It sounded like someone knocking – short, tapping sounds without a specific pattern. More often than not it was while drinking my morning coffee that I would hear them. At first they were coming from the front door, but every time I checked there was no one there; not on my small patio or at the small walkway leading up to my ground floor apartment. With the exception from my car, the parking lot nearby was empty. Beyond that there was a construction site wherenew apartments were being built. Whoever the culprit was, they were long gone.
It wasn’t until two days later that I realized who or rather, what, had been pestering me. You see, in my kitchen there is a skylight that, on cloudless days, would brighten up the room. I was putting on my jacket, getting ready for work, when I heard the knocks. Instinctivly, I ripped open the door, but of course there was no one there. Maybe it was just the wood in the door shifting with the elements? After all, the apartment (and the ones attached to it) had been built back in the 60’s. It felt like the most legitimate explanation, but as I was about to lock up and head out, I heard it again.
Only this time, something was different; like when you tap on glass with your finger.
Carefully, I stepped back into the foyer, eyes fixed towards the kitchen where the sound was coming from. I snuck in and once there I looked up at the skylight and that’s when I saw it – a pair black and white tail feathers disappearing out of view. Now, I am by no means an ornithologist, but my first guess was that it must’ve been a magpie. Soon enough it would show that I was correct, but it was a small consolation for the things would later transpire.
During the following days I was plagued by the incessant sounds of how the magpie (or magpies as I had seen several of them in the area), scratch and tap on my windows, frontdoor as well as backdoor. But apparently that wasn’t enough for them. At one point I was careless and forgot that I had put a trashbag outside my door. Once I stepped outside I discovered that someone (yeah, I think we all know who) had spread garbage all over the property. The other tenants gave me nasty looks for a whole week after that little episode. It was embarassing to say the least. But eventually, although begrudgingly, I started adapting to my new ”acquaintances”. Sure, I could’ve found a new place, but I told myself that they would probably grow tired of me and move on to annoy someone else. Sure enough, I never repeated the same mistake with the trashbag again, but to my dismay, they kept going at it. Then, one evening, things took a turn for the weird.
It had been a normal workday. Before heading home I swung by the local grocery store. 15 minutes later I parked my car at home. Once I had gotten out and locked my car, I started trudging towards my apartment. It had been a long day and I was pretty beat. I forgot to mention this earlier, but it was late autumn and it had gotten pretty dark already. Due to that, it took me a couple of seconds longer to get the keys out of my pocket. Just as I was about to unlock, I noticed something to my right. It was small, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was. Curious, I unlocked the door and reached in to flick the switch that would activate my outdoor wall light. There, in the faint glow, splayed out on the patio, were the remnants of a magpie. The head had been ripped off, the wings broken and most chocking of all, the poor bird seemed have been disembowled and emptied.
Seems to be the work of a cat, I thought to myself while studying the carcass. What other predator could possibly display such refined brutality? Also, I knew the place was crawling with them. I can’t recount how many times I had overheard angry neighbors complaining about ”the four-legged pests” (their words, not mine) using their flower-beds as litter boxes.
I went inside and started rifling through my cleaning closet until I found a pair of plastic gloves as well as a black garbage bag. Back outside, I gingerly grabbed the mangled magpie and dropped it into the bag. It was gross, but luckily for me it didn’t really smell much which indicated that it was a somewhat fresh kill. I knew of a big dumpster about 3 minutes away, so I went there and dropped the gruesome find. On my way back I started thinking if this might’ve been a blessing in disguise. I know how callous it sounds, but maybe this mysterious feline, this furry little avenger, was the answer to my problems? It was a longshot, but I silently hoped that things would calm down from then on.
As luck would have it, the next morning, I already noticed a big change. For the first time in a quite a while I got to enjoy breakfast in silence. However, in retrospect, I might’ve gotten a bit too excited to get back to my old routines that I wasn’t able to register the subtle changes that started unfolding around me.
