15 Sep Winnie

The night was heavy with silence as Amy pulled into the driveway of her small, single-story ranch home. The glow of the streetlights barely reached the edges of her property, leaving the surrounding trees shrouded in darkness. After another grueling twelve-hour shift at the hospital, all she wanted was to kick off her shoes, pour herself a glass of Cabernet, and unwind.

She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, her movements slow and deliberate, the weariness of the day settling into her bones. As she stepped out of the car, the cool night air hit her, bringing with it the smell of damp earth and autumn leaves. The familiar scent should have been comforting, but tonight, it only heightened the strange sense of unease that had been gnawing at her all day.

Amy paused at the front door, fumbling with her keys. That’s when she saw it—a small gray cat sitting on the top step, staring up at her with unblinking yellow eyes. The cat didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just watched her with a calm intensity that made Amy’s skin prickle.

“Hey there, little one,” Amy murmured, crouching down to get a better look. The cat was almost indistinguishable from the shadows, save for those piercing eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light. Around its neck hung a small, tarnished tag. Amy squinted, trying to make out the letters. “Winifred,” she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s a fancy name for a stray.”

The cat didn’t react, only continued to watch her with an unnerving stillness. There was something odd about the way it looked at her, something too knowing. But Amy was too tired to dwell on it. She sighed, standing back up. “Alright, Winifred, let’s get you inside.”

The cat didn’t hesitate. As soon as Amy opened the door, it padded in, tail held high, moving as if it had always belonged there. Amy watched, bemused, as the cat made a beeline for the living room and jumped onto the couch, curling up as if it owned the place.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Amy mused, closing the door behind her. She tossed her purse onto the kitchen counter and rubbed her eyes. The house felt different somehow, the air heavier, charged with a strange tension she couldn’t quite place.

Pushing the thought aside, Amy decided to head out once more to pick up some essentials for her unexpected guest. The local convenience store was only a short walk away, and she figured she might as well grab a bottle of wine while she was at it. Winnie—she decided the nickname suited the cat better—barely lifted her head as Amy slipped out the door.

The trip to the store was quick and uneventful, and yet she found herself glancing over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see someone—or something—following her. But each time, the street behind her was empty, the shadows undisturbed.

When she returned home, the house was as she’d left it, with Winnie still curled up on the couch. Amy set up a litter box in the laundry room, poured some kibble into a bowl, and placed it on the kitchen floor. Winnie didn’t move, her eyes half-closed, seemingly disinterested in everything around her.

Amy poured herself a generous glass of Cabernet and settled into the armchair across from the couch. She took a sip, savoring the rich, velvety taste, and tried to relax. The wine helped, but only a little. Those motionless eyes were still trained on her.

“So, Winnie,” Amy began, more to fill the silence than anything else, “what’s your story? Got a home somewhere, or are you just out here haunting people’s porches?”

Winnie didn’t respond, of course, but Amy could have sworn she saw a flicker of something in the cat’s eyes—a glimmer of recognition, perhaps. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It was just a cat. A stray looking for a warm place to sleep. Nothing more.

But as she drained the last of her wine and set the glass on the coffee table, Amy couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just made a terrible mistake.

* * * * * *

The morning light was thin and gray as it filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the kitchen floor. Amy stood at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee, her mind still foggy with sleep. The house was quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

She turned around, expecting to find Winnie lounging on the couch where she’d left her the night before. Instead, she found the cat perched on the kitchen counter, peering at her with those same uncanny amber eyes.

“Winnie,” Amy sighed, setting down her coffee. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”

The cat didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She just stared at Amy, her gaze steady and unsettling. Amy hesitated, then reached out to gently push the cat off the counter. But the moment her hand got close, Winnie made it clear she had no intention of doing as she was told, emitting a low, menacing sound that sent a shiver down Amy’s spine.

“Alright, fine, suit yourself,” Amy muttered, pulling her hand back. She grabbed her coffee and retreated to the living room.

As she sat down on the couch, Winnie padded after her, jumping up beside her and kneading her claws into Amy’s leg. The prick of sharp claws through her pants made Amy wince. “Ouch, Winnie! Easy there.”

But the cat didn’t ease up. If anything, she pressed harder, her claws digging deeper into Amy’s skin. Amy gently pushed her off, but Winnie simply hopped back up, resuming her painful kneading.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Amy said, standing up and moving to the armchair instead. This time Winnie remained frozen in place, following Amy with her eyes.

