I had a cat. I have a current one, her name is Stella, but I had a cat named Willow. Willow was a fantastic pet. She loved everyone and had no prejudice against or distrust toward strangers. You would’ve loved her. Everyone did. She was this beautiful Russian Blue, and I’m quite ashamed to say, I let her outside daily. I know. I don’t anymore, I swear I don’t, but I did back then. And, side note, don’t let your cats outside unobserved. They are killing the wildlife, left and right. I know this now, but I was ignorant of it then.
Anyway, Willow had a schedule. And part of that schedule was that she needed to be outside from 4 in the afternoon at the latest. Like a dog demanding a walk, she’d be perched in front of the door, meowing politely for me to let her out. And so, I’d release her from the house and go about my day. Then, at around 8 in the night, I’d open my sliding door and call into the bush (for non-Australians who don’t know, ‘bush’ is an abbreviation for ‘bushland’) to tell her that it was time for dinner. She’d come trotting along soon enough. She always hung around to keep an ear open for dinnertime.
To give you some context, in the week leading up to this night in question, plenty of animals in my community had been totally savaged. Wild birds had been found strewn about, kangaroos were stumbled across totally disembowelled. The community was quite worried there might’ve been a rabid dog in the area, or something to that degree. But I wasn’t too worried for Willow. She was a smart girl; she knew how to stay out of danger. At least, that’s what I thought.
One night, I prepared my cat’s dinner, as usual. I poured the food into her silver bowl and then headed through my living room to the backdoor. The backdoor is a big, glass sliding door that opens to a good stretch of the backyard. The backyard, which is a very, very big yard, leads directly into the bush, just so you have a clear picture. I called out my cat’s name, telling her it was time to come inside.
After a few seconds of calling out into the bush, I thought I could hear movement. So, I kept calling Willow’s name, over and over. I was hoping to go to sleep soon because I’d had a busy day at work, so I was all ready to go to bed. I just needed to feed this cat, and off I’d go to thirty minutes of some soap opera on my bedroom TV, before a bit of a mystery novel, and then sleep.
After some seconds, amidst the dancing shapes of the trees and bushes, I distinctly saw something move between two trees. Thinking none the better, I called out, “Hey, Willow! Come on, let’s get you fed.”
And then I saw the eyes. I was still completely clueless, you see, so I kept calling and beckoning for her to come inside, like a fool. The eyes were wide and piercing, glinting sharply. They stared at me, frozen in the darkness, unblinking. Now that I think about it all this time later, I thought they seemed a bit too far up off the ground. Still, I called her one last time, before I paused. Something about the way those eyes weren’t blinking just put me off. They were completely frozen in the dark, like a statue, and they weren’t blinking at all. It seemed as if they were registering me for the first time.
I felt my heart quicken a tiny bit as I started to recognise all the inconsistencies. If this was my cat, she’d already be making her way across the lawn, ready for a meal before bed. But the eyes were holding back, hovering in the woods. And the other thing I noticed, and this is what really raised the red flags, is that the eyes were too wide apart. Both eyes were too distanced from each other as if they were for a bigger and broader face. They were too far apart to be a kangaroo’s. Or any wild animal now that I think about it. No, this was something else.
With my heart picking up a little more, I rested my hand on the door handle, ready to close the sliding door, if need be. The eyes just kept staring at me, their gaze intensifying by the second. The woods were largely silent. Not an animal was to be heard. No crickets. No chittering. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of leaves as the wind calmly slipped through the branches.
Then, very slowly, the owner of the eyes began the process of bringing itself up to full height. Its eyes started to rise, inch by inch. It did this ever so slowly, taking its time. Calculating my every move. Still trained on me, never leaving the spot where I stood. And it kept rising… and rising… and rising…
I felt my heart, thudding louder and louder by the beat, slowly work its way into my throat. The eyes, still drawing themselves to full height, were now almost as high as my house. A cold weight, heavier than a rock and bitterer than snow, plunged down my gullet and deep into my stomach. Whatever this thing was, it was fucking massive. Finally, the eyes came to a stop. They were almost 15 feet in the air, still staring down at me, now a mouse in comparison.
