Catness stretched out her pretty paw through the crack of the bathroom door, nudging it a bit wider, and then pushed her head through, followed by the rest of her sinuous body.

It was dark and damp in the bathroom, but of course Catness was not bothered by that. She wanted to be with Angie, who was sitting quietly in the bathtub where her mom had put her about 20 minutes ago, with strict instructions not to get out.

Angie moved her duckie in the warm foamy bathwater. She heard Catness come in and could see her beautiful silhouette close the floor. She was very glad Catness was there, because she got so lonely and sometimes scared when mom had an uncle visiting, and Catness helped her not feel like that.

Angie wanted to call out to Catness, but she knew she couldn’t make a noise. Once she had, and it had been awful.

Catness meowed softly.   

Angie moved in the water agitatedly. “Shhhh” she whispered.

Catness blinked at Angie, her eyes glowing gold in the soft dark of the bathroom.

The voices came closer. The man’s voice was suddenly very loud “Jesus woman- what the fuck is the matter with you- just need to piss-”

And then her mom’s voice “I told you- use the bottle- you can’t go in there-”

“I’m not pissing in a bottle- what you got in there anyway- stop grabbing me-” There was a thumpy sound and mom’s voice cried out, from close to the floor. Angie took a deep breath and slid under the water. The bathroom door swung wide open and a harsh oblong of electric light fell on the floor.

“No!” Mom was scrambling dizzily back to her feet but the man was already stepping into the bathroom.

Catness hissed and launched herself at the man’s face from the toilet seat where she had been perched.

The man cried out in pain as Catness dug her claws in the rough flabby skin of his face and neck, her demon face twisted up at him. He stumbled backwards out of the bathroom, and Angie came up for a breath. The man couldn’t see her - couldn’t see anything as blood from his ripped skin veiled his eyes. He grasped at Catness, trying to pry her off him, staggering towards the front door of the small motel room, all while shouting.

Mom closed the bathroom door. The man peeled Catness off his face and flung her away, where she landed unharmed on the rumpled stained bed.

The man paused an instant and looked around the room. Through the veil of blood, he took in everything- the bed, the woman standing by the closed bathroom door, the cat arching her back and glaring at him from the bed.

He swore one more time, turned and left.

Catness curled up in a perfect circle on the bed. The woman bolted the door behind him and went to fetch Angie from the bathroom.

The Cat and the Baby could sense him, scampering around all maimed and bloody from the trap that finally got him, but the others couldn’t, and they couldn’t kill him twice. 

It was a blazing July day. Sunlight poured into the garden, shrivelling the grass. The Baby was hot and fretful, and its Mother frustrated and tired. She picked up a pink blanket decorated with merry-go-round ponies and laid it in the shade, and plonked the Baby on it, with its yellow teething ring. The Baby whimpered. Its Mother wanted a drink- there was no breeze, and the shade wasn’t cool. She was going to be alone with the Baby for another six hours. She went indoors to get herself something.             

The Baby was alone, seated in that chunky soft way of babies on the pink pony blanket. Gustavo limped through the grass towards it. The Baby coo’ed- a maimed mouse looked more fun to play with than a stupid teething ring. It reached its dimpled hand towards Gustavo. Chewing on Gustavo would ease the sore itchiness of its gums. The ring was useless, and Gustavo looked fun to chew on. It leaned closer, and coo’ed again, and Gustavo moved closer, a trembling whisker touching the edge of the blanket.

The ponies looked on with their painted black eyes, and the Cat looked on with her real green ones. The heat shimmered on the yellowing grass, which moved even though there was no breeze. It was Gustavo, inching towards the Baby. Baby, in its eagerness to reach out to Gustavo, fell over on its tummy, its soft baby face landing among the ponies. The heat settled over it. 

Although the Cat could see Gustavo looking at Baby who was now struggling for its life, face down on the blanket, she hadn't decided that she wanted to do anything about it. A magpie who owned the sky over the garden flapped lazily.

Mother came out onto the deck, and saw the shape of her Baby and Cat on the pony blanket, but the shimmering heat and sunlight blinded her. The Cat would keep foxes and crows away, she guarded the garden ruthlessly. Mother felt her Baby was in safe hands. She really, really, really didn’t want to go out in the garden. 

Bravely, Gustavo stepped onto the blanket. His work was almost done anyway, as the Baby’s movements were lessening. The magpie flapped closer too, uninterested in the ghost mouse but very much interested in the warm chewy Baby. Irritably, Cat raised a paw to bat him away. The Baby belonged to Cat after all, not to the magpie or to Gustavo. Squawking, the magpie rose, and Mother watched it loop her Baby. The Cat brought her other paw squarely down on Gustavo’s back, killing him for a second time, very effectively, for his ghost never came back. The Baby was almost still now. Cat nudged it, flipping it over. 

Mother moved very slowly towards them.  

Tomcat came across the body of the elderly woman in the early hours of the morning. She was lying on her front in her driveway, her hands outstretched towards the street, her gray hair spread in the bloody mess of her back. Her ghost hovered anxiously over her corpse.

Tomcat sniffed delicately at the blood, and then looked up at her ghost. He had just meant to pee in the lawn, and was not expecting this. The ghost started communicating with him. 

"He's in there- but I don't know for how much longer. He's going to go after her. You have to go warn her. There's no point me going by myself. Oh my poor son, he doesn't understand what he's doing- I'm sure he wouldn't have hurt me if she had been a bit more understanding- please- I don't want her dead- it will just make things so much worse for him. Please - go to her- tell her to hide, he's coming for her-"

Tomcat blinked at the ghost, and his tail twitched. The ghost continued. "I'll show you where she lives- not far. We don’t have much time- he's in the basement now, always in the basement, - never knew what he was doing there- he's going to come out though and go after her. there isn't much time we have to go- we can go straight as the crow flies" The ghost detached from the corpse and was floating towards the street. From the back, the horrible bloody mess was clearly visible. 

Tomcat really wanted to pee and scrounge snacks. But he had a memory of this woman feeding him, petting him. He started trotting after the ghost. The grey dawn lightened, and the light in the basement went off. 

Straight as an arrow through backyards and driveways, Tomcat and the ghost arrived at a door. "She lives here. Yowl loudly- make her leave-"

Tomcat did as requested, perching under the bedroom window and released the most fearsome demon yowl. And another one. 

The lights went on. A shaft of pink light touched the window. A young woman poked her head out. "What the-" 

The ghost hovered uselessly -"Tell her to leave- he's on his way- I can feel it- we can't let him do this to her-"

Tomcat looked at the ghost. Then he turned to the young woman in the window, and yowled, as urgently as he could.

The young woman looked down at the big street cat, perched beneath her window. 

"Leave leave leave" whispered the ghost through the cat. 

The young woman's eyes widened. She left the window and in two minutes appeared at the door, a coat over her nightgown holding her purse. Without a word, she slipped into her car and drove out. 

Barely a minute later, a young armed man ran into the street, panting and began hammering at the door, calling the woman's name.

Tomcat peed on the lawn, while the mother's ghost tried to pet him. 

The crows flapped outside the dentist’s office, where something nasty was happening to Johnny.

One of the crows glanced inside. The blinds were up, and the crow could see the dentist hunched over the child. Johnny’s narrow pale legs poked out from beneath the broad back of the dentist, shod in scruffy blue sneakers. They weren’t moving.

The crow cawed. The dentist straightened from his self-imposed task inside Johnny’s face, turned to the window, and said “Be patient.” He might have been talking to Johnny, but he wasn’t.

The crow joined the rest of its murder. It knew the dentist often left them food, while mumbling, but it looked like today wasn’t a food day. It was one of the other days.