The cat eventually settled back on the couch, its fixation disturbing in its intensity. Amy tried to focus on her coffee, but she found it increasingly difficult to ignore her newfound feline companion’s bizarre behavior.

She glanced at the clock on the wall—7:30 AM. Time to get ready for work. The thought of spending another day in the chaos of the hospital wasn’t exactly appealing, but it was better than sitting here, under the scrutiny of those relentless eyes.

Amy stood up, setting her mug in the sink, and headed to the bedroom to change. As she passed the basement stairs, Winnie darted out from nowhere, streaking across her path and nearly tripping her.

“Jesus, Winnie!” Amy yelped, catching herself on the railing just in time. Her heart raced as she looked down at the cat, who had already settled herself at the bottom of the steps, staring up at Amy with those same unsettling eyes.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Amy cried, shaking her head as she continued to her room. She changed quickly, trying to push the morning’s strange events out of her mind. It’s just a cat, she reminded herself. Just a cat being a cat.

But as she pulled on her shoes and grabbed her keys, another thought nagged at the back of her mind. What if Winnie wasn’t…just a cat? What if there was something more to her? Something…wrong?

Amy dismissed the thought as ridiculous, but the idea lingered as she walked out the door.

She made it halfway to her car before she noticed the slashed tires.

Her heart sank. The rubber had been shredded, deep gashes running along the sides of all four tires. There was no way she was driving anywhere today.

“Damn it,” Amy whispered, looking around as if expecting to see the culprit standing nearby. But the street was empty, the surroundings silent. It was too early for anyone to be up and about, except for maybe a jogger or two.

She pulled out her phone and dialed the hospital, explaining the situation and telling them she wouldn’t be able to make it in. It wasn’t an ideal solution—she hated calling in—but there was no other option. The hospital assured her they’d cover her shift, but Amy could hear the frustration in the nurse manager’s voice.

With a sigh, Amy hung up and turned back to the house. Winnie was sitting by the door, staring at her.

“Did you do this?” Amy asked, half-joking. But even as she said it, a chill ran down her spine.

Winnie didn’t respond, of course. She just sat there, as if daring Amy to make the connection.

Amy shook her head, trying to brush off the feeling that had settled over her. This is insane, she thought to herself. There was no way Winnie could have slashed her tires. But as she walked back into the house, the sense of dread only grew.

She needed to do something about the cat. She needed help.

She grabbed her phone and dialed Megan’s number, hoping her friend could offer some advice—or at least a distraction.

Megan answered on the second ring. “Hey, Amy! What’s up?”

Amy hesitated, unsure of how to start. “Hey, Meg. I, um, I’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“Situation?” Megan’s voice was laced with curiosity. “What kind of situation?”

“Well, I, uh… I found a stray cat last night,” Amy began, glancing over at Winnie, who hadn’t moved from her spot by the door. “Or maybe it found me. I brought her inside, but now…I don’t know. She’s been acting really weird. Like, I think she might be dangerous.”

Megan chuckled on the other end of the line. “Dangerous? Amy, it’s a cat. What’s she doing, plotting your demise?”

“I’m serious, Meg,” Amy insisted. “She’s been staring at me all morning like she’s waiting for something. She almost made me fall down the stairs, and now my tires are slashed. I know it sounds crazy, but…I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

There was a brief pause before Megan responded, her tone more concerned. “Okay, that does sound a little freaky. But it’s probably just bad luck, right? I mean, cats can be weird sometimes, especially if they’re strays. Maybe she’s just adjusting to being in a new place.”

“Maybe,” Amy conceded, though the doubt in her voice was palpable. “But it feels like more than that. I’ve never felt this uneasy around an animal before.”

“Alright, how about this?” Megan suggested, her voice taking on a more practical tone. “I’ll come by after work, and we’ll take her to a shelter. They can check if she’s microchipped, maybe find her owner. If she’s causing you this much stress, it’s probably best to get her out of your house.”

“Yeah, okay,” Amy agreed, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. “That sounds like a plan. I just…I don’t want to be alone with her anymore.”

“You’re not alone, Amy,” Megan reassured her. “I’ll be there this afternoon, I promise. We’ll figure this out.”

“Thanks, Meg. I really appreciate it,” Amy said, her voice softening. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Hang in there,” Megan replied before hanging up.

