Barnowl's File
The Bells of St. Anthony's Episode 13
We are so back.
Sorry for the lack of updates compared to last fall. I wound up having to take an extra semester of grad school for reasons I won’t go into now, so when I did focus on writing, it was on submissions elsewhere and getting Faire Exchange ready for publication.
So today we have a new episode of my flash fiction series, now rebranded The Bells of St. Anthony’s. I never liked using the word “Belles.” I plan to keep updating on Fridays for the foreseeable future.
Barnowl’s File
As told by Augusta
Mom needed to go to the library while we were out, and I figured I might as well see if they had a book I was interested in. I asked the lady at the desk, and lo and behold, they had it.
The librarian turned aside and said, "Mayla."
"Yes, Mom?" and one of my classmates turned her head. "Oh, hi, Augusta."
"Well if it isn't Barnowwwrrrrd. Barnard. Mayla Barnard." Saved, just barely. Something told me Barnowl's mom wouldn't take too kindly to her daughter being compared to a nocturnal bird of prey. Even if barn owls are kind of cute. Mayla Barnard always reminded me more of a great horned owl anyway.
After we got the pleasantries out of the way, Barnowl's mother wrote the title and its number for her, and asked her to help me find it. I was sure I could find it myself, but I figured whatever, I hardly interact with Barnowl anyway.
On the way up the stairs, I said, "Wasn't expecting to see you here."
"Well, it's just me and Mom at home, so I come here to help out after school." Barnowl glanced at the paper. "What the Flowers Taught Me. What's it about?"
"It's a memoir about gardening, and it's supposed to have some good tips. I, um, kinda like to garden myself."
"Wow, I never figured," Barnowl said. That's why I get so self-conscious talking about it. Why are people always surprised?
"It must be nice," I said, "hanging out here every day. Quiet, plenty of stuff to read."
"Well, I do have one thing I like to do here." She led me to the third floor stacks and found the shelf as if it were the only one in the building. "Here you go." She snapped What the Flowers Taught Me right off the shelf and handed it to me. She hardly even looked at it.
"Thank you," I said. "And what is this thing you do?"
"It's this way. My mom doesn't know about it." She snaked between the bookcases, heading toward the local history books.
"Some sort of history project?" All I saw were dusty old hardcovers.
"You could say that." She stopped in front of a series of tomes about the histories of the nearby counties. She stopped to scan the lower shelves, then shot back up. "It's not here."
"What's not here?"
"A three-ring binder loaded with articles I've been collecting." She bent left and right and twisted around, scanning the shelves. "It absolutely cannot fall into the wrong hands."
"Hm, sounds serious." Now this was intriguing. Had Barnowl stumbled on some kind of conspiracy? If so, what kind? Political corruption? Paranormal activity? Unsolved crimes? I began to look around as well. "What color is it?"
"Green. And it's about an inch thick."
We didn't find a binder in these shelves, so we each checked an aisle on either side. Barnowl's face was turning redder with each moment we spent searching. I began to wonder if this was something more personal--a family scrapbook, or some kind of crush. Maybe I didn't want to see it after all. "So what is it, anyway?"
"It's all stuff I've found out about St. Anthony's. Stuff nobody seems to know or talk about."
Now she definitely had my attention. "Like what?"
"Well, before it was a school, it was just a tiny parish. A while back I was poking through the books over here, and I found some references to it--and its crypt."
"What, a crypt? I knew about the old church, but a crypt? Is it still there?"
"That's what I've been trying to figure out. Thing is, the church closed for a long time before they founded the school. They wouldn't have just torn up the crypt when they started construction, so they must have done something with it, but I can't find anything else about it. I'm trying to gather as much info as I can so I can ask the bishop next time he visits."
This I really had to see. Word was, our founding priest was under consideration for sainthood. A crypt didn't just mean bodies underneath the school--it meant possible relics. "It's gotta be somewhere under the school," I mused. "It's been a hundred years, so the admins must have forgotten about it."
But why was Barnowl so bashful about it?
"Where was the last place you saw it?" I said.
"Well, just a few hours ago I was adding some... files..." Her outsized eyes got even bigger. "Oh crap."
She dashed toward the corner of the building, where some study tables sat by some picture windows. The green binder was lying wide open. Looking out from it was the smiling face of an absurdly handsome, even beautiful, Korean man.
Barnowl's face became a burning coal.
I simply said, "K-pop fan, huh?"
"I maybe also collect articles about Baekhyun."
"Yeah, he's my sister's favorite, too. If she were here, she'd be going nuts right now." But we left her in the kids' section. I flipped through a few pages--out of several dozen.
"I probably look like such a stalker," Barnowl said.
"Nah, I sympathize." She should see the shrine I set up in my closet. "Your secret's safe with me."
"Thank you." Barnowl flipped to the front of the folder. "Here's the St. Anthony's stuff."
The first page was an article about Father--potentially, Blessed--Steven Creel, and showed him holding a rosary and standing among some beautiful statues. Just think. He could be buried somewhere under the halls I walk every single day. "And thank you, Barnowl."
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