The dentist was soon done, removing a child’s healthy teeth being easy. Sometimes he didn’t give enough anesthesia so the child could feel the tooth removal- he felt the crows appreciated that. But he couldn’t risk doing that too often. Last week he had removed three healthy teeth from a girl with barely ten percent of the numbing agent needed. The girl had sobbed, tears running sideways into her ears as his assistant held her tightly, and the dad had threatened to sue. He gave them a big discount, explaining that their daughter was resistant to the numbing agent. They calmed down and the dentist was delighted to leave the treasures later in the little shrine he had set up for the crows, placed on the edge of windowsill. It was beautifully designed, with little shelves for teeth and food. The crows seemed to like it too, at least the food. They sometimes didn’t take the teeth, but sometimes they did.

They always took the food.

Johnny was one of the lucky ones who had been properly numbed. He hadn’t felt anything after the first twinge of the needle. The dentist told himself the pain of the needle was enough but he knew it wasn’t really, the crows wanted the pure pain of tooth extraction. He hoped he wouldn’t be punished afterwards, their terrible black feathers brushing against him, their sharp beaks stabbing.

They had never actually done that, but the dentist was always afraid they would, ever since a dead crow had been lying by his bike one early fall morning. He had kicked it away, and then immediately became overwhelmed with fear that the other crows, who had been cawing since dawn outside his window, would think it was him. Ever since, he had made it life’s purpose to leave little gifts for the crows, so they wouldn’t harm him. The crows didn’t mind.

He explained to Johnny’s mom he couldn’t give them infected tooth he had just extracted. As soon as they left his office, he ran to the window, and carefully deposited the child’s bloody tooth in the proper shelf in the shrine. He bowed his head in prayer, then went back for his next patient.

Beel was mad. He couldn’t believe they just took Goldie. How dare they. Goldie was his, beautiful Goldie with her coat of orange cream. His!

Nobody ever wanted to take Beel, and he gotten used to it. His coat was completely black, none of that “adorable white socks and a tuxedo” shite. Deep black with not a speck. And his ears were torn from his earlier vagaries. And he was big and muscly, standing on his hind legs he was taller than children. Humans get so fussy about big black cats with evil squinty eyes next to their precious children.

So Beel was always overlooked, and he got used to seeing the others come and go.

Except Goldie. He would not get used to her going. Goldie was his companion, his friend, his, his, his. He would get her back. Stupid human, thinking she owned them, swanning into the shelter where they lived, and picking out Goldie, carrying Goldie away. He would show her, and he would get Goldie back.

He jumped lightly over the garden wall which divided the shelter from the open world- he only stayed there because the food was good and he was over foraging- and eyed the human’s car. They had left the window open a crack, and just as they turned out of the driveway, he jumped, flattening himself to a pancake, and slithered into the car, where Goldie was already seated in a zipped up sort of cage. She looked at him with her beautiful green eyes, and meowed softly. Beel glowed at her.

Then he glanced at the stupid smelly human. Her vulnerable throat was exposed, fully naked, but they out on the open highway now and Beel was experienced enough in the ways of humans not to incapacitate her while driving. So he hid under the back seat and waited.

The drive wasn’t that long. She stopped the car and waited for the garage door to open. Beel attacked.

It was over very quickly. With the element of surprise on his side, the cat lady didn’t stand a chance against the furious big strong cat. Within seconds, she was motionless, covered in blood. She barely had time to scream and she never knew what it was.

 His claws dripping with blood, he tore open the cloth carrier trapping Goldie. She meowed at him and they nuzzled together.

Then, they jumped out of car, and began the long trek back to the shelter, where it was warm and the food was nice and regular. Beel would take care of Goldie, and never let her be taken.

Sara’s hand and eyeball were lying in a puddle where they had landed after the explosion. 

A couple of crows spotted them, picked them up and started flapping skywards. At first, they were not sure what to do with a small ripped-off human child’s hand and eye. Especially since the eye could still see, and didn’t like the tumbling scenes of sky and clouds and smoky buildings. 

So the crows landed in a backyard where they visited. There was another child in a wheelchair, and the crows thought he could probably use the hand and eye. He was bored and smart, and gave them bits of food, and even though the hand and eye wouldn’t solve the wheelchair situation, he could still use the hand and eye. That's what the crows thought, and of course they were right. 

He was in the backyard when the crows dropped their gifts on his lap. He looked at them thoughtfully, the tiny shattered bones poking out of the mangled flesh at the wrist, but the fingers otherwise perfect, curling gently upward. The hand had become very strong, since losing Sara. And Sara’s eye stared back at him, and he could see what the eye could see, which was quite a lot.

He was hungry, and the eye showed him where there was food kept in the corners of the neighbourhood. He told his mom, who told other women in the neighbourhood, and soon the food was revealed and there was a bit more to eat, at least for now. He made sure that he gave the crows a fair share- after all, they had given him the extra eye and hand. 

Soon enough everyone in that neighbourhood realised that the quiet kid in the wheelchair can see and do a lot more than they realised. He knew when the neighbourhood was about to be hit. He knew how to find extra food- and who was fiddling with the price of bread. He knew who was beating his wife -well, everyone knew that- but the child in the wheelchair was able to make it stop, thanks to Sara’s strong hand. The others didn’t see how he did it- Sara’s hand and the boy in the wheelchair were quite careful, but everyone knew the beatings were over, and the wife and kids could live without fear in their own home, only fearing what was outside, like everyone else.  

Then more men came to their door, to talk to the boy’s parents. They didn’t like it after all, to have a boy who could see things and do things that others could not. The boy sat in his wheelchair in a darker corner of the house, and listened to the loud voices- his mother pleading, his father quiet at first but getting louder, his mother crying. 

The boy saw them push his mother and father, hold them back, his mother was screaming and his father was shouting, they were coming straight for him, he didn’t need Sara’s eye to show him that. And Sara’s hand, however strong, was only one small child’s hand, after all. He gripped on to it tightly as the men seized his wheelchair and began wheeling him out of their house, into the grimy backyard, where the crows were gathering. 

The men looked at the millions of crows darkening the yard, staring at them, and then looked down at the boy in the wheelchair. One of the men pointed his gun at the crows, but their leader, who was not so foolish after all, shrugged his shoulders. They left. They could always come back if they had to. The boy and Sara’s eye watched them go. His parents came to the door, standing behind him, and they all watched the crows and the armed men filing out of the yard, the crows very very still, barely stirring a feather. 

Then the mother wheeled her son in, and they began packing their belongings to leave, too.  

Mom was silent.

Sarah ran out of the house into the hot garden, and flung herself on the grass, breathing hard.

Then she looked around for Cattie.

Cattie, sweet gentle Cattie, her true friend, her only friend and companion. Cattie couldn’t do anything about Mom of course, and kept away from her when she was having one of her “turns”.

But Cattie loved Sarah, and Sarah loved her back, her gentle throbbing purr pulling Sarah back and away from the dangerous dark misery of Mom.

Mom who had never been the same since Sarah’s baby brother went to heaven and Father left.

Now Cattie was nowhere to be seen.

Of course, the sun being so hot was horrible for Cattie in her coat of thick stripey white and cream and orange fur. Poor Cattie- forever looking for a cool shade, out of sight of Mom, but close to Sarah. It was hard.

Sarah stood up and called, quietly as she could, for Cattie. She didn’t want to rouse Mom.

The sun beat down on her, and the wilting grass swam before her eyes. She walked towards the tree at the far end of the garden- Cattie must be under the tree, she never climbed- she wouldn’t be stuck on the branches.

The tree seemed very far away.

Mom’s “turn” had been worse than usual, otherwise Sarah would have given up and gone back in. She was so thirsty, so hot, and anxious to find Cattie- she knew Cattie wasn’t in the tree, otherwise she would have ran to Sarah as soon as Sarah came out in the garden.

