The screech owl has always been a powerful symbol in my family. My Nana and relatives often talk about it—how hearing a screech owl hoot three times is a sign of death, and how misfortunes tend to come in threes. It’s more than just folklore to them; it’s something deeply rooted in our family’s way of interpreting the world.
I remember one night vividly. I live in Aiken now, on the south side—not out in the mountains like where I grew up, surrounded by animals and untouched land. So it was strange when I woke up in the middle of the night and heard an owl hoot. There’s really no place nearby where an owl should be, and it immediately unsettled me. I shook my husband awake and whispered, “Oh my god, someone’s going to die.” He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
But then I called my Nana, put her on speaker, and told her what I’d heard. Without missing a beat, she said, “Oh no, someone’s going to die.” My husband just stared at us and said, “Y’all are some special people.”
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