I was completely frozen. Every muscle was suspended in time, and I could feel my breath clogging up in my throat. My grip on the door handle was now stronger than iron, my knuckles colourless because of the tension. I think, I’m not sure, but I think I had tears welling in my eyes. Tears of absolute terror. And all the while, as I stood there, too terrified to even move, it just kept on staring. Staring and never blinking.
The seconds dragged on. Each second felt like several minutes, but when you’re terrified, your concept of time is fantastically radicalised. We both just kept standing there, in silence, one too terrified to move, the other simply standing. Standing and watching. And waiting.
Finally, after a long enough period had gone by, my senses kicked in again. Now, with logic re-installed, every sense was screaming one thing. ‘Close the fucking door.’
But I was still so terrified. It was like a stand-off, between predator and prey. Both knew the other could see them. There was no chance of hiding, no possibility of concealment. Instead, it was the painstakingly tense moment of the wait. Waiting for the other to make the first move. Waiting for one of us, at this moment, to stop fooling ourselves and kick the gears in motion. And it had to be me. There was still a chance of escaping this situation, and that chance was tightly gripped in my left hand.
Tensing myself even further, I very, very slowly started to try and close the door. At first, my reserved pull against the sliding door did nothing. I still needed a little more strength, a little more of that pull to set it in motion. I increased my pull bit by bit until in one fluid motion, the door slid forwards an inch. And with that starting movement, in my mind, came the loudest squeak I’ve ever heard. And with that, the creature started to run.
Its eyes arched forwards and back towards the earth, as the shape of its body burst out of the tree line. And this is the part where I completely panicked. I screamed. I screamed even louder than I thought a human being could ever scream, and I began to try and pull the door shut as quickly as possible. And while I did, this thing was exploding across the yard, simply hurtling towards me like a speeding bullet. I could hear its feet thundering across the grass, much faster than any animal can run, tearing towards me at breakneck speed. I’m sure it would’ve been able to maintain pace with a car with very little difficulty.
And this door, God bless it, was just moving along at this absolute snail’s pace. Sliding doors do that. They’re not like a door you can swing open or shut. They take their fucking time. So, there I was, pulling as hard as I possibly could, this door closing shut, inch by inch, while this thing was pelting toward me, its eyes never leaving me. I honestly thought, at that moment, that I was going to die. I really did.
At the very last couple of inches, as I was getting that door shut, it fell into the light being cast from my house. I only saw glimpses of it - fleeting glimpses - but the things I saw… it was not an animal I’ve ever, ever seen before. It was not an animal anyone’s ever seen before. I don’t know if you could’ve even called it an ‘animal.’ I think its skin was of a palish grey complexity. It was ashen, anyway, the skin stretched between and around its bones like spiderwebs. I didn’t see a lot of it. Thank God I didn’t. All I was focused on was closing that sliding glass door.
And finally, after what felt like several hours of laborious pulling, I got that door shut. I closed it all the way, simultaneously scrambling for the lock, and at that dead millisecond where I was turning the lock, the thing simply cannoned into the other side. I mean, it flew into it at a million miles per hour. The shock of it hitting the door sent me stumbling backwards, as my feet snagged each other and sent my butt crashing heavily against the hardwood floor.
The door completely shattered, too. The glass didn’t pop out of its frame, thank God, but it was now like frozen dew on a car window. The texture of the glass was all rough, every inch a fractured piece still stuck in place. It was sheer luck the glass didn’t pop out of place, because if it did, I would’ve been covered in falling glass and that fucking thing would’ve gotten inside.
And, just as quickly as it appeared, the thing vanished into the bush. I was just left sitting there, speechless. When I finally caught my breath, I started hyperventilating, and before I knew it, I was in tears. I just kind of sat there, on the floor, my tears running like a faucet. It’s embarrassing, in retrospect, but I do believe I came very, very close to dying. I saw the way it looked at me. I saw the way it ran. That was not a thing that meant well.