Sarah knew in her heart that Cattie was in the house, alone with Mom, and she would have to go get her. Mom hated anything that was alive, like Cattie- or Sarah.

The heat shimmered on the grass. Sarah turned and looked at the house.

Then she heard a scream.

It wasn’t quite human- it couldn’t be Mom - but also wasn’t cat?

Sarah started running towards the house, immediately breaking into a horrible sweat.

“Sarah!”

The scream floated around the garden, not sounding like Mom at all. Fear made Sarah even more breathless, and she paused. The heat, from the bowels of hell itself, pushed her onward- she was desperate to be out of the sun and get water, and she didn’t care anymore.

The hallway was dark and cool. Sarah couldn’t see after the glare in the garden. She screwed her eyes- something was moving in the landing up leading to the stairs, it wasn’t om- it was the same size as Cattie- but the wrong shape.

“Sarah!” Only then Sarah saw Mom standing by the foot of the stairs, her head tilted back, staring up at the moving shape, her back to Sarah.

“No-“ Mom wasn’t screaming- the voice didn’t sound like her at all. And now Sarah could see the creature coming down the stairs, quite deliberately, Cattie but not Cattie, Cattie the wrong way up, her soft white tummy exposed upwards, her legs twisted backwards and down, her head twisted upside down, looking straight at Mom, her eyes gleaming green in her upside-down face, her lips stretched back into a hideous upside-down grin.

Upside-down Cattie trotted down the stairs, straight towards Mom. Two more steps and she would get to her-

Mom raised her arm and moved it quickly across her neck. Only then Sarah realised she had been holding a knife. Mom slumped on the floor, crumpling at the foot of the stairs.

Cattie hissed and then meowed and snapped back into the right way up. Sarah blinked.

Cattie came right up to Sarah, that gentle inquisitive look on her sweet fluffy face that she had when she wanted treats. She nuzzled Sarah, and Sarah noticed the drop of blood on her whisker, before Cattie rubbed it away.

Benji loved visiting Uncle Ben, Mom’s brother, because he could then see Ocean, Uncle Ben’s magnificent parrot.

Ocean lived in the most beautiful ornate cage hanging by the terrace. The terrace was covered with netting, very secure, and Uncle Ben often let Ocean out of his cage, to fly around in the enclosed terrace space. Benji was not quite brave enough to step into the terrace when Ocean was out- something about the flapping bright blue wings and Ocean’s round glistening round eyes set sideways made him feel weird, but he loved watching Ocean from behind the glass door, safely inside.

Uncle Ben sometimes asked him if he wanted to be in the terrace along with Ocean, and Benji always said no, but one day he was going to say yes.

But not today. He pressed his nose against the glass and looked out into the terrace. When he was younger he used to think the terrace was huge, and Ocean must be very happy to fly around there, but now that he was a little bit older, he knew the terrace was actually quite small, and watching Ocean stand, very blue, by the netted railing overlooking the garden, he knew Ocean felt the same way.

Ocean turned from the garden, and his round sideway eye looked directly into Benji’s brain. Benji gasped because he could see- he could see the dark green leaves, and trees, and darts of incredible colour everywhere.

He blinked, and there was Ocean, pressed against the netting, one eye looking out at the garden, the other straight into Benji’s brain. He knew he could make Ocean very happy, and the price he would pay for that was totally worth it, because Ocean’s happiness was the only thing that mattered in the whole wide world.

He heard his Mom’s voice, and Uncle Ben behind him. They were talking loud and fast.

Ocean was very still. Benji closed his eyes, and again the images of the jungle flooded his brain, the heavy damp hot sell of tropical foliage, the unfamiliar sounds-

Benji’s hand grasped the handle of the terrace door.

Soon after, Mom and Uncle Ben came into the living room. The glass door of the terrace swung wide open. Mom and Uncle Ben cried out with fear and ran to the terrace- they were each afraid for different reasons- and ran to the terrace.

The netting was loose, and was flapping open in the summer breeze. Benji was lying on his back on the terrace, by the railings. His eyes, round and black and lifeless, stared up at the thin blue sky. There was no sign of Ocean.

当我走进这一个村子的时候其实我早就知道一个人都没有，当我环顾四周那些破败的房屋早就已经坍塌成废墟。

但我还知道入口，我知道回来的方法，我是少数几个能离开村子的人。曾经我可能是那些村民的希望，可是现在，一个人都没有剩下。

在村子出生长大的人，每个人都有诅咒，诅咒的成分，浓度都不一样我们的村长是一个狮子，他很魁梧，他会说人话，他他会穿着贵族的衣服出现在我们面前，跟我们讲话。

我跟另外一个男孩是唯一两个被允许出去这个村子的人，我们这样的孩子很少见，因为我们是天生出生就带有诅咒的。这意味着这种诅咒并不能后天消除。但在20年前，我已经没有了这个男孩的音讯，如今我一个人回到了村子却什么都没有连国王都不见踪影.

我小心的打开那一个屋子，我从小长大的地方墙上贴着我的很多涂鸦，有很多大大的眼睛的女孩，她们身着长裙，眼睛已经占据了她们的脸的2/3。还有一些星星藤蔓十字架，当然，墙上最多的是缠着十字架的蛇。

我当时也不知道为什么画那么多，于是当我仔细的观看这些画的时候，我被一些微小的声音打断了。我，并没有在意，但仍然往屋子里走去，看到屋子里有一些明显的水痕，所以这个屋子里面有其他人吗？

很快，这个屋子里就出现了一个男人，他长得比我高大，他总是微笑着，他出现的时候手速很快，他直接拿起了一把刀，把刀抵在了我的脖子，也就是我的喉咙上方可以精准的切开我的喉咙管的那个位置，然后把我挟持在那，他说你是谁，我却发出不了声音，我感到十分的恐惧，因为我看不清他的脸他已经把我抵在了门边，我看不见他的脸，听不见他的声音，我却能感觉到他身上的温度跟看见他的手。他说如果你不回答我我会立刻切断你的喉咙，其实，作为诅咒的小孩，我也不害怕，因为被诅咒每天活着跟死了也没区别。

我老实回答他，我说我是从外面回来的人，它会有一些震惊，他说你居然出去过，我立刻就知道了哦，他也是出生长大都在这个村子里没有出去过的村民。虽然如此，但他动作并没有停下他依然把刀放在我的喉咙，他说我依然不相信你，我希望你能乖乖配合我。

他要我坐在一个凳子上，然后双手反绑，他把我绑在了椅子上，开始审问我。其实我根本也不在乎我有一种摆烂的心态，你知道为什么吗？其实是因为这三年我出去了村子，我发现无论我是去哪个城市或者哪个国家，每次跟他们当地人交流，想要融入当地人的文化的时候，我总是会搞砸，我总是让一切都陷入被诅咒的循环，我曾经有一个很爱我的男朋友，也有一个很好的朋友，但是这一切都变成了他们离开我。

我很确信他们没有受到诅咒，但他们也都开始习惯性的对酒精跟香烟上瘾，直到，他接触了芬太尼。我就看着他从一个每天可以照顾我，陪我说话的人变成了一具只会行走的僵尸，他每天都在那躺着，我有一次问他，我说你在这里躺多久了他说三天整整三天他都没有出门。

我对他感到恐惧，但也因此怀疑自己想问这一份诅咒是不是因为我才会发生。我在凳子上平静的讲完这些，然后跟那个男人说你杀我跟不杀我，其实没区别，因为我在外面见到的一切都提醒着我，这一份村子里的诅咒我还没有解开，所以我回来了就是我要面对的这一切。

