When I came home and Bri told me about the cat, I wasn’t thrilled. She’d found the fluffy, malnourished cat hiding in the barn and had fallen in love instantly. Obviously, I didn’t have much of a say when it came to letting it into our home, but I don’t blame her for that. She had no way of knowing what was going to happen, neither did I.
I’d been coming home from work, exhausted from another boring day at work, and she was waiting outside, looking nervous in front of the only home we’d share together. We’d moved into the place less than a month ago, only jumping on the opportunity because the price was too great to pass on. We’d been looking to get out of our parents’ places forever and didn’t bother asking many questions about the place. What didn’t make sense was that, for the price, the place wasn’t in bad shape. In fact, it was just the opposite. It looked well taken care of and contained three bathrooms and three bedrooms along with twice the space we’d ever need. That, and it was far enough out in the country that we felt like we lived on our own little island. At least for a little while.
It was far enough away that I had to drive an hour to work, but since Bri’s job let her work from home, she never had that issue. After we’d moved in and got most of everything put away, the issue of the barn finally came up. It was behind the house and surrounded by deep woods. According to the realtor, it was included with the house but hadn’t been used in years. It looked run down and decrepit, which was jarring considering the decent condition of the house. The running joke between Bri and I was that the price of the property was more in line with the barn than the home in front of it. But, on top of being an eyesore, it was filled with rivers of trash and mountains of old junk. Bri jumped all over it, excited about her newest project and thinking of all the different ways she could make use of the extra space. I remember her talking about an arts and crafts studio, an office, and eventually a combination of the two. I knew it’d be a lot of work, but I was looking forward to helping her set it all up.
She was leaning toward a home office, which I didn’t object to, but I told I her I wanted to at least clear the place out first and make sure the damn thing wouldn’t collapse on our heads. She argued at first, claiming that she was more than capable of cleaning up the place without “my supervision”. I think I’ll always remember the way she said that. It was defiant and strong, just like she always was. Eventually I wore her down, convincing her that it was more me worrying than doubting her abilities, and finally she’d conceded. But, with me out of the house so often either working or getting to and from work, I shouldn’t have been surprised when I came home that day, and she told me she’d been in there. She’d made me promise not to get angry, and I told her I’d do my best. She’d hesitated, but after deciding that was as good as it was going to get, she told me what happened while I was at work.
“I was taking a break from work to stretch my legs, walking around the backyard. As I was walking, I heard something coming from the forest. It sounded like the squeaky, terrified, whining of a hurt animal, so I went and checked it out.”
“By the barn?” I asked her. She’d shook her head. “Not at first. I thought it was just coming from beyond the tree line, but the longer I followed the noise the closer I got to the barn.” I frowned at her, which I only remember because of the hurt face she reacted with. “I thought whatever it was might’ve been scared, so I snuck in through those old doors and turned on my phone’s flashlight.” I was surprised at that, and a little annoyed. She’d had no idea what could’ve been making those noises, and the fact that she’d followed it against her better judgement only went to show just how bored she was being cooped up in the house. She was itching to find a project to keep her mind occupied, and I could tell her mind was set on the barn. I’ll admit, at the time it felt like she was looking for a reason to go in there on her own. I didn’t say that, though. I knew if I came at her with that kind of accusation, we’d be fighting until the sun came back up.
She’d walked around, taking extra care not to trip over any of the junk strewn all over the place. She said she’d been searching for close to twenty minutes when the cat strolled up to her. “The poor little thing looked terrified!” she cried. “He looked like he’d been trapped in there for god knows how long,” which was an observation I couldn’t disagree with. The cat, although covered in long brown hair, was nothing more than skin and bones. Bri said that the cat came up to her and started meowing, rubbing against her leg. “How did you know it wasn’t sick, babe?” I asked her. I’d been thinking about rabies at the time. I always laugh at myself when I remember that part, given that the cat’s health turned out to be the least of our problems. She’d laughed at me when I asked, claiming that the cat started purring like an engine the moment she knelt to pet it.
But, given my limited options, I shrugged and told her to introduce me. She opened the door gingerly, making sure the cat wouldn’t dart out. When both of us got inside I saw the cat for the first time. It was sitting right in the middle of the living room, staring at us with a cocked head and wide eyes as we entered. The first thing I noticed was the yellow eyes. They were almost neon, to the point where I found myself unable to look at them for too long without getting a nasty headache. The second thing was the tail. The tail was completely white, creating a strange contrast between the disheveled brown hair that covered the cat. The tail was swaying back and forth as it stared at us, and something about that made me uncomfortable. Bri clasped her hands together and beamed, rushing over to the cat and scooping it up into her arms. She started making her way over to me. When she was right next to me, the cat turned its head and stared at me.