Amy lowered the phone, her fingers still trembling slightly. The conversation had helped a little, but ultimately did nothing to quell her concerns. She turned to look at Winnie, who hadn’t moved from her spot by the door. The cat’s attention was still fixed on her.

Amy forced herself to move. She decided to clean up the kitchen, trying to occupy her mind with something mundane, something that would distract her from the gnawing fear in the back of her mind.

But as she went about her chores, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Winnie was following her every move, her presence a constant, oppressive weight.

* * * * * *

Hours passed slowly, each minute dragging by as Amy waited for Megan to arrive. She couldn’t relax, couldn’t sit still. She wandered from room to room, always aware of the cat’s eyes on her, the tension in the air thickening with every passing moment.

Finally, when the clock struck four, Amy’s phone buzzed with a call. Relief flooded through her as she saw Megan’s name on the screen.

But the moment she answered, the respite proved short-lived.

“Amy,” a frantic voice said, one she didn’t recognize. “This is Megan’s sister. There’s been an accident. Megan…she’s in the hospital. It’s bad.”

Amy’s grip tightened on the phone, her knuckles white. “What? What happened?”

“She was on her way to your house,” Megan’s sister continued, her voice shaky. “There was a car accident. The paramedics said she’s in critical condition. They’ve taken her to St. Mary’s. I… I thought you should know.”

Amy’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the room spin around her, her vision blurring at the edges. “Oh my God… Oh my God, I… I need to—”

“Amy, don’t,” Megan’s sister interrupted, her voice firm. “There’s nothing you can do right now. The doctors are with her. Just…pray, okay?”

Amy nodded numbly, even though Megan’s sister couldn’t see her. “Okay…okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

She hung up the phone, her hand trembling as she set it down on the counter. Megan was on her way to help her, and now… now she was fighting for her life in a hospital bed.

Amy’s knees gave out, and she sank to the floor, her back against the cabinets. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly as she tried to process what she’d just heard.

Megan had been coming to help her. To take Winnie away. And now…

Amy’s eyes darted to the cat. A nauseating fear overwhelmed her in that moment, wrapping itself around her heart and squeezing.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Megan was in that accident because of her. Because of Winnie.

The cat’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, almost as if she were…pleased.

Amy squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image, trying to convince herself she was being irrational. But the fear was too strong, too consuming.

She had to get rid of the cat. She had to do it herself, before anything else happened. Before anyone else got hurt.

Amy forced herself to stand, her legs weak. She knew what she had to do, but the thought of it made her stomach turn. She grabbed an old cardboard box from the laundry room, its sides flimsy and worn, and taped it shut as best as she could.

With quivering hands, she approached Winnie, who hadn’t budged.

“I’m sorry,” Amy whispered, her voice barely audible. “But you can’t stay here.”

She scooped Winnie up, the cat surprisingly compliant, and placed her in the box. As soon as the lid closed, however, the growling started—sinister and foreboding, vibrating through the cardboard.

Amy swallowed hard, her hands shaking as she taped the box shut. She couldn’t see the cat anymore, but she could hear her, the sound of claws scraping against the inside of the box, the growling growing louder, more frantic.

She knew she couldn’t drive with the slashed tires, so she would have to hike. The river wasn’t far—just down the road and off the trail. She could make it. She had to.

* * * * * *

With the box in her arms, Amy stepped out into the chilly evening air. The weight of the box felt heavier with every step, the growling inside a constant reminder of what she was carrying, and of the danger she was in. The box shifted in her grip, the tape barely holding as the cat thrashed inside.

The trail to the river was narrow and winding, the trees closing in around her, casting long shadows in the fading light. Amy’s heart pounded in her chest, each step a struggle as the dread clawed at her mind.

She could feel the cardboard growing more unstable, the tape straining, the sounds from inside becoming more desperate. The fear that the cat might escape before she reached the river was almost paralyzing, but she forced herself to keep going.

Finally, she reached the riverbank. The water was murky and frigid, the current slow but steady, reflecting the last glimmers of daylight. Amy hesitated, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she considered her next steps.

She had to do it. She had no choice.

With a final, labored breath, she pushed the container into the river. The package bobbed on the surface for a moment before slowly starting to sink. The growling inside faded as the water seeped in, and Amy watched, her heart in her throat, as the box disappeared into the depths.