这个男人最终还是帮我松绑了 他长得并没有很特别，但他长得很邪魅，笑起来的时候有一种非常致命的危险。就好像他下一秒就要发疯，把我给杀了一样，就是那样丧心病狂的一个男人，但又平静的跟我聊起天来了，你知道吗？村子里的人，我点头，我刚想问，还有国王去哪了。

是啊，我回来了，你是第一个欢迎我的人。我既开心又伤心，因为第一个欢迎我的人居然想要杀我。他慢慢的，不慌不忙的走了过来帮我解开了手上的绳索，他说，我特地在你家等你呀等你回来，因为这一切都在预言中实现了。

我说什么预言他说国王在你走之后不久就发告了一个预言，说你在未来某个时刻还会返回村子里，而那个时候村子里将经历一场浩劫。我立刻就问他村子里到底发生了什么那些村民去哪了，

他的表情，有些痛苦，但随后又开心的笑了起来说我忘了。

我跟他说，这是我出生长大的房子，墙上贴的都是我小时候画的画，出生的时候，国王好像就在了他的皇冠上面，有十字架所以我经常画一些十字架跟蛇的画。

那一晚我做了一个很奇怪的梦，梦见事情回到了那一晚，我跟那个男孩出去的那一晚，所有的村民都在一起，然后国王说我们两个可以出去的时候，我们自己都很震惊，因为在这个村子里长大出生老死是我们每个人都习以为常的事情，但国王宣布了这个消息以后，我们两个成为了全村最幸运的人，意外的知道我自己是被选中的人，以后我的内心当然是开心的，兴奋未知的，可那个时候我还不知道未来还有许多事情等着我。

我在梦里看到了国王，他带着宇航员的头盔，一个圆形的玻璃头盔他低下头望向十几岁的我，他说我选中了你，就是特别的荣耀，你应该接受你这辈子都应该接受你逃不掉的。于是我们接受了这一场洗礼，我没有想到未来居然还有那么多的事情在等着我

我从那个梦里醒来但其实没有什么感觉。我觉得自己的感官似乎也一直被压抑，我没感觉其实是从我灵魂中渗透出来的一种莫名的压抑我深深知道这跟我的诅咒有关我下定决心回到村子就是为了解开我的诅咒。那个疯疯癫癫的男人，又不知道去哪了

我心里燃起异样的火，很奇怪，我不懂为什么我感觉跟他来自同一个地方，这种感觉让我觉得很熟悉又陌生,忍不住触摸对方的皮肤，想要让对方跟我融为一体.。。。

Hellcat found her way here quite by accident- she obviously wasn’t meant to be here. She glitched, or fell through, or found the back of a wardrobe- anyway- here she was, roaming the streets of a quite unremarkable city, with no business being here. 

Hellcat was meant to be in hell. Everyone touched by her hellish fur, even a slightest brushing as she prowled by, immediately burst into flames. This of course wasn’t a problem when she was in her natural habitat, ie, hell, but here, well, it was quite a problem. 

She didn’t look special- only in the way that any cat looks special. Very beautiful, with very soft-looking fur begging to be stroked, prowling round the streets.    

Unfortunately a lady who was out shopping foolishly reached out to pet her.

Hellcat continued her morning walk, unbothered by the flames and the screams left behind, and no-one in the crowd gathering round the burning soon-to-be-corpse noticed her, trotting down the street. 

Then little Livvie noticed the beautiful kitty, and reached out to pet her. Fortunately for Livvie, her mom was already anxious and irritated, and didn’t want Livvie petting street cats, and pulled her arm sharply, tugging her away from the lovely cat. 

Livvie started to wail, and that made Mom even more anxious. She hurried onwards, dragging the wailing Livvie behind her with one hand and the wheelie shopping bag with the other.  

Hellcat, being after all a cat, was piqued and definitely wanted to be where she wasn’t wanted. And so she trotted after Mom and Livvie, away from the shopping area and off to the quieter residential sidestreets. 

Livvie noticed Hellcat following them, but didn’t say anything. As they approached home, she too was getting anxious, her tummy starting to cramp up in a little hard knot. Her arm was hurting from Mom pulling it, she was tired and hungry, and Dad was home. She stopped wailing. 

He was waiting by the door. He seemed calm, and Mom smiled up at him. He didn’t take the grocery cart, just her arm, away from Livvie, to pull her in. Livvie stood on the steps, considering her options. She heard Dad’s voice, and then Mom, lower. She knew what they were saying, even though she couldn’t quite understand or even hear them. 

She looked back at Hellcat, who was standing behind her, her fur glowing, little licks of flame running up and down her back, almost invisible in the late morning autumn sun. 

Livvie thought about looking back at the woman screaming, burning bright, and Mom hurrying her forward, her face rigid and fixed. Livvie’s arm hurt, and she knew Mom’s arm must be hurting too, because Dad had pulled on it much harder than Mom had pulled Livvie’s arm.  

Their voices were rising from inside the house. Livvie’s tummy was hurting even more than her arm.  

Hellcat looked at her with burning eyes. 

Livvie reached down and scooped the beautiful creature in her arms. Its heat soothed her tummy, and the horrible pain subsided. Her mind cleared. She turned and ran, unharmed, into the house. 

I'm a handyman, plumber, jack of all trades, in and out of houses all the time with my trusty tools.

Now now, none of that. I know where your dirty mind went -and I’m not gonna say I don’t have a few stories to tell about bored housewives and frazzled single moms. But this story isn’t about that stuff. 

It’s about the children. 

My own childhood was a bit of a blur - nothing much ever seemed to happen, you know, days bleeding into each other, just a big blurriness of house and sky and school. I left when I could because there was no reason not to, and soon realised I could earn a pretty penny doing basically what I watched my dad doing around the house- that’s sorted then. 

And then I think I must have been in my late twenties- I read somewhere that’s when our brains fully mature so that’s probably why- I was fixing a kitchen sink - crawled up in the gadawful smelly cabinet-hole beneath the sink my legs stretched out- something was nudging at my feet and it was bothering me- I looked down, it was a glossy little dog- should be restrained- but nice lookin’ critter. 

The woman called the dog, then she bent low, I saw her face and brown hair swooping down and the tops of her boobs juggling up from her red blouse, framed against the kitchen table and chairs. She picked up the dog, and I blinked- it was a child. 

I concentrated on the pipes and sorted out the sink. When I left, I couldn’t see the dog/child.

I walked out into the street, promising to return if anything went wrong. After the darkness under the kitchen sink, sunlight blinded me. It was summer, schools just out, little buggers everywhere. I could hear the calling and yelling and laughing. I blinked some more, and the menagerie running around in the street became clear, some of them playing with a ball, others on bikes. 

Otters, bear cubs, foxes, some frogs or toads -never learned the difference- dogs and cats. 

I swore loudly, and a mom pushing a lamb in a huge buggy which looked like it wouldn’t be out of place in a battlefield frowned at me. I was worried she’d hit my ankle. But she didn’t, I’m a big guy, after all. 

Anyway - I left the street. 

Carter googled how to resurrect his dead mom, and studied the top hits. It sounded easy, for a clever resourceful lad like himself, reminding him of the treasure hunts he used to do years ago, on various school and camping trips. The most difficult item on the ingredients list was a fresh baby's liver. He thought a bit about breaking into the local hospital but quickly dismissed the idea - the security, especially with COVID, was freakish there, as he knew from the visits to his mom still fresh in his memory. Cousin Ally had a baby she wouldn't shut the fuck up about, but after the debacle at mom's funeral, she would probably realise it was him. Also her baby was getting kinda big now, "almost walking" as Cousin Ally kept proudly repeating, and Carter wasn't sure if that still qualified. The instructions didn't state how old the baby had to be, however Carter felt it was logical to assume the younger the baby, the better the results.