It was a Friday. About a week after I had found the dead magpie. I was standing by my mailbox, sifting through my mail, when I bumped into Bridget Dewitt, a sweet, old lady that had lived in the area since back when the apartments were first built. That said, she was a bit on the nosy side. I would often see her patrolling the area with her walker. If you hadn’t rolled down the blinds or covered your window with a curtain, she would always try and take a quick peek before moving along. That said, we had always been on good terms, probably because I always kept my blinds shut. Immediately when she saw me, Bridget raised a hand to greet me. I smiled back, waved at her and was about to head back to my apartment when she spoke to me:
”I’m sure glad those magpies have left.”
Confused, I looked back at her: ”Uh, excuse me?”
”The magpies. Haven’t seen them around for a while. Haven’t you noticed?” the old woman replied.
Funnily enough I hadn’t even noticed, but she was right. After all, the tapping had ceased completely at that point, something I didn’t mind in the slightest. Then again, I hadn’t heard or seen any bird-activity for a while, especially when it came to the magpie-variety. Could they have migrated?
”I guess you’re right. What do you think-”
”At first I thought that maybe the cats were responsible, but they seem to go missing as well.”
First the magpies, now the cats? There was no way that she kept track on something like that. Sure, she did patrol the area and seemingly put her nose where it didn’t belong, but this was just bizarre. Then again, as far as I knew, she didn’t really have many that many friends in the area. I had seen her, on several occasions, looking out her living window, at people passing by and every time I could sense a sort of sadness in her gaze. I started feeling sorry for her and was about to say something comforting when she interrupted me yet again:
”Well, I’ll best be going now. Getting rather chilly. You take care now!”
And with that, the crooked little woman departed. I blinked and in that instance I realized that it had started to get dark. How much time had passed? I looked at my phone. 15 minutes. Had I kept up conversation with Bridget without even noticing or had I just should there, absentmindedly staring off in the distance? Whatever the case, it felt as I had phased out for a moment, completely unaware of my surroundings. I rubbed my eyes and started walking. On my way home I looked around for any signs of feline activity, but saw nothing. Probably just mere coincidence. It wasn’t as if you saw them 24/7 anyway. Bridget was probably just restless and would be willing to do anything to strike up conversation with anyone she happened to run into. Nevertheless; I couldn’t be mad at her for feeling lonely.
Shortly after I got home I microwaved some leftovers and ate while watching a movie. Any thoughts about dead magpies or runaway cats had subsided. It had been a pretty rough day at work, so I ended up going to bed at around 11 PM that night. Two hours later, however, my sleep was interrupted.
The neighborhood I lived in was, for the most part, fairly quiet. Most of the tenants were either families with kids or older people. People knew when to pipe down, whether it was during a weekday or the weekend. It was just my luck that I lived wall-to-wall with a party animal of a woman. All I knew about her is that she was in her mid 40’s, but partied like she was 18. She also had two dogs that barked non-stop as soon as she left her apartment to go out drinking. No one seemed to care enough to call animal services, even when the barking kept went on until early morning.
Anyway – as annoyed as I was, I soon managed to block out the sounds and doze off.
But it didn’t take long before I woke up yet again. I sighed. Just my damn luck. Someone was knocking on my front door. I tried to ignore it, thinking I had misheard, but then it happened again.
”Might as well get over with it”, I muttered under my breath and got up. As soon as was dressed, I went to check, all the while praying it wasn’t one of my neighbors guests that wanted to use my bathroom or somehow gotten lost. The knocking had ended before I reached the door. Still, I put on a fake smile, took a deep breath and was about to unlock when the sound picked up again, only this time, it came from somewhere else.
I turned on the lights in the kitchen and looked around. Nothing. I proceeded to check the windows in the living room – same thing there. Apart from the bathroom, there was only one place left that I hadn’t checked.
Back when I had first moved in, I decided to turn one of the rooms into an art studio. Unfortunately, that idea had backfired completely. I simply didn’t have the time, nor the motivation, to do anything creative whatsoever. It was a mess in there; shelf after shelf of art supplies, sketchbooks, pens, pencils – you get the gist. There was also a backdoor and two windows that I always made sure to keep covered and away from prying eyes. All was quiet. The knocking had ceased. That said, someone could still be outt here, waiting. I decided not to turn on the lights and instead navigate through the clutter, toward the window. Once there, I carefully opened the blinds.
