Shadow Cat

A short story.

As shadows whisper, and time crawls forward, I curl and uncurl. Stretch for what feels as though it is the first time in centuries. My entertainment has long since run dry, no longer a steady stream of oddities, nor fear, to hold the tendrils of a cold, unrelenting boredom at bay. I know not where I must go, nor what I might find, who I might find. However, the ever growing boredom pushes a sense of urgency, a need to move, to leave my dreamworld. As I shake the last remnants of sleep, I pull the corners of space and time, folding until I slip through, gentle as a feather, the only awareness to notice my departure.

The low resounding tone of an intricately decorated grandfather clock echoes throughout the room. Nothing appears out of place. The polished floor continues to dully gleam, while each carefully arranged drape remains untouched. The woodwork creaks against the wind, yet silence hums, recognizable for its steady presence. Not a soul stirs, not a peep nor murmur, yet suddenly a child wakes. Pushing back fluffed covers, it traipses down the stairs, carpet muffling the soft tread of footsteps, a path reaching towards the hall where in sits the booming grandfather clock. As I watch, the child turns as if to return to bed when I shift, and beckon, recapturing the poor child's attention. I condense, pulling myself together so as to creep towards the beaten, and rather ancient, armchair that stands alone in the corner. For what seems like an eternity the child waits, watching, till the shadows intertwine together into the likeness of a cat. Deep hues of purple and the darkest shades of night cause the phosphorescent emerald of my eyes to sharpen, while shadows flicker about my edges. I pad forwards, stopping just behind the dazed child at the grandfather clock. A shake of the head, accompanied with a plaintive mew compels the unsuspecting child to follow. With a graceful bound, we both pass through the grandfather clock with barely a shiver.

Cold wisps of ethereal fingers brush past you, lifting your dark hair as if to play, and for a brief moment you seem to float, suspended. All of a sudden, a force flings the child forward, depositing it unceremoniously upon the ground. I, myself, land with a feline grace, perhaps stirring a string of jealousy, before the sight before us steals the child's attention. Broken stairs lead to an oak door, complete with a gleaming bronze knocker and twin handles. Windows dot the walls, gorgeous arches of glass, while a white awning envelopes the front steps. Gargantuan willows scrape the sky, massive sentinels forbidding any view of the surrounding grounds. The smell of smoke lingers in the air, as a chimney puffs steadily away. The house itself resembles something out of the Victorian era, though it lies neither here nor there, in your world nor the next. Another soft non-committal sound, and it follows, a rather dazed expression on it's doughy face. Perhaps the child notices when I fade through the door, perhaps not, either way a knock sounds throughout the silence.

"Someone's here? Truly?" A young child bounces towards the door, violet eyes flashing with hope. I make no move to acknowledge the question, I simply fade to the background, content to watch the inevitable unfold. The child calmes, smoothing it's wild hair to a stream of liquid gold, before painting on a plastic smile, and throwing open the doors, excitement almost appearing to seep from every pore. You take no notice, entering without hesitation. Inside the corridor seems to stretch on forever, door upon door studded along at even intervals, the only light emanating from stars incomprehensibly dotting the ceiling. Coat stands and clocks line the front entrance, while paintings, and lamps, rugs and tiny tables stray further along the hall. To the side, a large staircase, the sole path to many levels which should not have existed based on the view outside.

"Are you here to keep me company?" The child's crystal clear voice rings through the silence like a bell. "It's been a long time since I've met anyone new."

"What about your family? You do have a family, don't you?" the child wonder's aloud.

"Oh, here and there, though it doesn't really matter, does it?" she replies.

"No, I don't suppose it does." The child speaks slowly, as if lost in a dream. "Come on, I want to show you my favorite rooms." the children clasp hands and darted forward as she says, "They're gorgeous, though not quite so nice without someone to share them with."

As they rush along, I follow behind, simply another shadow darkening the hall.

The first door down the long star lit corridor opens to a black room with light emanating from a tree upon which candles burn steadily, growing like leaves. Twisted branches brush towards the ground, the only sound to be heard is the drip of candle wax. Soon enough, the children cross to the next door, impatience pulling them along. Above the door, a sign reads "hall of mirrors". They are met, not with floor length planes of mirrored glass, but hundreds of mirrors of varying shapes and sizes. As the two move past one mirror reflecting their bare feet, the mirror next to it shows only empty space and the mirrors on the other side. Reflected behind you I sit, though I appear in some mirrors and not others. In the centre of the room stands a tall lamppost of towering black iron, with a frosted glass lamp. The walls here are completely mirrored, each placed to align with the striped ceiling, and matching floor. Farther into the room, it becomes a field of endless street lamps, and repeating stripes.