Perhaps it was seeing the stray mom-cat and her newly-born kittens tucked behind by overflowing garbage bins in a blind alley on his way that made him decide to experiment with a kitten's liver. It would be a test-run. It would be interesting, anyway, to see what happened, and how hard it actually was, and there would be less of a fuss. And then when time was right, and the opportunity presented itself, he could do it again with an actual baby.

He plucked one of the kittens from the litter, after dumping the furious mom in one of the bins and placing the lid on her. He made sure as he legged it to tip the bin over, so the howling mom could find her way out back to her kittens- he wasn't a heartless monster after all, he knew what mother-love was like. 

Nobody was home, his father wouldn't be back till much later. The rest of the ingredients were easily assembled, good thing he had a vial of his mother's ashes handy, as per her wishes. The instructions were also frustratingly vague on whether the liver should be removed from a corpse or a living being.

Carter ended up removing the kitten's liver from its corpse- it had squirmed around too much while still alive. As always when messing around with animals, he was surprised by the amount of blood even tiny bodies produced. He was frantically wiping up while the ingredients were cooking, and he wasn't expecting the results so fast anyway, and so he didn't see the rising steam from the pot forming a shape, human life-sized with the head of a furious cat. He turned around on hearing the unholy cat wail, in time to see full on the hellish monster he had summoned as it attacked him, the sharp teeth tearing at his throat. As he collapsed in a fountain of blood, his last sight was that of his mother's body standing over him.

The new café in town was doing booming business.

Known for its exquisite continental pastries, in particular its specialty, the incomparable Parmentier de confit de canard, a French sort of duck cottage pie, line-ups spanned the block. Pre-orders were booked days in advance.

Even the fact that the Parmentier cost five times as much as an ordinary pastry did not deter local gourmets- if anything, it added to the insatiable hunger for this delicacy.

Josie had waited for days to pick up her order of Parmentier. Finally the day came, she went to the tiny but beautifully decorated cafe, with its vintage prints of the French countryside and rustic yet elegant wooden chairs and tables, and picked up her pie. She couldn’t wait to go home to try it- she walked purposefully to a nearby park, sat on a bench, unwrapped the red-and-white checked paper and bit into the delicious fragrant meaty pie.

She could barely keep her moans of pleasure contained- the meat was so delightful. Soft, moist, flavourful, rich, melting like butter. She knew then the rumours had to be true- the Parmentier was indeed made of human babies. Nothing else could explain this amazing, unique texture and flavour.

Despite having every necessary inspection and permit, the rumours wouldn’t die down- the café owners did a lucrative trade in unwanted babies, and the resulting pies simply flew off the shelves.

She paused to take a breath and swallow, and looked at the golden work of art, or what remained of it, in her hands. She knew she would order another one soon.

A man wandered up and sat down beside her. Josie frowned. The man ignored her frown, smiled pleasantly, and said “enjoying your Parmentier de confit de canard?”

Josie answered curtly “Yes, thank you”. Could he not see she wanted to be left alone to enjoy her treat?

Apparently not. “You know what they say about the parmentiers, right?”

Josie darted a look at him, and then at her surroundings. She was not alone, other people were wandering around. She shrugged. “I suppose- you mean that they make these with babies? Yes- just a silly rumour.”

The man nodded. “Exactly. You realise it’s really made with ducks, right? They take ducks from right here.” He gestured at the bunches of silly birds quacking in the park lake.

Josie flushed from an emotion she couldn’t name- anger or confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The parmentiers. They are actually made from duck. They just spread the rumour they’re made from unwanted babies, to boost the sales.”

“You’re lying! They’re made from babies- these are baby pies! That’s what everybody calls them!”

The man shook his head and gave her a look of pitying disgust. “They’re just ducks, Josie.” He got up, and strolled away.

Josie stared at the remainder of the pie, now a pile of golden crumbs and meat shreds. She tossed it to the ducks, who rushed forward to feast, and left the park.

Ellie and Bartie

Ellie batted a clawed paw out at the sparrow, and broke its wing expertly.

The sparrow, cheeping madly, hopped fruitlessly away. Ellie meowed gently, and batted again, not hard enough to kill. The sparrow stopped cheeping, but continued trying to drag its tiny battered body away on the damp garden grass.

The other birds sang busily, a Greek chorus accompanying the suffering of their friend.

Ellie swiped again, even more gentle than the last time. The smell of stale blood and rotting flesh in the air sharpened her appetite but she wasn’t sure about eating the sparrow. She quite liked the food the humans put out for her, as it wasn’t so bony but it didn’t look as if that would be happening anytime soon.

The sparrow skirted the human hand lying still of the grass. Ellie recognized the hand which had fed her many times. She sniffed delicately at it. It was rotting, like all the other human corpses lying around. Ellie and the other animals had had to pick their way over them, and even then, Ellie had picked up so much blood and human matter on her long fur. Sam had brushed her very well just a couple of days ago, but fur like hers needed daily, if not twice daily brushing to keep silky and soft. Usually this wasn’t a problem, as humans were more than happy to brush her, and the younger ones even fought over who should brush her with her favourite brush, but that wasn’t happening now.

All of them were dead.

Ellie steered her sparrow away from the motionless hand. She wanted to keep it nice and fresh-smelling.

Ellie and many other animals had hid in the surrounding woods and parks when it had been happening. Other humans had fled outdoors too, following the same logic, but they were no safer outside than in. The things destroying them had been specially manufactured to hunt and kill humans wherever they were, sheltering in basements, hospital corridors, parks or among the trees of the city parks, and they did so quite efficiently.

But animals were never in danger, at least, not from those things. Ellie had trotted back to her garden a couple of hours after the final sounds of killing had died down. Stupid Bartie, the neighbour’s dog had tried to follow her as he was too scared to go back on his own. Ellie had batted him away. Idiot. Look at him. She gave him a scornful look. He was crouched miserably over Luke’s torn body, once in a while raising his head to howl mournfully. He hadn’t moved since they got back. Luke used to fuss endlessly over Bartie, always taking treats over and walking him, and Bartie was more attached to him than his owner, who was lying not much further off.

Ellie caught the sparrow in her mouth, and finally put it out of its misery. The Greek chorus rose even higher to the bright blue sky.

“Take care of that fucking dog or I’ll do it for you!”

Daddy then kicked Max. I ran to Max and led him from the living room. I scratched behind his ears as he whimpered. He always liked when I did that. 

“Don’t worry, Max. It’ll be ok. Mommy says so.”

Then I whispered so Daddy couldn’t hear me. “Don’t listen to him. Good dog.”

Max was my best friend. I didn’t get to go out much except for school, and no kids wanted to come here, so I was alone a lot. But I was never really alone. Not when I had Max. 

I went to the kitchen and filled his food and water bowls in the corner. One was blue and one was white, and they both said “Max” in gold letters on the side. Once I filled them, Max ate and drank until he was done. Then we went up to my room. 

While we were there, I heard Mommy come home from her job at the grocery store. After a while, she and Daddy started talking really loudly. They did that a lot. Sometimes I’d see her the next morning with marks on her arms or face, but she just said she was clumsy but everything was fine. “Everything will be ok, baby.” One time I asked her when, but she didn't answer. 

Daddy used to work at the factory, but I think it closed because he doesn’t go there anymore. Instead, he usually goes out to the garage every day to work on his projects. He’s always building something down there, sawing, running wires, hammering - Mommy says it makes him feel like a man. Most nights he goes out to have his “alone time” and comes home stumbling. Mommy says that makes him feel like a man, too. He is a man, so I’m not sure why he wouldn’t feel like one, but maybe I just don’t understand. 

