After our layout meeting, Kris and I went to my house for a few drinks (including shots of this deathly, post-Half-way to St. Patty's Day Party ultra-sweet boxed Appletini). We sat in my backyard bar that my brother had built for my dad last Christmas. We grabbed the only record, Elton John's Greatest Hits, chatted and played some darts.
After introducing some of my favorite music artists to my brother, I drove Kris home. (Don't worry, I was sober.) As I made my way home, I rounded the corner and crossed over this old, cement bridge. It is the perfect cliche for a horror movie: leering trees, consumed in darkness, not even a cricket chirpping. As I sang along to Ingrid Michaelson, a small creature sat in the middle of the road. It was too small and round to be a squirrel or a opossum.
I slowed my car down to see if the high beams would ward it off. It didn't flinch. Maybe it's dead or a shirt, I thought. Slowing down, I edged closer. It's head turned, riveting it's yellow eyes on me. Giving me a look of death, it flapped it's wings and took off into the night.
It may have only been an owl, but the rest of the ride home, I couldn't help but wonder if it was watching me. What if he was Jareth, the Gobling King, and was there to take me to his Labyrinth and make hostage of my family. I just found it too odd that an owl was sitting in the middle of the street. Who (no pun intended) knew they did that? I always thought that the scoped out their prey from trees.
It didn't help that whenever I drive through that area at night I think of the urban legend the hook. I always think that when I wind that corner over the bridge that a man in a hooded rain coat is going to be standing there, waiting, flashing his hook.
On that happy note, here is a cartoon of an urban legend. It took me years to find one of these videos. The one I was looking for was "The Hook," but alas! I could not find it.