"This one is my favorite." The golden haired child whispers. They enter through a door, leading to a corridor papered in playing cards, row upon row of clubs and spades. Lanterns fashioned from additional cards hang above, swing gently as if dancing, the only light to grace the hall. A door at the end of the hall opens to a spiraling iron staircase. Going up, a trap door opens in the ceiling, near invisible if not for it's polished hinges. When the children pass through, they find themselves standing in a room full of feathers that flutter downward. Walking through, they fall like snow over the door in the floor, obscuring it from sight. The scent of pine is overwhelming as I follow them through the following room, though perhaps "room" is not quite the right description, as it is more so a forest of evergreen pines. Only these trees are not truly green, but bright and white, luminous in the darkness surrounding them. They are difficult to navigate, for as soon as the children begin walking the walls are lost in shadow. On and on, they walk together, until they abruptly find themselves standing once again at the beginning of the corridor.

The doors stretch on endlessly, seemingly two more for every one they visit, each different than the last. And although the child with raven hair takes no notice, for each room the child passes through, a little piece of it's very essence becomes entrenched in the bones of the house, company to those lost before it.

I have followed whilst lounging atop shelves, and bars high in the unseen rafters, watching. An eternity passes, yet perhaps not even an instant. Finally, when the children are both too tired to even drag your feet, the golden haired girl announces the end to the festivities.

"It's grown late." The child murmures, "even the stars have fallen. Come, we can play again in the morning."

The other nods, a brief flash of disappointment shifting across its face, before the children nestle down next to each other, enfolded in a feathered bed, which had appeared, courtesy of the house.

"Perfect." I muse to myself, as soft music notes seep through the floorboards, a lullaby to your ears. "Perhaps the house has grown a consciousness."

I stand, shifting the kinks frown between my shoulders, before leaping to land softly beside the sleeping children. With a gentle nudge, I pull the last remnant of the child away, a creeping condensation of every fear the child has ever felt. It hovers for a moment, iridescently glowing, before dripping through the very foundation of the house, a lasting link to the child. When I feel the house has settled, comfortable with it's newest resident, I slip through the child's awareness with barely a ripple, watching the inner cogs of the child's mind hard at work. Every fear, every dream, every single scrape of imagination is a release from the ever growing boredom. Sating my curiosity, my love of knowledge, my hunger for the world, if only for a short while. In the end, the only thing left of the child is a wisp of shadow, a remnant of what once was. However, every disappearance leaves a space to be filled, a unraveled thread in the tapestry humans call life...fate...destiny. As such, when one child leaves, another must slip in to take its place. And so the golden haired child vanishes to find itself standing in front of the grandfather clock. The place where it all began.

I watch as the child wakes, only to find itself simply another relic of the past, a memory, a shard of itself. No longer does warmth drift on the breeze lovingly accompanied by a lullaby. Each room speaks of neglect now, painted in tones of grey and shuttered in dust, not a drop of magic to be found. It wanders, confusion and fear written, afraid and alone, calling for anyone who might be able to help. Though too soon you calm, perhaps believing everything to be a dream. Such thoughts seem to leech the fear from the child's mind, a comfort of ignorance.

"Yes?" I purr, amusement ringing throughout my voice.

"What happened? Where is ...? You know the other child?"

To my surprise, the child simply sounds curious, though I suppose children are well known for their ignorance. "Surely you could answer that yourself." I say.

"Well…..I know I'm dreaming, but other than that I don't know, I really don't know." Its face scrunched tight in thought. "Even though I'm dreaming, it all seems so real."

"You really are clueless, though I suppose your kind always has been blind to the workings of the world. The darker parts they deem unholy, or simply can not see." I leap lengthening and rising as I do, till I tower over the child. "Well, seeing as how your ignorance would be an annoyance, I suppose I will explain. In a nutshell, I "borrowed" your essence. Do you know why?"

A vigorous shake of the head, coupled with a mumbled "no".

I grin, as mischievous as the cheshire fairy tale of my image.

"Why, I require entertainment of course. Dreams, fear, imagination, so I "borrowed" your essence as a release from my boredom. By linking you to the house, I have a steadfast resource until you burn out."

"That...That's horrible." It sputters, "What is wrong with you?"

"You do realize that I am a cat, right? We can't help but play with our prey."

"I...I just want to..to go home….." A whimper escapes, accompanied with a symphonie of sobs, and a flood of tears.

"Honestly." I sigh, annoyed. " you all act the same. Children are nothing but a bother, though I suppose no human would be an improvement." I crouch level to your blubbering face. "I can return you to a family, if you wish."

The child nods vigorously, eager to leave this nightmare behind.

"Although, I should warn you that everything has a price. That is simply the way of the world."

"What would it be?" the child asks, voice small.

"Oh, this and that, however most importantly you will not return to your previous family, as well the fact that a new child must take your place. Agreed?"

Desperation skitters through its eyes, as the child hastily nods, agreeing without hesitation.

"With that, I bind you to your word. Try not to back out now." I laugh, knowing that until the boredom returns, this child will remain here, prey to its own nightmares.

And so the everlasting circle continues, child after child. Perhaps, just perhaps, if you are quiet enough, you could hear the sweet sound of a lullaby rising from inside a grandfather clock, a piece of children's past. Simply a play toy, property of a creature older than time itself, though perhaps just as cruel.

THE END