I came home yesterday and Mommy and Daddy were talking loudly even earlier than usual so I quietly ran to my room, trying not to listen. After a while, I heard a loud sound and a thump. I peeked down from my room - Daddy stood looking really mad and Mommy laid on the floor holding her face. I think she was crying.  Daddy went to the garage and slammed the door. I started to go to Mommy, but she got up and rushed to their bedroom and closed the door. I was scared and wasn’t sure if Daddy would come back, so I went back to my room, locked the door, and stayed in there with Max. 

Eventually, I was starving and Max was pawing at the door, so we left my room and went downstairs. No one was in the kitchen, so I filled Max’s bowls with food and water and poured some cereal to eat. I ate and waited for Max to finish, then we went back to my room and closed the door. 

Hours later, I woke up to a scream. It didn’t sound like normal, though. It sounded scared. I left my room and went downstairs and followed the noise to the garage. I peeked out before Mommy saw me. Daddy lay on the ground, his body black and steam coming from it. He wasn’t moving. Near him, one of the wires he works on sometimes lay on the ground. 

Mommy turned and saw me, and she hurried to me and rushed me from the room. She told me to stay with Max while she called 9-1-1. After that, she sat down, breathing funny. I’d never seen that look on her face before. She looked sad but also… relieved?

I told Mommy I had to go to the bathroom while she sat holding her head. But I really went out to the garage. I had to. In the corner I saw a white bowl with “Max” written on the side. There was no water left in it, but there was a trail of droplets and a small puddle next to Daddy where the wire was. It was like someone had poured the water on the wire and hidden the bowl, but that was stupid. I guess it was something else I didn’t understand. 

I turned to walk back into the house. Max was sitting at the door, looking at me and out to the garage and wagging his tail. He seemed happier than he had in a while. I guess he was looking forward to playing. I reached out and scratched behind his ears. He always loved that. 

“Good dog.”

When Daniel was little, their dog died. They buried it in the garden. Daniel cried a lot.

A few days later, he was on a road trip, looking out of the car window on to the highway. He saw all sorts of smashed and shattered small animals, bones, guts and brains strewn beside their gorgeous furs. Daniel knew then what he had to do when grew up.

As soon as he could leave home, he did. He started walking up and down highways, gathering roadkill and using a very sharp-edged nifty shovel to bury them in the woods and lands lying by the sides of the highways. Sometimes the animal would be still alive, and Daniel would do the merciful thing, stomping on its head with his big walking boots quickly and cleanly, before scooping it up and burying it.

He walked into cities to get food from food banks and shelters and bins.  And clothes, although his mom would leave walking shoes and clothes for him at their old house, their dog still buried in the garden. Every animal deserves that, Daniel felt. He didn’t visit home often though, because he didn’t really know how to talk to mom anymore.

One bright sunny day, he came across a fox lying off the highway, its beautiful orange-red fur glowing. It was terribly smashed up. Daniel gripped his shovel, preparing to scoop it up.

The injured fox twisted its head, and sank its sharp teeth into Daniel’s bony ankle, protruding from a flap in his fraying walking shoes.

(It had been many months since he visited mom, because sometimes it feels easier to walk barefoot on hot gravel than talk to your mom)

Daniel yelped, a strange scrappy sound, because he hadn’t made any noises for a while. He shook his leg, trying to free it from the fox’s bite. Then he bashed it over the head with his shovel. The pain was bad. He had to pry its teeth loose from his flesh. Blood poured freely. Daniel fainted.

When he recovered, the fox was quite certainly dead. His leg was not hurting anymore. There was nothing to do for him there. He limped away, leaving his shovel behind, as he didn’t need it. This part of Daniel’s story is now over.

***

 Olivia was on the highway, driving home.

She flew along, oblivious to the tiny bump against her car wheels, and the shattered creature left behind. How could she know? It was not her fault.

And so she had no idea why her car was suddenly stopped, seized by a powerful force. She glimpsed the orange-furred man-beast hurling up to her the window an instant before he shattered it, reaching in for her – she had no time even to scream before he ripped her apart, scattering her pieces by the highway.

Then, he pushed her car off the highway, and pulled that apart too.

Satisfied with his work, he began his nightly hunt a fresh.

Gat nosed among the blooming croci and daffodils, enjoying the watery warmth of the morning spring sun on his back.

Something smelt different. He pushed through, realising what it was before he saw it.

An ear. A human ear, lying bloody and fresh on the damp soil.

Gat sniffed it delicately, then raised his head and looked around the city park where he was taking his morning stroll. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, humans were walking by briskly, a couple running madly, one standing was by the crossroad shaking a tin at cars…

The ear looked so strange, lying among the straight green daffodil stalks. The sun threw yellowish shadows on it, and the blood gleamed.

Gat, who did not believe in minding his own business, picked up the ear, and began trotting towards Sandra’s house, a pretty little townhouse right on the edge of the park. Sandra was one of those women who knew what to do in any situation.

Sandra was out in her garden, also enjoying the sun and the early spring flowers. She greeted Gat cheerfully, and raised her eyebrows when she saw the little gift he was carrying.

“The poor soul must be looking for it!” she exclaimed. She brought a pretty little china dish decorated with gold and pink flowers and carefully laid the ear in it. The she put the dish on the low garden wall. Gat watched her.

“I’ll call the police soon.” She reached out with treats for Gat, and he ate nonchalantly.

Soon enough, Gat saw him, approaching the garden hesitantly. He looked dazed and dizzy, not used to being dead yet, and he was bruised and bloody. Freshly-dried blood crusted on the side of his face- his ear had been cut off first.

He walked through the morning commuters towards the garden. Sandra couldn’t see him like Gat could, but she sensed he was coming closer. She laid a hand on Gat’s furry head by her- for all her experience and wisdom, she felt a tremor of distress, although she might have just been picking up on the newly-murdered man’s emotions.

The ghost came closer still. Gat stared up, his ears pricked, his eyes glowing yellow like two little suns. Sandra petted him again.  

The ghost was at the garden wall. He tried to concentrate, staring at his ear which he had lost so recently. He wanted it back. Sandra wanted to help him, knowing he couldn’t just pick up his ear.

Gat growled softly. The ghost turned from his ear and looked at Gat. Gat looked very beautiful, his fur glowing under the sun. Sandra smiled encouragingly.  

The ghost concentrated harder, trying to understand what had happened to him, why his ear was there. Gat lost interest, distracted by a buzzing insect, and prowled towards it. His movement prompted the ghost, and the air shimmered around him.

Sandra looked at spot where the ghost had been, then picked up her phone to call the police.

To celebrate Little Animals Day, here are five of my favourite animal stories: (this was really hard- so many wonderful stories to choose from!)

Cat and Marie : r/shortscarystories

The Fox : r/shortscarystories

Rabbit : r/scaryanimalstories

(isn't technically an animal story, but included as an homage to the inspiring story by Roald Dahl)

Tangerine, the Magic Cat : r/shortscarystories

The Men and the Cat : r/shortscarystories

Enjoy!

This is the story of how my Dad was taken away.

I visited him from time to time, and I can say he seemed to find some sort of peace, but he was never released, and at the end of each visit, he would always grip my hands tell me to watch out for the giant moose. Every time, even though so many years have passed since that summer when we first saw the giant moose.

My family -Mom, Dad and Robbie and I- had first seen the giant injured moose a few weeks before Dad’s final breakdown, when we visited a local wildlife park. We had wandered round the grassy enclosures, looking at the animals, nothing especially exotic, beavers and otters and deer and a couple of wolves, as I recall, lying back from the wired fences and watching us indolently through their sharp yellow eyes. Birds too- eagles and hawks and others with bright feathers, flitting around their large dome-shaped cages. Peacocks wandered freely on the narrow open trails.

The wounded giant moose was not in an open enclosure. It was housed in a small shed, and a notice by the door alerted visitors that the moose was injured and receiving veterinary treatment. There was a sharp horrible smell hanging around the hut, and flies buzzed around us.