Now, something to keep in mind is that I’ve always loved animals. I’d never met a pet that didn’t at least tolerate me, and most of them straight up loved me. In the past, friends had always asked me to dog or cat sit while they were on vacation, and as a kid I even had my own dog walking business. I say this is because I’d never been looked at by an animal the way that cat looked at me. It wasn’t afraid at all and held no apprehension in its eyes. There was no confusion at the sudden appearance of a new person, and that seemed off. If I had to describe the look, knowing what I do now, I’d say the cat was looking at me like an obstacle to overcome. Bri held him out to me and said, “Come on, give the little wild man a pet!” So, I did.
The second my hand was close to the cat it happened. It hissed and yowled like a banshee, scaring the shit out of us. I didn’t have time to pull back before the cat reached out and scratched the top of my hand with enough ferocity to draw blood. The cat jumped out of Bri’s arms and darted underneath the couch, disappearing. Bri rushed over with concern and surprise all over her face, grabbing a nearby napkin and pressing it to my fresh wound. “I guess he didn’t like me,” I remember saying through gritted teeth. The scratch had hurt much worse than I would’ve expected, and deeper than either of us thought at the time. Blood was starting to seep through the napkins Bri had pressed against me, and I could feel warm liquid tricking down the sides of my wrist and down my forearm.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Bri kept muttering under her breath. “I don’t know where that came from. When I picked him up, he was a sweet as could be …” I laughed despite the searing pain that was intensifying rather than fading. “Maybe he knows I didn’t want you out in that damn barn.” She’d frowned at that, and I’d felt a little guilty. She really was worried about the scratch, and I’d used the opportunity to dig at her. At the time I was pissed and in pain, but now when I look back it’s all one big blend of hurt.
So, we’d argued, going back and forth about the barn, my work, and her being trapped in the house all day. It faded after about a half hour, as most of our fights did. I’d heard somewhere that, when it came to measuring the health of a couple, it wasn’t how often they fought, but how fast they made up. Eventually, we ended up together on the couch watching some cop show and cuddling. It was nice until the cat slinked out from behind the TV. “There he is!” Bri cried, pulling the blanket off and sitting up. She bent down with hand out, rubbing her fingers together and clicking her tongue. The cat eyed her and licked its paw, a gesture that struck me as condescending. Bri knelt even further off the couch, and the cat stopped licking its paw and tilted its head at her hand.
The cat looked at me, not even turning its head, just swiveling its eyes. It only lasted for a second, then the cat strolled toward Bri’s hand rubbed against it, purring loud enough for me to hear from several feet away. It was stupid, feeling intimidated by a cat that couldn’t have been more than twelve pounds, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was meant to be an aggressive gesture. The scratch on my hand was burning again, and I leaned forward to put on a fresh coat of Neosporin and a new band-aid. “He’s a little wild man, isn’t he?” she asked, scratching behind the cat’s ear. “Like a damn grizzly bear,” I’d agreed. She’d whipped her head around at me when I said that, pointing at me with her other hand and nodding with a big smile on her face.
“That’s a good name!” she’d cried as if I’d just struck oil in our backyard. She was so excited about that cat, and despite my worries a big part of me didn’t want to take that from her. “Grizzly, my sweet boy!” is something I remember her saying a lot before it all went to shit.
Eventually, she’d put Grizzly back on the floor and he scampered away, darting underneath the couch again. We watched our shows for a bit longer before deciding to call it a night and head to bed. We were about halfway up the stairs, Bri in the lead, when I turned and looked back at the couch. From underneath, through the darkness, I could make out those neon-yellow eyes glaring at me. I think I’ll always remember that part, given that it was the first time I felt scared of Grizzly. But after a minute long staring contest, where the cat never blinked once, I shook my head and followed Bri into our bedroom, closing the door behind us.
My sleep was full of nightmares, which was strange because I’d never had vivid dreams before. In the dream, I was running through the woods, drenched in a cold sweat, and screaming at the top of my lungs like a madman who’d escaped an asylum. I don’t know the exact reason I was running, let alone the reason I was screaming, but in the dream I kept hearing a high-pitched, giggling, shriek that reverberated around me in every direction. I remember that I was sobbing. Tears started to blur and sting my vision, and that’s when I woke up.
