A few weeks ago, the order came from above that 13 of our cats were to be slaughtered. Their numbers had grown without respite for a few years now, due to a lack of adequate gelding. And so the males had consistenty (and vigorously, I might add) inspermated the females, whose orifices would be dripping with cat cum as they jumped on the dinner tables and fish dissectories.
As it would happen, the main problem with this proliferation of cats turned out to be the death of several Esteemed Members on the stairways that interconnect the dormitories and cafeterias of our Last Stand. When Sigun Lazdil broke his neck on stairway 419B, it was decreed by poem:
In the hall of Esteemed, shadows grow, Thirteen felines, ordained to bestow. Not a sentence of hate, but necessity’s flow.
Under the moon, their silhouettes glow, Life to release, for balance we owe. In the dance of the world, such seeds were sow.
Do not perceive this act as woe, Each stroke of blade, a mercy to show. For in their end, the beginnings we know.
By this decree the Esteemed Members of Machinecover knew that we must filet and dissect a full 13 of our ragdolls.
However it went horribly wrong.
Firstly, no one amongst the Esteemed Members was assigned to clean up the various cartilage, sinews, bones, furs, lip-tentacles (antennae?), ears, eyelashes, claws, little paws, leg pieces, muscles, cat intestines, and other aspects that remained after the actions were carried out according to the decree.
Instead they were left uncovered, on the floors, in the cabins, upon the dressers, and wherever else Esteemed Members saw fit to leave them after the dismemberment had been done. Yet no Clean-Selves, Collect-Selves, or Recycle-Selves were dispatched accordingly.
As a result, a great malady descended upon the residents of Machinecover. Something came up from the depths of releality, summoned by the cat cries, and homing in on the various rotting fleshes and flayed carcasses strewn about the interiors of the Esteemed Members.
First it was merely a shadow: clinging to the corners and sticking to the sidereal. The corneas of the residents of Machinecover indeed kept catching side-glances and flashes of its abominatory shadoweference, yet it remained undetected by the Esteemed Guard.
However next, it became vociferous. The cries of the suffering and dying cats would echo nightly through the cavernous corridors and descending switchbacks of Machinecover. Their horrific meows and murrooowws would ceaselessly interrupt our Sleep-Selves, arresting rest and disturbing dreams.
Finally, it became aggressive and quite physical.
First to go was Minkot “Maze” Osednish, a purveyor of Phantom of Skulls literature, known for being a little tight with her resources. It came to her cabin at thrice past nocturne, skimming through the crack beneath her door at the end of the culdesac off Stairway 142C. Her teeth were found and identified by Intercover officers, yet aside from the nerves dangling from their roots, no other trace of Maze ever was found.
Next to go was Zefon Norammafol, an unemployed Engraver. A child delivering his supper discovered his right wrist, perfectly sectioned off like a disc of arm, balanced perfectly upon the doorknob of his commode-chamber. No blood drops, no vomit, and no teeth were found at the scene, just the wrist.
And now I hear it at my door. I can see its thirteen legs casting shadows beneath my door-gap. I can hear its razor-sharp mandibles engraving something in my door, a skill it has absorbed from Zefon. I am waiting, in the dark.