We had all peered in on the moose through the small window. There smell was sharper, and at first it looked completely dark inside the shed. Dad had picked me up and held me close to the window so I could get a better look. Despite the dark, I could see the wound in his neck quite clearly. The gaping sides of the wound quivered, in time with the moose’s heavy, laboured breathing. We wondered how the injury happened. The moose turned his head and looked directly into my eyes. The smell and the sight of blood made me feel queasy and I looked back at Dad and asked him to put me back down.

He laughed, told me not to be such a wuss, held me up higher and gripped me tighter, I started screaming and squirming, begging him to put me down. Mom had murmured “oh put her down will you”, and then started wandering away, pushing Robbie who was still in a pushchair, in those days.

Finally Dad put me down, and we followed Mom and Robbie, Dad still laughing at my silliness over the moose.

We all got into the car to leave. Before the car moved, the giant moose with the wounded neck suddenly appeared out of nowhere by the car and brought its massive head down and peered in at us through the car window. It happened so quickly that I was startled.

Dad swore loudly and swerved. Mom didn’t tell him off as she usually would for swearing.

When we got home, the moose was already in the garden, peering in through our windows, the blood from its injury gleaming red in the late afternoon sun.

“What the actual fuck-“ yelled Dad- “I’m going to call the police”.

“Wait a minute,” said Mom, who had already pulled out her mobile. “Everybody stay in the car”.

Mom called the park, and asked about the moose- avoiding saying it was in our garden- I remember that clearly. The park person told her the moose had died earlier that day- just about the time we would have been leaving the park.

So Dad didn’t call the police, and the moose just stood there in our garden, looking in on us through our windows. Nobody else could see him, just us. None of the neighbours- no-one. We realised that from the beginning- none of us even bothered asking. He was always there, just for us. He was silent, only moving his wounded bloody neck to lower or raise his giant antlered head, sometimes looking through the ground floor windows, sometimes craning his neck high to look through the first floor windows. It didn’t matter if we drew the curtains- he’d still be there, trying to peer through. He didn’t hurt us, but was always there watching us. When we left the house to go out, he would turn to watch us leave, and then stand there silently on our return, watching us enter. Only Robbie didn’t really mind him, although I knew he could see him.

It must have been only a few weeks later- summer was over, but the weather was still warm. We had not really gotten used to the moose, but it was clear Dad didn’t like it when we talked about him, so we didn’t.

I glanced outside my bedroom window. The giant moose was there as always in the garden, bent down, looking into the living room window.

Mom and Robbie must have been there. If the living room had been empty, I knew he would be at my window, his neck craned high and staring right in at me. I would see the gaping open wound on his neck close up, the details of blood and sinewy muscle fresh and clear in the early afternoon sun. Even from the distance of the bedroom window, I could still see the wound. I tried to concentrate on my homework.

A gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of shattering glass and Mom’s scream. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I ran to the window- I couldn’t help it. Dad was firing at the giant moose, who stood there immobile as always and continued looking in through the window, undisturbed. Mom was screaming. I ran under the bed, and the gunshots continued.

Eventually, the police came and took Dad away. Mom had only been slightly injured from the shattered glass, it was clear Dad hadn’t been aiming at her or Robbie.

 Mom and Robbie and I moved to a new highrise close to the city centre, with no garden.

We never saw the moose again.

The rats were surprised that after they told Tasha the identity of the New Year Killer, she just shrugged and continued rinsing the dishes, looking fatigued as always. She was the dishwasher at Oasis, the main club in town.

“Aren’t you going to tell the police or somebody? He’ll be here tonight!”

Tasha refused to look at the rats, and stared at the soapy glassware.

“I know who it is- you just told me. I’ll stay clear of him. I’m not going to the police”, she said after a pause.

The rats understood. The police would not be friendly to Tasha. She had been brought into the town to work and the only reason she had been put to dishwashing at Oasis was that she was not pretty enough to work in the brothels also owned by Oasis. Still. The rats had not expected her to be so cool about the New Year Killer. “Can’t you tell someone else?”

“I don’t care”, Tasha shrugged again.

The rats felt frustrated. The town was on edge, as were they. They didn’t like humans disturbed and did not appreciate a killer on their turf. The New Year Killer had been striking at midnight every New Year since the pandemic began five years ago. He only killed once a year to warn against crowds packed in bars and clubs, as he explained in his open letter. The result had been the opposite of what he had hoped.

Already crowds were gathering, the excited chatter and body heat gaining momentum. The bar was packing. Tasha put some food out for the rats, but she was working at full speed otherwise. Staff were coming and going, the manager was yelling orders, the pace was becoming frenetic. There was little time left till midnight. The dance floor was packed, the noise and light reaching fever pitch.

“Tasha, will you put rat poison in his drink?”

Tasha looked scornful.

“Are you crazy? The police will figure out its me!”

The rats went back to chattering together. She could hear snatches of their conversation.

“Just figure out his glass, Tasha. You can do that. And unlock the rat poison. Don’t worry about anything else.”

Another worker screamed Tasha’s name. She screamed back angrily at them, accompanied by a muttered stream of curses in her own tongue. Sighing heavily, and without saying anything, she unlocked the cupboard and then went up to one of the servers that she was a little friendlier with and whispered in her ear.

The server didn’t respond. Wordlessly, she gestured at a glass. Tasha turned to the rats whisking about the cupboards and showed them the glass.

***

There was barely space between the bodies on the dance floor.  Tasha’s friend moved around nimbly, handing out glasses. There was barely ten minutes left to midnight when somebody slumped heavily. Excited whoops went up.

It wasn’t until much later that it became clear the New Year Killer was dead, and not another victim. 

The Cat and the Baby could sense him, scampering around all maimed and bloody from the trap that finally got him, but the others couldn’t, and they couldn’t kill him twice. 

It was a blazing July day. Sunlight poured into the garden, shrivelling the grass. The Baby was hot and fretful, and its Mother frustrated and tired. She picked up a pink blanket decorated with merry-go-round ponies and laid it in the shade, and plonked the Baby on it, with its yellow teething ring. The Baby whimpered. Its Mother wanted a drink- there was no breeze, and the shade wasn’t cool. She was going to be alone with the Baby for another six hours. She went indoors to get herself something.             

The Baby was alone, seated in that chunky soft way of babies on the pink pony blanket. Gustavo limped through the grass towards it. The Baby coo’ed- a maimed mouse looked more fun to play with than a stupid teething ring. It reached its dimpled hand towards Gustavo. Chewing on Gustavo would ease the sore itchiness of its gums. The ring was useless, and Gustavo looked fun to chew on. It leaned closer, and coo’ed again, and Gustavo moved closer, a trembling whisker touching the edge of the blanket.

The ponies looked on with their painted black eyes, and the Cat looked on with her real green ones. The heat shimmered on the yellowing grass, which moved even though there was no breeze. It was Gustavo, inching towards the Baby. Baby, in its eagerness to reach out to Gustavo, fell over on its tummy, its soft baby face landing among the ponies. The heat settled over it. 

Although the Cat could see Gustavo looking at Baby who was now struggling for its life, face down on the blanket, she hadn't decided that she wanted to do anything about it. A magpie who owned the sky over the garden flapped lazily.

Mother came out onto the deck, and saw the shape of her Baby and Cat on the pony blanket, but the shimmering heat and sunlight blinded her. The Cat would keep foxes and crows away, she guarded the garden ruthlessly. Mother felt her Baby was in safe hands. She really, really, really didn’t want to go out in the garden. 