It was still dark outside and dried tears stained my cheeks. One look at my phone told me it was the dead of night, and Bri’s soft snoring beside me reminded me that the terror I’d experienced was just a dream. Nothing more, nothing less. I drifted back to sleep, having more nightmares; this one about something I couldn’t see standing on my chest, crushing the life out of me. When my alarm eventually woke me, I was exhausted. Groaning and moaning, I’d rolled out of bed, my head pounding and stomach churching like I had a nasty hangover. I dismissed this theory, though, given that I hadn’t drank last night.
When I made my way into the bathroom to get ready for work, I felt my hand burning again. When I flipped the light on, I saw that the bandage I had on was stained a light red, the edges crusted over with dried blood and clumps of solidified pus. It was nasty, but it didn’t look serious enough to really start worrying. Instead, I peeled off the soiled bandage and tossed it in the trash. Without using my injured hand, I managed to get a new one ready, apply some Neosporin to the padded part, and lay it down by the edge of the sink. I opened our medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide, unscrewing the cap and aiming my injured hand over the sink, the wound facing up.
The second the liquid touched the scratch, my hand felt like someone was holding a lit blowtorch to it. I gasped and blinked away tears, trying not to notice the hissing, yellow bubbles that had sprung up all over my hand. It burned longer than I expected, and it didn’t fade like normal pain does. It remained consistent, throbbing, and angry. Never once dulling or giving my brain a chance to get used to it. After about five minutes, I decided I couldn’t handle it anymore. I turned on the faucet and let the cold-water flow over my hand, washing all the darkening yellow bubbles away.
Once I secured the new bandage, I looked at the time and saw I was ten minutes behind when I should’ve left for work. I was going to take a shower but given the ordeal with my hand and the lack of time, I said, “fuck it” and just got dressed. Bri was still asleep when I left, curled up under a series of blankets and softly snoring. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and whispered to her that I was leaving. I remember her frowning, her eyes still closed, as she let out a little groan which only people in the middle of a deep, restful sleep can manage. That was the last time I saw her alive.
On my way out the door, I saw Grizzly sitting right in the middle of the hallway, his tail swishing back and forth and his head cocked as though he were examining potential prey. I didn’t like it, especially not with all the shit his little scratch had put me through this morning, so I lunged at him, acting like I was going to attack.
He didn’t move.
I sighed and shook my head, frustrated that I was dealing with this little pain in the ass that early. I took off my shoe, put it over my hand lunged at him again, swinging my shoe-covered hand at him. He backed up this time, but with a casual ease that was almost a taunt. He cocked his head again, tail still flicking back and forth like a pendulum. “Fucking move!” I grunted, putting my shoe back on and walking forward. I figured that if worst came to worst, I’d just tap him with my foot. I’d never heard of any cat that wouldn’t run from that, especially one that wasn’t a fan of the person doing the tapping. Still, I didn’t like the way he looked at me. It felt like I was amusing him.
When I was less than a foot away from him, he sprang up, arched his back with his hackles raised and the fur on his tail puffed out. It reminded me of a feather-duster. His eyes were wide with hatred, and he hissed at me. It wasn’t like yesterday’s hiss in front of Bri, that one had been at least somewhat normal. This one felt like a low roar from something much higher up on the food-chain than people. Something angry. Something hungry. I jumped and covered my ears when I heard the sound, my heart racing eardrums ringing like they’d just been next to a blaring fire-alarm.
As I stood there, stunned from that unnatural hiss, Grizzly took the opportunity to leap between my legs and run down the wall, slinking into the cracked open bedroom door. When my head cleared and I regained my composure, I shook my head and shuddered like someone had just walked across my future grave.
The only positive to come out of that little confrontation was that, with the surge in adrenaline that my fear (It was a cat Christ’s sake! Why was I so afraid in the first place?) carried through my body, the pain from the scratch had faded. Throughout my commute and the duration of my day at work, it was only a dull, throbbing pain that shot through my hand as opposed to the sharp, intense burning from earlier.
I felt like complete shit. It felt like the onset of bad food poisoning, or maybe a nasty case of the flu, but it came out of nowhere. It got so bad that my boss walked over to my desk, sized me up like I was a broken piece of machinery, and frowned. “You look like you’ve been hit by a train, son,” he declared. I remember giving him a pathetic little smile and nodding. “I feel like I got hit by a train,” I’d coughed. My insincere smile widening. “All aboard the Influenza Express!” I chuckled, struggling through another cough. Despite himself, my boss laughed at the joke, even though the look of concern never fully left. “Well, in that case I better send you home for the day,” he announced after he stopped laughing.