The last bubbles rose to the top, and then…silence.

Amy stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the spot where the box had sunk. Her mind was numb. It was over. It had to be over.

Upon her return home, she stepped inside. The house felt emptier than before, the air heavy with the lingering fear. Amy grabbed the bottle of Cabernet from the kitchen and poured herself a glass, the wine a small comfort amidst the insanity she had just endured.

She tried to convince herself that she was safe now. But as she sat down in the armchair, the glass in her hand, she couldn’t help but feel that something was still wrong.

Amy drained the glass and set it down on the coffee table. She forced herself to stand, to do something—anything—to disrupt the uncomfortable silence.

Over the next half an hour, she collected whatever reminded her of Winnie – the food, the litter box, the water bowl – and disposed of it hastily, pouring everything into the trash just outside her front door. As she poured the last of the contents into the canister, the repercussions of what she had done became clear, weighing heavily on her in spite of the circumstances. Was that…guilt she felt? Shame? Over Winnie? Over the cat that she was confident had tried to kill her and her loved ones, and would have done so if given the opportunity?

She scoffed at the idea that she ought to feel anything other than relieved, and made her way to the bedroom. Lulled into a false sense of security, she wasn’t prepared for what she heard next: a soft, continuous tapping, coming from outside the front door.

* * * * * *

Amy’s heart lurched in her chest. She froze, her breath catching in her throat, the fear she’d been trying to suppress surging back with the tapping. She hesitated, every instinct screaming at her to stay where she was, to not open the door. But the sound was insistent, rhythmic, as if something—or someone—was trying to get her attention.

With trepidation, Amy walked to the door. She felt the cold seeping through the floor, chilling her feet as she approached. The tapping grew louder, more urgent, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. She reached for the doorknob, her heart pounding.

She twisted the knob slowly, unconsciously holding her breath all the while. The door creaked open. Outdoors, the air had grown icy, biting, and it carried the faint scent of wet earth and leaves.

Her eyes moved downward, and her heart skipped a beat.

There, on the porch, was the overturned garbage can, its contents strewn across the yard. The cat food she had thrown away earlier was scattered everywhere, and among the debris were wet paw prints—small, precise, leading away from the mess and right up to the threshold.

Amy’s stomach twisted in fear. She followed the trail with her eyes, her heart racing as they led from the porch, into the house, and down the hallway. The tracks were unmistakably fresh, the water still glistening on the floorboards.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Winnie was back.

Amy’s breath quickened, her mind racing. She closed the door slowly, trying to steady herself, trying to convince herself that this couldn’t be happening. She had watched the box sink. She had seen the last of that cat. Winnie was dead.

But as she followed the telltale trail through the house, her pulse quickened, her heart racing to such an extent she thought it might burst at any moment. The fear was paralyzing, gripping her so tightly that she struggled to think. She wanted to run, to get out of the house, but her feet wouldn’t cooperate.

The paw prints led to her bedroom, stopping just short of the doorway. The door was slightly ajar, and beyond, she heard a bassy, guttural growl—a sound that sent a wave of terror crashing over her.

Amy struggled to inhale as she reached for the door, pushing it open inch by inch. The room was pitch black, the shadows thick and impenetrable. Her eyes searched the gloom, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps.

And then she saw them—two luminescent spheres staring back at her. The eyes were filled with a malevolence that made her blood run cold.

Winnie was there, sitting in the middle of the bed, soaking wet. Her fur was matted, water dripping from her body and soaking into the comforter. The cat’s growls grew louder, more fervent, as she locked eyes with the object of her ire.

Amy froze, her mind screaming at her to do anything but stand there, but she found herself wholly incapacitated, unable to blink, let alone defend herself. She was trapped, paralyzed by fear, as Winnie crouched low, preparing to strike.

The last thing Amy saw was the flash of sharp teeth and the blaze of yellow eyes as Winnie lunged.

Moments later, the house fell silent once more, save for the sound of the steady drip of water from soaked fur onto the vinyl floor of Amy’s single-story ranch home.

Down the street, a handful of neighbors, still awake, could have sworn they heard a scream. Just once, and just for a moment. They brushed it off, however, as most would, as either their imagination, or the sounds of wildlife.

Or, perhaps, some suspected, they’d heard the sound of a cat lurking outdoors, celebrating a successful hunt.