Come moon rise, this road turns into a highway for hell’s freakiest and deakiest people. Hulken is not for the faint, fickle or skiddish: it was built for chaos.
I grew up here In Hulken .My parents married in Santa Monica, yet decided to settle in a shit-hole opposite of a craggy coast. My home was built by my father and my uncle in a matter of months; nine to be exact. I was born right on the porch of that shitty shelter. It was never a home.
By the time I turned 7, my parents had made something of themselves. They opened a shop in the town’s main commercial strip and were doing well. I was a happy child. All my needs were met and then some. My parents smiled and hugged all day while running the shop but slept in separate bedrooms at home. They loved me and reminded me every single day. At some point though, they started forgetting to say it to each other.
Around my 11th birthday my dad adopted a new catchphrase. “We’re doing great” His teeth were rotting from the tobacco he chewed, but sure, he’s “doing great.” My mother was happy with working alongside her husband. She became an ideal wife; she was no longer an ideal mother. I could count the number of times she smiled at me annually on one hand. I never got the sibling I asked for, and eventually stopped asking once my father brought home a kitten. It was the smallest thing I’ve ever seen, and the cutest. I named him Shiret, after a comic book character I liked at the time. He was my best friend. Shiret was “mischievous” according to my dad: I disagree He had a habit of getting his paws into the coolest adventures and always made sure I tailed closely behind him.
Not many people in Hulken had pets. They’re a superstitious bunch. Cats especially, seemed to ward of the townsfolk en masse. I never felt the need to be wary of my pet; that was until the day he brought home an ear. It didn’t belong to any wild animal I recognized. It was small, roughly the size of a quail egg, and covered in thin-wiry-gray hairs. He dropped it onto the back porch step, a few inches away from were I’d been peacefully daydreaming. It didn’t look like he himself had torn it off of the poor creature; rather like he’d found it laying somewhere. It reeked too. There was black matter coagulated on the side I assume was once attached to the thing. It really reeked: in a repulsive and sweet way. I couldn’t look at it anymore so I picked Shiret up, kicked it unto the brush and went inside. I didn’t dwell on it for too long and enough time passed for me to forget about it.
That year, the first major snowfall came in mid November. I walked home with my neighbors that day. When I made it to the back porch I saw Shiret waiting for me outside. He had something white in his mouth. Snow? I remember thinking. As I crouched down I saw something thin and wet draping from the white ball. I realized what it was even before he dropped it proudly by my feet. It was an eye. Like the ear, it was decaying in some parts; the iris a grey opaque. Despite the cold, I could still smell the rot. I was upset with him. This was intentional but I couldn’t understand what it meant.
Once we were both inside of my room I chastised him. I doubt he understood. Instead he wore this drôle expression, as if waiting for me to finish. I made sure to lock the windows that night ti ensure he didn’t get out. I fell asleep with him sitting beside my head. He was licking his paws and I felt a small surge of disgust. I thought back to the parts of that thing he’d returned home with. My thoughts drifted until they lulled to nothingness.
Shiret’s paws were kneading my cheek as I groggily opened my eyes. My room was black, despite the moon being visible through my window. I felt someone watching me. Shiret stopped pawing at me and dropped something warm and wet next to my face. It reeked. I sat up, mildly disoriented from the smell and pitch blackness, and reached for my lamp. Yellow light flooded my bedroom and I saw something rolling in the corner opposite of my bed. Left of my dresser, beneath the window, was something I’d never seen. It was no bigger than Shiret and covered in curly hay-colored hairs. I couldn’t tell if it was alive or dead. My heart thundered in my chest. I peaked to see what my cat had dropped onto the bed : it was an eye. The pupil stared up at me ; blood pooling into the grey iris. It reeks, despite it’s obvious freshness. Shiret hopped off of my bed and slowly stalked up to the thing. He sniffed it, once he was close enough, before looking up to signal that the coast was clear. I was too stunned to speak or act. Shiret meowed in annoyance and hoped up on the window sill.
“𝚄 𝚗 𝚕 𝚘 𝚌 𝚔 . . . 𝙸𝚝“
I shivered at the voice in my head. It felt like a purr in my inner ear. Somehow I knew who was speaking to me although I didn’t have a way to rationalize it. I stared into his amber eyes, and he stared right back. I remember feeling something I’d never felt before ; a combination of gratitude, apprehension, and curiosity. My gaze returned to the dead thing on my bedroom floor. I wanted it out.
“𝙷 𝚞 𝚛 𝚛 𝚢 𝙽𝚘𝚠 . . .
I slowly rose to my feet and shuffled over to the edge of the sill. I didn’t want to take my eyes off of the thing but did so to unlatch the window’s lock. The window and screen opened without much noise. Shiret wasted no time. He leapt down, grabbed the thing by it’s neck, then jumped out of the window. I always knew he was a special cat, however I could not hide my shock any longer.
I screamed.
I don’t remember for how long but eventually my bedroom light was switched on and my mother took me into her arms. My father looked puzzled by the stains on my floor. The last thing I remember were Shiret’s eyes peering into my room from outside. I stared into those amber orbs as my dad hoisted me over his shoulder : my mother still cooing at me. I couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. My vision faded to black: I offered no resistance.
“𝚜 𝚑 𝚑 𝚑 . . .“
I stopped screaming .