by Sideon

Created on: April 29, 2008

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go, instead, where there is no path and leave a trail. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

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When I was 12, I spent a weekend with a friend who lived on the outskirts of Tremonton. Adam lived out near the farms that were past main street in the middle of the town proper, past the huge gully on the east side of town, and even past the Cafe X diner just off the I-80 exit. The few farmhouses out there were half a block from each other. Adam and I used to wander further east through the fenceless fields towards a "park." The flat fields stopped at a wall of trees that ringed the park, the ground quickly sloping into a massive dell that had a slow moving river and bog. Boards and logs created a treacherous boardwalk, with moss, cat tails, and green plants separating the air space from a spill in the murky waters. We passed an abandoned farm house, barn and silo on our way to the park, but Adam wanted to avoid it, urging a more direct route.

On the second day we thought we'd try the park again. It started raining and we ran towards the abandoned house, looking for cover. The front door and windows were boarded up and we went around the house towards the open door of the grain silo. The top was gone from the silo; it offered little protection from the rain, so we ran towards the barn. The rain was coming down harder when we made it to shelter. We were pretty soaked, but we found bales of hay right near the large open doors and sat down, laughing and catching our breath. There was a noise in the rafters and Adam screamed and pointed. I saw a white shape with large golden eyes, wings spreading, and then it was flying through the air towards a large open window and then it was gone. It was a white owl, about three feet in height, eyes as large as one of my fists, and a wingspan of maybe five or six feet. Adam told me this property had been abandoned for a while, maybe years. My sister married a milk farmer and I spent a lot of time on their farm, so I didn't point out to him that the bales we sat on were pretty fresh. He started saying he thought the house was haunted, but since it was boarded up, he'd never gone inside. I nodded, listening, but curious about the house. The rain stopped, and we left the barn, passing the silo and nearing the two-story house. None of the upper windows were boarded, and I noticed a wooden staircase that went up to a door on the second floor, which I pointed out to Adam. The first couple of stairs up were broken

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