Behind the apartments was a common area; basically a couple of benches, some trees, a playground and beyond that, more apartments. No lights were on in any of the windows and I couldn’t see anyone out there. It was also at this point that I realized that it was quiet next door. Whoever it had been probably realized their mistake and left. But just to make sure, I stayed around for a while longer to make sure the coast was clear before turning off all the lights and heading back to bed.
The following morning started somewhat rough, but after a shower and breakfast I felt refreshed. Work was plentiful, but manageable. At around 4.30 PM I finished up and left. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. However, as I was about to check my mailbox, I noticed a woman by the parking lot, her back facing me. I grabbed my mail and started walking. As I got closer I realized that I had seen her before. She was in her 20’s with long, blonde hair and had a ”bohemian” style to her. Every now and then she yelled something – a name by the sound of it. I’m not the most talkative or outgoing person, but I still decided to at least say hello. So, as soon as I past her by I said ”Hello” while throwing a fleeting glance at the woman. The second our eyes met, I felt a lump in my throat.
I could tell that she had been crying. Her make-up was smeared and her eyes were blodshot.
”Are.. are you ok?” I said, still keeping my distance as I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
She sniffled, blew her nose in a handkerchief that she had been clutching in one of her hands. A part of me felt that I had crossed a line and that I probably shouldn’t push further. But, as I was about to excuse myself and leave her alone, she said:
”Could’ve been better, I guess.”
I nodded and replied: ”What’s going on?”
”It’s been several days since I saw Felix. I’m afraid something might’ve happened to him.”
”Felix? Sorry, I don’t-”
”My cat. His name is Felix. Have you by any chance seen him?”
I asked for a description: American Shorthair. Grey. Pretty big. She insisted that he was the only American Shorthair in the neighborhood. Truth to be told, I hadn’t seen any cats in a while, at least not on my street or close-by.
”Hate to disappoint you, but no. Wish that I could be of more help, but-”
”No, it’s fine. I guess I’ll try and see if there has been any updates on my post in the Missing Cats-group on Facebook. Anyway, I better go. Take care.”
She waved me good-bye and disappeared behind one of the buildings. I never got her name, but I decided it was best not to intrude, especially not at a time like this. So, I went went home and went about the rest of my day before retiring for the night.
But for whatever reason I found myself twisting and turning, unable to unwind. Eventually, I did what most of us do when we can’t fall asleep, I started browsing the Internet. Sooner or later, I found myself on Facebook, looking through different Missing Cats-groups until I saw a face that I immeditately recognized. The name of Felix owner was Willow and she had made several posts. A part of me couldn’t help feeling like a creep, reading every word, but believe it or not I felt for her. However, as soon as I started reading through the comments I felt a deep sense of unease wash over me.
It was an eerie coincidence, but there were others whose cats had gone missing in the same area. The theories that were discussed were many and some were quite spine-chilling – everything from predators that had made their way into town to some anti-social cat-killer. Whatever the case; there were no bodies and therefore people were still hopefull that their feline friends would return home one day. I leaned back, eyes fixed on the screen. It was hard to stomach, but Bridget was on to something. First the magpies, then the cats and while no one brought up the disappearing magpies, I could personally attest to that part being 100 % true. After browsing through the rest of the comments, I finally logged out for the night and made myself a cup of soothing tea before turning in.
A couple of hours later I woke up having to relieve myself. Groggily, I made my way through the unlit apartment to the bathroom, every step feeling as if I was caught in a dreamlike state. Still, I manage to ”take care of business” even though I at times struggled to differentiate between dream and the real world. But as I was washing my hands, I realized something. Ever since I woke up and had spent time in the bathroom, there had been a sound in the background. A sound I hadn’t noticed until the cold water touched my hands.
Was it just my imagination or was I hearing what sounded like knocks?
