‘Curiosity killed the cat’ One of my late grandfather’s many mantras, which he would instill in his numerous, attentive grandchildren. Inevitably, in the decades to come, I led a conservative life, inhabiting a picturesque birch cabin surrounded by a plethora of pine trees in a densely packed coniferous forest.
I seemed to gravitate toward a life of solitude and serenity within the forest’s confines, either spending my days roaming the ever-curious forest or remaining in the comfort of my cabin.
Friday 27th March 1998. My mother had come for her annual weekend visit, which I had been accustomed to for years now. My mother was a woman of liturgy, going to church every Sunday and following her weekly schedule to a tee.
08:45. Upon my mother’s entrance to the cabin on that foggy, chillsome morning, I slouched on the kitchen counter. Tired, I turned on the kettle for Mother’s Coffee. 60 degrees Celsius, 1.5 cubes of sugar, and a dash of milk
09:45. Scrambled eggs, sunny side up with a black coffee is ingested into my drowsy body. Alcohol and little sleep are a killer combination. Hopefully this wears off before evening comes.
18:45. Night has fallen in the woods. My mother has retreated back to the guest room in which she inhabits during her stay. Despite my mother’s “frequent” visits, she was oblivious to the forest’s quirks. Will she learn of them this stay? Nothing too suspicious has happened thus far, yet a growing sense of unease has befallen the house, an eerie silence within a loud world. It may come tonight.
22:45. I can hear it lurking around the forest, its distorted body dragging itself among the frozen leaves. It’s too cold for a spring night.
01:45. It’s tapping at the window. Its monotonous nature expressed in its slow, continuous taps. I’ve never looked outside upon its arrival, yet I knew who it was.
My mother was so distraught after the disappearance of her first daughter, Amelia. She claimed that she knew the town outcast had stolen her away, yet she was never found. Little does she know, I knew what happened to her. It was quite the task dragging her lifeless corpse to the forest. With a trail of crimson blood accompanying us as I dragged her to the isolated shed on the outskirts of the forest. It was an accident. That’s what I tell myself anyway, as she shouldn’t have been rooting around there. I couldn’t just let her live after what she saw.
03:45. As I was sitting, head down, at the kitchen table, my mother came down and out of interest, opened the blinds, which revealed the source of the tapping. She shouldn’t have looked. She would have never been ready for the family reunion that occurred. As my little sister ripped our mothers lifeless body apart like a rag doll, with my sister mouth peculiarly unhinged, ready for its annual meal, I wondered when my father would visit me. We could finally be reunited with our ‘Amelia’.
Although my grandfather was correct, ‘Curiosity did indeed kill the cat along with many other pets’, he failed to understand that Curiosity would also kill my little sister, and in turn, many other lives. This may confuse you all so let me introduce myself. Hello, I’m Curiosity Jones.