I tried to put up a fight, claiming I was fine and that I could make it through the day even though we both knew I was full of it. After getting a stonewall response, I fell back on my last resort and told him about my lengthy commute. At that, he smiled and said “It’s not my fault you’re a hard worker, but I stand by my decision. Now, I’m going back to my office. You should head out. After all, you’ve got a train to catch!” And with a wink and another laugh he left,
That drive home, from what I can remember, was awful for a few reasons. The first was that I was in a tremendous amount of pain from the battle going on between my nausea and the need to keep myself composed while I was on the road. I didn’t want to pull over, I figured it’d just be a waste of time. The second was that it felt like a thousand degrees in my car. I had the AC on full blast, and when I put my hand close to the vent I could feel cool air pouring out, but I was sweating bullets. My eyes were watery, and a few times I couldn’t even see the road. I should’ve pulled over. Looking back, it wouldn’t have changed anything.
When I pulled into our gravel driveway, the first thing I noticed was that the front door was wide open, flapping against the wind and creaking on its hinges. If my brain hadn’t been drowning in a fever, I’m sure that seeing the door open like that for no reason would’ve terrified me. It might’ve even scared me so bad that I called the police, but with my head as cloudy as it was I didn’t think about that. I stumbled out of the car, drenched in sweat yet somehow freezing. My hand hurt again, and now it felt even worse than that morning.
The second thing I noticed was that all the lights in the house were on. Now, this might not strike everyone as strange, but in the context of Bri and I, it was downright bizarre. I’d always had a bad habit of leaving the lights on whenever I left a room, and she’d give me grief about how expensive electricity is. That was when I started calling out her name, dreading walking through that door. When I entered the living room, I gasped.
Furniture was everywhere, tipped over and even broken in some places. The couch was on its side and looked as though it’d been bent down the middle. The dining area was demolished, only a splintered mess remaining of our table and chairs. The TV had a chair leg sticking out of the screen, and the broken interior was still sputtering out little sparks. It looked like a small hurricane had worked its way through the entire interior. I was still calling out her name as I approached the stairs, but now I was fighting back the urge to scream. I stopped cold when I got to the foot of the steps.
There was so much blood. It had soaked into the carpet on the stairs, starting from about halfway up. It was smeared throughout the center of the carpet, as if something bleeding profusely had been dragged up. The railing was cracked and splintered, broken outward like something huge had tried squeezing through. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and didn’t do anything but stare up at the hallway. I was terrified of what I’d find up there, and even with the sickness doing a number on my body I knew that much blood wasn’t good.
I took a deep breath and started up the stairs, cringing when I stepped in a puddle of blood on the carpet. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that squelching sound it made when I pulled my foot out. I almost fell a few times trying to make my way up. The fever was in full-force, and my world was shaking and spinning with chaos that made me even more nauseous. My hand was on fire, and other than searing pain it had no feeling.
Once I worked up the will to keep moving, I went back to shambling up the stairs and trying to keep my balance. Towards the top I started to hear noises coming from down the hall. It sounded like someone tearing wet cardboard apart with their bare hands, and every so often there was a horrible slurping that sounded like someone chugging down a thick smoothie. My stomach dropped when I heard it, and the step beneath me creaked.
The sounds stopped instantly. No more tearing, no more slurping. I wanted to turn and run but part of my brain needed to know what happened. Well, I like to think that. Maybe I was just petrified. But I didn’t have much time to think about it before I heard a new sound. It sounded like something rolling around on the floor of our bedroom, like a dog on its back trying to scratch an itch. It only lasted a few seconds before there was a loud THUMP! And everything went quiet again.
I kept telling myself to go, to run down the stairs and get the hell out, but I didn’t move a muscle. That’s when I heard the meow. It was long, unaggressive, and attention seeking but drawn out into a long howl. I heard the patter of scurrying paws from down the hall and was soon greeted by Grizzly, who simply sat at the top of the stairs with that curious little head tilt. The only difference was that this time, there was blood and sinewy gristle covering the bottom of his paws and splattered around his mouth.
He looked like a toddler who’d smeared frosting on themselves trying to eat a cake with their bare hands. He meowed again, and this time I saw him open his mouth and smile at me like that cat from Alice in Wonderland, only I don’t remember the Chesire Cat’s teeth being the size of steak knives. The meow morphed into a low, grating howl that made my ears ring. It didn’t stop, and Grizzly’s smile started to open, becoming the gaping mouth of a snake unhinging its jaw. There was a screech, and his head shot back so his massive jaws were pointed right at the ceiling. That was when the first leg came out of his mouth.