Whatever the case, I was now on full alert. My muscles stiffened as I turned around to face the doorway. It was quiet now. Slowly, I snuck out of the bathroom and that was when I noticed how cold the floor was. Maybe I had forgotten to turn on the radiator? I decided to go check, starting off with the art studio. This time around I turned on the lights. Apart from the disarray, the room was empty. I touched the radiator and looked over the thermostat – everything seemed to be in order. I procceded to check the other radiators. Nothing unusual whatsoever. I started thinking that I must’ve imagined things. That said, I decided to take a quick breather, just to clear my mind. So, I got dressed and stepped out through the backdoor.
It was chilly and a bit windy outside. The common area was unlit and shrouded in shadows apart from a small, asphalt paved footpath to my right that bathed in the dim glow of a single lamppost. I could see two single windows among the apartments opposite of mine where the lights were still on. But apart from that the neighborhood was as tranquil as ever. Hell, even my otherwise raucous neighbor was quiet. The mere thought that some sadistic nutcase was roaming the area kidnapping cats felt extremely implausible. I did, however, recall Bridget once telling me that they had caught someone trying to sell pot in the area, but that was several years ago. In other words, apart from that one dead magpie, things were fine. The magpies had left for greener pastures and would return once autumn and winter had past. Also, I told myself, it isn’t completely uncommon for cats to sometimes go looking for a mate. For crying out loud, there had been cases in which some had travelled for miles! The more I convinced myself that all was well and normal, the more I felt my body relax. Once my eyelids grew heavier, I decided to go back inside and hit the hay.
Thankfully, I was off work the next day, so I took the opportunity sleep in a bit. After breakfast I took a walk around the neighborhood since the weather was beautiful. Roughly 40 minutes later, when I found myself back on my street, I came across Bridget. It might sound like paranoia, but it almost felt as if she had been waiting for me. She stood in the doorway, urging me come in so that I could try out her freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. I hesitated at first, but decided that I might as well get it over with.
Her living room reeked of cheap ladies’ perfume and that strange smell only old people exude. Everything, whether it was the wall-paper or the furniture, looked as if they belonged in a thrift store. I sunk down in the ancient-looking couch while Bridget poured coffee into an old, yet pristine porcelain cup, after which she presented a platter stacked with cookies. While stuffing my face and sipping the piping hot beverage, I leaned back listening to her telling me about the latest gossip. I didn’t really care for any of it, but I nodded politely here and there, while pretending that I was invested in the conversation. After a while, however, I started to feel bad, so I decided to change to subject to something that she had brought up last time we met:
”Seen any cats around as of late?”
It might sound narrow-minded, but something told me that Bridget wasn’t an avid Facebook-user and therefore she wasn’t aware of Felix and the other missing cats in the close-by area. She emptied her cup and wiped her mouth using a napkin.
”Can’t say I have, but I do find it rather strange. I’ve lived here for so many years and I’ve never seen anything quite like that. Then again, I know of someone who would’ve seen this as good news. She was a good soul, but by God, did she hate magpies and cats above anything else on our Lord’s green earth.”
It wasn’t the answer I had expected.
”I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you talking about?”
Bridget smiled apologetically before her eyes fell upon something seemingly behind me. Not sure what she was looking at, I swiftly looked over my shoulder. I was sitting with my back turned against a window facing the parking lot. Nothing strange. Just some cars and a group of kids walking past. I looked back and quickly apologised.
”No need to apologies, sweetie. This was before you moved in. Anyhow, the woman I’m talking about was a dear friend of mine called Doris. Such a sweet soul. Moved in around the same time I did. We were as close as sisters could be. Oh, there I go again.”
I could tell her that her eyes started tearing up, but before I could offer a napkin, she quickly wiped it away with her own. She looked down at her hands as she carried on:
”S-she passed away 5 years ago.”
I’ve never been very good at knowing what to say whenever people speak about the dying or the dead. Honestly, I felt a bit uncomfortable. Bridget, however, didn’t seem to mind or maybe she simply didn’t care.
