serious the bull's injury was. But the his hind legs began to tremble and bend as the rotund animal collapsed to the ground. Blood gushed out from his lower abdomen. He opened his mouth, letting out a guttural moan. As blood continued to flow from his belly out onto the grass, the beast's breath became more and more ragged. He laid his head down on the ground and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed down. And eventually his breath stopped all together.

The entire time, the pair of goats did not take their eyes off the ox as they witnessed the life slowly draining out of him. Joan looked over at the owl and the crow. They were glancing around at the tree line surrounding the edges of the pasture. It was as if they were vigilantly keeping an eye out for any additional intruders.

And they were not wrong to do so. Not far from where the bull had emerged from the woods, the grass and bushes began to rustle. The disturbance of foliage was accompanied my a low loud growl. Much to Joan's horror, a large ferocious looking lion stealthily entered the clearing. Joan could not believe what she was seeing. She knew it was a dream. And anything could happen in a dream. But why would her unconscious mind manifest a lion? It had a full thick main and large wide paws. It confidently strode through the meadow, past the now unmoving ox. Similar to the bull, the lion seemed to be headed toward the lambs, who were clustered at the center of the flock.

The goats reared up on their hind legs as they got ready to charge. However, the lion opened his mouth, letting out a deafening roar. He bared his teeth, which resembled white daggers. Joan's heart sank. How on earth could two goats defeat such a vicious apex predator?

The lion sped up and began bounding toward the grey billy and the red doe. However, coming within just a few feet of the hooved duo, he halted abruptly. He opened his mouth and roared once again as he looked down at his left hind leg. Irritated, he growled and grunted as he sniffed his back left paw. He then began to lick his appendage. It seemed as though he was trying to sooth himself. He let out a high pitched whine as he lapped at his foot.

Did he cut his paw on a sharp rock, Joan wondered. As the lion's cries became a series of weakened squeals, the grass near him began to move. A grey snake came slithering across the pasture away from the big cat. As the limbless reptile slinked through the vegetation, Joan noted the white stripe running down the center of its back. It's back again, Joan observed. The snake from her nightmare. She shuddered.

As she watched the lion - his energy diminishing - she wondered how fatal the snake's venom was. As the muscular carnivore fought to stay awake, he reluctantly lowered his maned head and his eyelids began to droop. As the lion laid down prostrate in the grass, he ceased to move at all. From where she was perched in the trees, Joan continued to observe. Soon she could not see any signs of life from the lion. It seemed as though the serpent's bite was indeed quite deadly.

Joan wondered why the lucid dream she was having contained so much morbid imagery. Of course there had been times when she had had nightmares previously. But never before had she dreamed of such brutality.

And the violence had yet to end, she realized, as a shrill screech pierced the air. Joan and the other two birds shifted their gaze upwards. There was something circling the clearing from up above. It was some sort of a bird of prey. It had a wide wingspan and long thick talons. It agilely rode a strong current of wind as it soared through the air. As the larger feathered creature began to make its descent, Joan got a clearer view of the bird. It was an eagle. And it was swooping down into the pasture at breakneck speed.

The eagle was coming in so fast, the sheep did not even see it approach. As it dove down, it grasped a small lamb by the scruff of its neck. Making sure that it had a firm grip, the eagle then flapped its long powerful wings a few times. As the lamb was being hoisted up into the air, it began to cry. A nearby ewe, presumably its mother, began to loudly bleat. As she watched her offspring being carried away, she was could do nothing more than ineffectually vocalize her suffering.

As Joan watched the eagle make off with its next meal, she felt a swoosh of air to her left. Much to her surprise, the crow and owl had taken off and were pursuing the larger bird.

It did not take them long to catch up. The eagle could not fly at full speed since it was carrying the full weight of the lamb. The owl flew above and the crow coasted below their intended target. The owl dipped down and began to claw at the eagle's head with it's talons. Attacking from below, the crow started pecking at the eagle's left wing. The eagle shrieked at the unexpected ambush. It frantically began to beat it's wings, trying to escape the two smaller birds. But it could not outpace the owl and the crow. Eventually it could no longer fly at a steady pace.

Joan remained where she was perched as she watched the chase. They were no longer flying above the clearing. Instead they were traveling above the dense woods. As the eagle began to drop to a lower altitude, the three birds soon dipped down below the tree tops. Joan completely lost sight of them. All she could hear was the screaming of the eagle. She wondered if she should fly over and see what became of the three winged creatures and the infant sheep.

However, moments later, off in the distance, she saw an irregular, oddly shaped form emerge from the forest canopy. As it came nearer, Joan realized what it was. It was the owl and the crow flying close together. Jointly, they were carrying the lamb in their claws. As they flew into the meadow, they made their descent. As they came in for an agile landing, they gently set the lamb down back in the pasture next to its mother.

Seeing mother and baby reunited, Joan heaved a sigh of relief. As the air exited the nares of her beak, it made an unsettling whistling sound. Joan bristled at being reminded of her strange avian form.

The owl and the crow resumed their places on the branch of the tree next to Joan. And the three of them watched over the flock as the sheep continued to graze. The two goats walked the perimeter of the pasture. The snake slithered toward a shady spot under a tree.

Unfortunately, the peace did not last as the owl and the crow turned their attention back to the tree line. The looked to where the lion and the ox had earlier entered. Joan also turned to look. Standing at the edge of the clearing was a figure. A tall slim figure. The figure of a man. He was standing in the shadows of the trees. She could clearly make out his silhouette. But no matter how hard Joan studied the man, she could not make out his face or any other defining details. The woods blocked the sun and the man's features remained a mystery.

Both the owl and the crow turned to stare at Joan. They intently eyed her, as if they were expecting her to do something. Confused, she looked at them both, hoping that maybe they could provide her with some sort of an answer. What did they want her to do? The crow and owl looked back over to the man. The crow loudly cawed and the owl let out a shriek. Then they both looked back at Joan.

She knew what they wanted her to do. This man was as much of a predator as the lion and eagle. And he was as much of a danger as the charging bull. And the owl and the crow expected her to do something about it.