Then, after it was all over, I did the next logical thing and called the police. I didn’t know what to say, but I think they could hear the way I sounded over the phone, so they sent a couple of guys over. I explained the entire story. I know it’s ridiculous, and I doubted they would believe me, but I feel like that fractured sliding door and my distressed state was evidence enough.
And you know what? I think they really did believe me. We’ve all seen things in this town. Things that we cannot and will not explain. Things that we notice, but just pretend we haven’t. It’s all for the best. The police comforted me some and said they’d make a report, but I knew they wouldn’t. There wasn’t much we could do about it, in the end. They asked me if I had any family or friends I could stay with, but I refused. I didn’t want to talk to people. At that stage, all I needed was some goddamn rest.
So, after some comforting, they left. I originally headed to my bedroom, with the idea that I’d collapse on the bed and be out like a light. But then I thought better of it. What if it came back? Supposing, despite hitting a solid surface at a million miles per hour, it would revisit? I couldn’t risk it. I wouldn’t. So, I took a woodcutting axe from my garage, and I sat on the living room couch in front of that sliding door. I stared at it for hours on end, not really thinking about anything, just never looking away. Just watching. Watching and waiting.
Finally, the adrenaline and overpowering emotions wore off. At last, I was too tired to even think straight. I pinched myself to stay awake many times and contemplated brewing coffee to keep me going. But making coffee would mean moving away from the door. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to do that. Not for one second. So, I just kept sitting there, watching. At some point, though, the enticement of sleep must’ve been too strong.
I awoke on the floor. My axe was cradled in my arms, like a teddy bear. I was staring up at the ceiling. At first, everything was blurry. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, or what I was doing on the living room floor, instead of lying in my comfy bed. More to the point, what had woken me up? It was early, and I’m a very late sleeper. I blinked, trying to get my bearings, and then something hit me in the face. A very light little tap. Just right on the tip of my nose. Something cold. A droplet?
I rubbed my eyes, letting the axe free, and focused on the ceiling above me. And finally, I registered what I was seeing. Willow. I was seeing Willow. She was dangling above me, strung up to a rafter on the ceiling. Her tiny ribcage, to my horror, was completely forced apart. In fact, my beloved cat was almost completely unrecognisable. She was soaked red with her blood, her bones broken at impossible angles, her flesh completely shredded apart. She seemed to be half-eaten. Her amber eyes, once full of life and innocent curiosity, were now grey and lifeless. They stared right at me.
I felt a tingling sensation of horror start to fill my stomach. My breath started to quicken as I fully registered what I was seeing, and tears began to well up in my eyes. I mouthed her name, too petrified to even speak, and as I watched, slowly, a drop extended from her exposed ribcage, and hung there for a second, before plummeting and hitting me on the cheek. Tap.
I shrieked, rolling out of the way (and damn near impaling myself on that axe), before looking over at my laptop. My laptop was set up on the coffee table, still sitting open from sometime last night. I could see, in the dead emptiness of its uncharged screen, my face. And my entire face was covered, absolutely covered, in Willow’s blood. Some had gotten in my hair. Some on my neck. I could even taste some in my… yeah. It was sickening. Sickening. I made a half moaning noise, gagging a bit. I couldn’t believe it. Her blood. I was covered in her blood.
I couldn’t even fathom this. How did this happen? How was my cat, my beloved cat, hanging above me? And how did it even get in? And as I asked myself this, I realised how cold the room was. I slowly looked over from my laptop, and at the sliding glass door. Or at least, where the glass door was. Now, there was only a carpet of glass at my feet and an empty frame leading out into my backyard. I don’t know how I didn’t wake up to it. To the sound of all that glass falling away. I truly must’ve been simply exhausted. But the glass was all over the floor.
And, leading right up to my feet as well, was a trail of leaves and dirt. They lay right at the foot of where I would’ve been sleeping, before leading around the room, and, to my increasing horror, leading down behind me, into the hallway and the rest of my home. For reasons unexplained, it had spared me. The tracks led all around my house, before coming back out again, and sitting beneath the beam where my cat hung.
Then, they trailed back outside. Back, once again, into the bushland.