”Now, I don’t want to speak ill of those who are no longer with us, but even I will admit that Doris was a bit.. sensitive. Always complaining about the neighborhood cats digging up her flower beds, pooping and peeing everywhere. You know how those outdoor cats can be, am I right? Oh, then there were the magpies, or as she called them: ”winged rats”. Everytime we met she would tell me about how they were tapping on her skylight. I can’t remember how many times she asked Otto to help her. He worked as a janitor and would often come around to help his mother. But from what I could tell it didn’t do much good.”
She paused, her eyes still locked on something beyond my perception.
”Every time I walk by your apartment I think of Doris and sometimes, it’s almost as if I can sense her looking back at me. Almost as if she never really left. But I suppose that’s just wishful thinking… Hopefully, I’ll get to see her again when it’s my turn to go.”
Bridget let out a deep sigh, wiped her eyes again and then turned to me. I didn’t know how to react, so I said the first thing that came to mind.
”W-what happened? If you don’t mind me asking that is.”
She squeezed her tear-soaked napkin and yet again focused her gaze on the windows.
”It was Otto that told me. The night before he found her Doris had called, begging him to do something about those awful animals. Otto couldn’t make it, but he promised to come over first thing next morning. But then it was already too late.”
”Too late?” I asked.
”When she didn’t pick up her phone or responded to him knocking on the door, he let himself in with his spare keys. Poor Otto. When he entered her bedroom, there she was, laying on the bed, motionless. There was nothing he could do to save her.”
Being that Bridget was in her 80s, I assumed that she had died of natural causes.
”Was it a heart attack?”
Something changed at that moment. It was if Bridget’s face grew ”cold”. Her thin lips tightened and her eyes grew vacant. Slowly, she turned towards me again and when she spoke, her voice was no longer soothing and calm, but raspier and filled with aversion:
”Pills. She took pills. I’ll never understand how she could do sucha thing.”
I was speechless, because at that moment I recalled a memory from when I got the tour of my apartment. The man who showed me around hadn’t introduced himself, but he had told me that his mother had lived there until she moved to a retirement home. The apartment was still furnished. I couldn’t be 100 % sure, but hadn’t I seen a bed in the room that I had converted into an art studio? I could feel my skin starting to prickle. The sounds I had heard that night. No, that was just stupid. And yet, after pushing aside those thoughts, there was still a lingering sense that something was wrong. Was it just now, or had I always felt that something was ”off” with that room ever since I had moved in?
”Are you ok?”
Bridget’s voice brought me back to my senses. I quickly sat up and started speed-walking towards the door.
”W-well, I think it’s time for me to leave, but thanks for inviting me! See you around!”
Lack of good manners or not, I needed to get the hell out of there. It wasn’t until I reached the mailboxes that I slowed down. At this point it was pretty dark as well foggy outside, which indicated that I had spent several hours talking with Bridget. The streetlamps were obscured, giving the entire area an eerie atmosphere. I started walking while looking around. Up ahead, on an adjacent walking trail and moving away from me, I could make out the implied outline of someone walking their dog. The mist felt disorienting, making the street as well as the buildings close to it, blur together. For a while I felt as if I was lost at sea, having no idea where I was eventhough I knew my neighborhood like the back of my hand. Thankfully, the almost overbearing stillness, melted away to the sound of distant 90’s rock music. It was my neighbor throwing yet another party, but for the first time ever I felt relief.
Then again, as I reached my apartment, I felt a bit agitated. You see, all but my apartment had their lights turned on. My apartment door; it was like like a black hole. The disturbing realization that someone had committed suicide within those very walls started to dawn on me. I had to literally force myself to start moving. My mind wavered and sometimes I even imagined that I would see something moving the blinds. But still, I pushed on. No amount of childish superstition would prevent me from entering, so with that said, I pulled up my keys, unlocked and entered.
As soon as I had shut the door I made sure to flip all of the light-switches. There was only room left; the very place were Doris had ended her life. I wasn’t sure what I would find in there this time around, though. Probably nothing, but then again, I was on edge. It was embarassing, but Bridget’s words had had an effect on me. Well, here goes nothing I guess. I braced myself and hit the light breaker. A millisecond later, the entire room was illuminated.
Wardrobes, shelves, a table and two chairs. More art supplies than I would ever need.
