Somehow, Emily knew that the Whekau in the woods was a Laughing Owl. She had learned that in school. But that was all she remembered, and she didn’t think her parents had heard of the creature and could give her any more information. But in order to calm herself, she had to be reassured that the devilish squeals in the dead of night when nothing else stirred came from something real, and not from the depths of her imagination. For the past two weeks her parents had not seemed bothered by the noise, but at the timeshare cabin they were never bothered by anything that did not revolve around fiddling with the bunny ears to find reception for the television, or the height of the invisible line on the vodka bottle, or the weather, because if it was raining they could not go into town to play tennis.
On one particularly dull and windy night she crept downstairs silently to fetch the unabridged dictionary from the dusty shelf behind where her father monotonously snored in the lived-in green recliner. His chest heaved steadily, although the wind rattled the many glass panels held together by wooden beams in the compact living room. Struggling under its weight, Emily brought it to the kitchen table and flipped the fragile pages open towards the end.
Whekau: An endemic owl found in New Zealand, but is now extinct. It was plentiful when European settlers arrived in New Zealand in 1840. Specimens were sent to the British Museum, where a scientific description was published in 1845. The species belongs to the monotypic genus Sceloglaux (“scoundrel owl”, probably because of the mischievous-sounding call).
There was a small outline of the bird, if that’s what it really was, next to the description; it was not too much different from any other owl she had seen before. But, she realized she was not in the native place of the bird and that the bird was also extinct at this point in time. These facts did not pacify her. Its name was one of those words that was constantly floating around in her mind, but was never really available to use in common conversation. Occasionally she had tried to bring it up at the dinner table during family gatherings, saying something like, “Oh yes, Aunt Rosemarie’s parrot sure does have quite the talking voice, but have you ever heard the vicious laugh of the Whekau?” This kind of comment would elicit blank stares or confused “no’s.” But she hoped one day someone would say that yes, he had heard the laugh, and it had rattled him to his core. In fact, ever since the night he heard the owl, he had never been the same again.
Her father’s deep sleep and her mother’s alcohol induced and apathetic state (conditions typical of her parents during their yearly vacation to the cabin) was too conducive to getting into mischief to pass up. She packed her backpack with a flashlight, a bottle of electric blue Gatorade, her digital camera, an extra sweatshirt, and a box of crackers. Then she ripped out the page in the unabridged dictionary that contained the word “Whekau”, folded it as many times as she could (the tissue thin paper allowed about fourteen folds) and slide it into her back pocket carefully.
The front yard turned into wilderness quickly, but she gulped down her fear like a bad milkshake and shown her light into the trees and emptiness and walked steadily forward. Periodically she propped the Whekau's picture in front of her nose so that she could be reminded of what she was looking for. The crackers played a duel roll; as she walked she left a steady trail of crumbs behind her, and when the creature made its appearance known to her, as she was sure if would, the crackers would lure him down to the ground.
It seemed as though she had been walking for hours, but her calculator watch indicated it had only been forty-five minutes since she had started her search. To her surprise, while the shrill laugh of the creature had been strong and clear from inside the cabin, somehow it seemed to be growing fainter the further into the woods she walked, until the cacophony turned into the weak squeak of a mouse. Unmotivated by the now dull calling and unsure of where it originated, Emily found herself running into trails of crumbs, presumably her own, and growing increasingly tired and cold. The flashlight no longer consoled her and the more turned around she became the more convoluted her head became. At this point she was not sure what would be more difficult to find, the Whekau or the cabin. So she sat and sipped her Gatorade, shivering, and recorded a video of her last moments on her camera.
“Dear Mom and Dad. By now, you must have called the police, who are probably too far away from this wilderness to get here in time to rescue me from…whatever’s out here. One day I went three days without eating, so I’m sure I can last longer than that with the rest of these crackers. Maybe if I never find a way out, at least I might find the Whekau, and maybe he can help me. Don’t worry.” She thought about saying “I love you” or “Goodbye, I’ll miss you,” but she had always felt uncomfortable saying things like that so she didn’t. Instead, she awkwardly waved and tried to smile, but the image of her face illuminated from beneath by the flashlight must have been hideously frightening, she was sure.
Dew dripping onto her exposed face from the branches above awakened Emily at 5:37 am and the bright rays of the sun shook her to full consciousness soon after. The chill of dawn was unbearable, and although she knew she was lost, she followed the trail of the first line of crumbs she came across and walked so fast she practically jogged, bouncing up and down with her light backpack loose on her shoulders. The mystery and intrigue of the woods did not seem as interesting to her in the morning light, although it was certainly a lovely sight. She had almost forgiven herself completely for not finding her creature, and only wanted to find the cabin and her parents.
It took less time to find her way back than it had to become completely lost the night before. Emily was exhausted and relieved beyond any sense of relief she had ever felt when she began to make out the outline of the simple wooden structure of her parent’s cabin, the new light of the day reflecting off the window panels. Bursting through the door, she ran to her father, panting, and fell into his lap. She didn’t even notice that he was in the same chair she had left him in last night, the same position in fact. Her mother was in the kitchen, sipping coffee and absently staring at a newspaper.
“What are you doing?” He was obviously startled, more angry than concerned.
“I’m back, I found my way back.” She breathed heavily, excitedly.
“Oh. What are you talking about.” It was more of a statement than a question, and he motioned for her to get off of his knee.
“But I didn’t find it,” Emily said, realizing that her mission had failed.
But neither of her parents asked what she had not found.
August 2008