It was light grey and covered in what looked like millions of little bristling hairs. On its end, instead of a foot, there was a sharp, jet-black spearpoint that reminded me of an enlarged scorpion stinger. The leg was spider-like, jointed in the middle and bent as it squirmed around the floor in front of it. Then came the second leg, and the third, and then the fourth. It happened fast, and I was frozen. I don’t think my legs would’ve worked even if I’d tried to run. I’d started shaking when the fourth and final leg came out, and took a step back, my foot sliding in the blood still drying on the steps below.
Suddenly, all the legs stopped. The cat-thing was dangling from the center of the legs, and I thought I saw its blank eyes swivel toward me. Its body swung upward, so that its tail was sticking straight up into the air. It curled like a cobra, and from the tip I saw a large, neon yellow eye glaring at me. The body of the cat split open, adding to the gore around it with more dark colored blood and chunks of meat. I heard a sound like a knife sinking into a cutting board, and from the wound in the cat’s torso, shark-like teeth grew to the surface. It shrieked at me, sounding like a hyena trying to finish off weakened prey.
I turned and ran, although with the fever and my hand feeling like it was resting on a lit stove it was a sorry attempt. For a second, I didn’t hear anything other than that grotesque screeching behind me. But shortly after I heard the screech turn into a chortling bark that sounded almost like the cat-thing was laughing at me, and looking back the only reason I’m alive to write this is because he decided to give me head start. Maybe I was a game to him, just good sport because he wasn’t hungry anymore. Not after what he did upstairs.
But soon I heard the skittering, scraping shuffle of the thing’s legs running toward me, and the shrieking bark turned into the roar of an apex predator. I heard the sheer size of the thing crashing into the broken furniture and debris, but that didn’t stop it. I only made it out because I hadn’t closed the door behind me when I’d first come in. I dove into the part of the forest closest to the house, and when I turned around, I saw the wall that held the front door crumble and explode outward, spraying the area with wreckage. The cat-thing had grown to the size of a mini-van somehow, and it was looking at me with rage in its eye, like I wasn’t supposed to have made it as far as I did.
Now, I’d never lost consciousness before. The reason I feel like that’s important to add is because I felt like my body was about to just give out. I heard a distant zapping noise, like water being poured onto an electrical fire, and I heard the roar of newly born flames as whatever broken electronic that the cat-thing had stepped on ignited. My first thought was that it was probably one of the lamps that I’d seen half-broken on the floor, my second was that I needed to get the hell out of there now. When the fire started, the cat-thing looked back over its shoulder and screeched. This one was different than the one it’d made when it chased me down the stairs though. This one was a screech of pained surprise.
The second Grizzly looked back at my now burning home, I turned around and started sprinting to my car. I thought I could hear the thing scuttling after me, still screeching as my house burned behind it. When I got to the car and opened the door I thanked God I hadn’t locked it when I’d first got home. I dove into the front seat, groaning when the gearshift slammed into my midsection. I slammed the door shut, pressed my hand down on the lock button and lowered my head. The second the car door closed the screeching stopped. I could only hear the roaring of flames spreading across the house, and the crumbling of the support structures as they burned.
I opened my eyes, which wasn’t easy because I still felt like I was passing out. I worked my way up, my stomach in tatters and my head pounding, and saw the thing that had once been a cat standing by the tree line, its legs perched and its eye on me. There wasn’t any carnivorous fury in the eye this time, but a mocking curiosity. Like it’d suddenly decided I wasn’t worth its time. It howled one more time before turning around and darting into the forest, knocking down a couple of small trees in its path before disappearing completely.
I passed out after that. I woke up in the hospital, a day later, and was informed that Bri was dead, and our house was now nothing more than a pile of ash. I was handcuffed to the gurney, and there was an enormous bandage wrapped around the hand Grizzly had scratched. Doctors said they’d never seen anything like my hand in their entire careers. They said it looked like I’d been bitten by the kind of rat that once spread the Black Plague, and that I was lucky to still have the hand at all.
I probably don’t have to tell you that the police pinned it all on me. I can’t blame them, given the impossible truth of it, but that doesn’t make sitting here in my padded cell any easier. My shrink says that maybe writing it all down will help me get some of it out of my head, or at least help me organize my thoughts so the memory of that night isn’t constantly hanging over me. Now that it’s all out, I still don’t feel better. Numb, maybe, but not better. But I guess that’s the best I can hope for.