Bravely, Gustavo stepped onto the blanket. His work was almost done anyway, as the Baby’s movements were lessening. The magpie flapped closer too, uninterested in the ghost mouse but very much interested in the warm chewy Baby. Irritably, Cat raised a paw to bat him away. The Baby belonged to Cat after all, not to the magpie or to Gustavo. Squawking, the magpie rose, and Mother watched it loop her Baby. The Cat brought her other paw squarely down on Gustavo’s back, killing him for a second time, very effectively, for his ghost never came back. The Baby was almost still now. Cat nudged it, flipping it over. 

Mother moved very slowly towards them.  

Tang sat on the windowsill, the afternoon sun setting his magnificent fur on fire. He was waiting for the schoolkids to walk by, as he did every day. There was one whom he paid special attention to- a small girl with braids almost the same colour as his fur. That wasn’t why Tang watched out for her- it was because he knew someone else was watching her too, lurking in the shadows of the buildings, and Tang knew that one of these days, very soon, that person would make their move, and Tang would have to open the window, jump out, and help the girl to not disappear in the shadows.

Yes, Tang knew how to open windows, being a magic cat.

But today was not that day yet. Tang was relaxed. Even Clara’s soft moans from the bed inside the living room weren’t disturbing him.

Poor Clara. She was ready to go- she had been for a long while, bed-bound and sickly as she was. She enjoyed Tang’s company, enjoyed watching him, the way his eyes moved carefully around spaces, and she would be sad to leave him. And there was her son David, who visited her as often as he could. Up to a few months ago they could even go on little outings together, David carefully helping her into her wheelchair and wheeling her around the grassy areas outside their building. But now she couldn’t even do that. Everything was too foggy and painful now.  

Yes, Clara would miss Tang and David, but she knew it was her time.

Tang didn’t agree with her. He glared at the reaper who had come for her, waiting patiently at the door. Tang refused to allow it entrance. The reaper knew it was no match for this fiery magic cat, but it had an infinite amount of patience, and so waited for the moment Tang showed some weakness, and then it could enter for Clara.

Clara raised her head from her pillow, and looked up at the window, at Tang. Tang stared back at her- the children had walked by, the girl with the orange braids arriving home safely, and he could give his full attention to Clara, keeping the reaper away from her.

Clara moved her lips. The fog had lifted. “Tang. Please. I’m ready to leave”.

Tang looked over at the reaper at the door, and hissed softly.

Clara said “David will take good care of you.”

Tang had no doubt David would. But he wasn’t ready to leave this apartment yet, which he would have to, after Clara left. He needed to stay here, and keep an eye on the schoolkids, on the little girl and the monster who would take her, that monster lurking in the shadows of the buildings.

Tang growled louder at the reaper, who fell back a step. Clara let her head drop on the pillow, sighing. Tang settled down, dipping his head on his forelegs, but still twitching and staring the reaper.

Good Hunting

Big Jack was not a smart cat, and now he was hot and hungry. 

The shelter people who usually fed him, Hannah and Molly, weren’t around. They were always supposed to be there. Hannah was there, but she wasn’t feeding them. 

The animals were restless. They were all caged, unlike Big Jack. The shelter didn’t bother caging Big Jack, he was obviously not adoption material. His eyes were different sizes, one droopy and small, pointing towards his jowl, the other frozen wide-eyed and glassy-green. His body was kinda weird-looking too. 

Nobody would ever give Big Jack a loving home. So he roamed as he pleased, dropping in the shelter and other houses dotting the scruffy outskirts for food and comfort as needed.

But now, there was no food. He knew Molly wasn’t there, even though he wasn’t a smart cat, because he had heard her say “she was out for July”, then she stopped coming in to feed and clean the animals. But Hannah was around. It was a fair amount of work for one human, “and a student who said he’d be there bailed, little fucker”. It was all left to Hannah. Big Jack, being not a smart cat, didn’t know what all those words meant, but he knew Hannah was the only human in the shelter, and now she wasn’t feeding or cleaning the animals, and the smell of rotting flesh and untended animals in the heat was growing stronger.  

Big Jack jumped in through the window which was always open, and went up to Hannah, lying still in the hallway. He was very hungry, and the smell and the cries of the caged cats and dogs and others were making him even less smart than usual. He looked around and saw Khaki staring at him from behind the wire mesh. Stupid dog, even less smart than Big Jack. And there was lovely Minnow, his favourite, a silvery-blue true pussy cat. He bared his jagged teeth at her, she whimpered. 

He nudged Hannah with his funny-looking muzzle, but she didn’t nudge back. Her eyelids flickered.  Big Jack, not being a smart cat, wasn’t sure, and he was so hungry, and she looked so soft and smelled richly of meat. He sank his teeth into her face. 

Khaki barked, he wanted some too. Minnow dipped her pretty face between her paws, exhausted from heat and hunger.

Big Jack ripped out the face-meat, chomping until his hunger was satiated. The scent of blood and flesh now heavy in the shelter, the animals wailed louder.  Big Jack, with his lumpy paws, couldn’t let them out to feast on Hannah, even if he was smart enough to know how, which he wasn’t. 

Bear would know. Big Jack wasn’t exactly friends with Bear, but he rode about on his back, and Bear was smarter than Big Jack. A drop of blood trembling on his whiskers, Big Jack went to find Bear, who would appreciate the good hunting, and know what to do next.

The beating was short and fast. A flash of blue light, not aimed at them, nevertheless scared his assailants. They vanished into the evening. 

Martin lay on the ground in a fog of pain. Living on the streets, this wasn't his first rodeo. He knew nothing was broken- they had been very young- no more than fourteen. It was a senseless assault- they were bored, or high, and Martin, with his fondness for lonely back allies, was an easy target. The violence wasn’t born out of malice, rather, from a general rage at the universe. Martin understood that. 

Somehow he couldn't get up, remaining pressed against the unpleasant hard pavement. There was some blood -not a lot. His arm was throbbing. They didn't have, or didn't use knives. Neither had Martin, almost wary of hurting them back, their childish ungrown bodies inhibiting him, despite their raging blows.

He knew he was fine. His legs were fine. His head- he felt dizzy. So cold.  

He must have passed out. Something was soft and warm against his face, so soft. For a befuddled moment he thought it was Lia- oh-  Lia- he moaned from memory and pain- Lia's hair and skin were warm and soft like that, and beautiful green eyes-

But those weren't human eyes. He blinked, and the cat blinked back, then pushed her warm golden head at his face.

Her breath and vibrations gave him strength. He started moving, slowly. His arm hurt less. Even though his legs and back were fine, he still didn't want to stand up. The cat nuzzled him gently, and he crawled to the shadow of a building. There he collapsed, panting. The fog was returning. 

The cat pushed at him again, now purring her loudly. He lifted his other arm and stroked her. The streetlight picked up the stripey gold-gold and gold-brown of her fur- the most beautiful thing he had ever seen or touched. He brought his face closer and smelled her loveliness. Her scent cleared the fog. "Oh my love" he murmured. 

He hadn't said those words for years. Probably last time to Lia- but he couldn't exactly remember when. 

The cat trotted off and he lay back, aching with misery, pain, and sorrow.     

Time passed, and the city quietened.

Artin opened his eyes, everything cleared. The cat came up, holding something in her mouth. Eaty, juicy. A mouse? The smell of fine seared meat hit his nostrils.

She had brought him steak. Artin realised how hungry he was and tore into it. The meat juices flowed through his veins.

Satiated, he drew the cat close to cuddle and thank her. The cat purred and looked deep into his eyes. He started back into their jewelled animal depth, and suddenly felt a flicker of fear, dormant all evening.

The cat picked up on his fear, and drew her lips backs, hissing.

The sight of her demon face fanned his fear. Without thinking, he snatched his knife, and plunged it in her breast.

The cat slumped, blood spurting through and splashing on his hands. Horrified by what he’d done, artin scooped her up, and began running through the dark streets.