No shadowy figures, ghosts or spirits of tormented old hags wanting nothing more than to murder me.
Something horrible had indeed taken place here, but that was years ago. I did, however, feel that I need to somehow set things right; start from scratch. So, then and there I started organizing and cleaning up. 3 hours later my art studio actually looked as if it fullfilled its intended purpose. In a sense, it felt as if I had ”exorcised” the room from its dark past. Pleased with my hard work, I ordered some take-away and spent the rest of the night stuffing my face with pizza while playing videogames.
At around midnight I went into the studio again. I eyed through my supplies until I saw something that drew my attention: an easel. I picked it up. Perfect. But once I had set it up, I noticed that I didn’t have any canvases. Nevertheless, I figured I’ll just go ahead and restock first thing tomorrow. Since there were no art stores close-by, which meant that I would have to to drive 20 minutes to the nearest metropolitan area. I checked through the supplies yet again and took notes on some other things that I might need before turning off the lights and going back to watching TV.
I went to bed at around 1:30 AM. The last couple of days have been a bit weird and what had happened to Doris was truly awful, but I wondered if her taking her life really was connected to the magpies and the cats. Then again, Bridget had mentioned that she was quite sensitive. Whatever the case, I couldn’t imagine how she must’ve felt those last moments of her life.
Regardless, it was too late now.
I tried to remain positive. After all, I had finally managed to restore the studio to its intended purpose. It had been so long since I had created something and I really looked forward to it. No more brooding over missing-
Suddenly, I was startled by a loud noise that made me shoot up from bed. It had been so abrupt, so instant, that my neck was hurting. I could feel the blood pumping in my ears while I looked around. For a few moments I thought that it had been someone knocking or tapping, but this was different. It had sounded like a short, yet impactful thud. Whatever the case, I had to go and check, and I knew where I had to go. I steeled myself, took a deep breath and marched straight to the studio, while turning on the lights on the way. Once I reached the threshold of Doris’ former bedroom, my feet grinded to a halt. Gingerly, I grabbed the door frame and peeked in. I don’t know why exactly, but something prevented me from reaching in to flick the lightswitch. Instead, I squinted my eyes while trying to make out any changes in the dark. Finally, I noticed it – in the light bleeding in from the livingroom behind me, I could make out the easle and wouldn’t you know it? It had toppled over.
I found myself chuckling nervously. Damn, I couldn’t believe I had yet again allowed myself to get freaked out over nothing. The easle was old, probably from the 1970’s, and had been a gift from my mom. Sadly, the impact seemed to have damaged it, so much so that it had to be replaced. I figured that I could try fixing it tomorrow and if not, then I could just get a new one. However, before I could make a mental note, I was interrupted.
The knocking sound.. it had returned, only this time, alongside something else.
It was a strange, hissing sound, like air pressing through a leaking pipe. But as the sound grew stronger, it more and more started to resemble an aggressive cat. Panic started blooming in my chest. I was frozen in silence, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on. Was I dreaming? Frantically, I tried pinching myself, but only felt pain course through every inch of my skin. I couldn’t breathe; an invicible hand of dread started pressing against my throat, but what made matters worse, is that I started noticing something moving in the darkness.
In far right corner of the studio, the darkest region of the room, there was a shadow. No, scratch that. It looked like a shroud made up from murky blackness; an impenetrable membrane. I looked on in horror as something started to emerge. First the hands. Haggard and sickly; postmortal. Long, hardened fingernails. Then the arms emerged; deformed and bare like skinned chicken wings. Slowly, they started to spread open the veil. Before I managed to release myself from the fear paralyzing me and run screaming into the dead of night; I saw it; the repulsive, rotten cherry on the top. Her fucking face.
Contored in anguish. Mouth riddled with decaying, blackened teeth. Long, white strands of hair desperately clinging onto her balding head. Bottomless eyes; graves into a world of beyond ours. And out of that disgusting mouth, covered with puke and God-knows-what, I heard them.
Through the knocks, taps and hisses I could make out the the atrocious shrieks and yelps of magpies and cats – being tortured and dying, over and over again.