/ creeping suspicion
1,475 words
Willow sat in the window seat, book dangling from idle hands. She used to be able to lose herself in books, any kind of book, even if it was an imperfect story or dull or her third reread. She used to be able to lie on her stomach, the evening sun slanting over her back, and just read, surrounded by the leathery smell of the seat.
Now the words didn't summon any excitement, didn't ignite her mind the way they used too. The sun was too hot and if she lied on her stomach it was hard to breathe. The only thing she could smell was mold.
Why couldn't she feel the way she'd felt last year? Or was it the year before that?
What was wrong with her?
She could hear the wind playing in the leaves outside the window. That was nice at least.
But as soon as she turned her attention away from struggling to focus on a story that didn't interest her, Willow realized there was another sound woven within the rustling.
A cat. A crying cat.
It sounded close. How had she not heard it sooner?
Setting the book down Willow slid off the window seat and into her shoes.
Uncle Crane was gone, but she still felt compelled to step quietly across the creaking wood floor and to ease the old door open so the hinges didn't cry out. She stepped out on the porch and the crying cat got louder.
Where was the poor thing?
She walked along the side of the house, combing through clumps of grass stray pieces of scrap metal to find the cat.
It didn't sound any nearer than it had out on the porch or any further away. Weird.
Willow stared at the path leading down through the trees. If she went far enough, it would run parallel with the highway.
An idea came oozing into her mind and she swallowed with a wince before turning her feet towards the edge of the lawn.
The slice of bare earth cuts through the trees, disappearing into the blue gloom that hung beneath the branches of the conifers and birch.
The cat's crying didn't grow any closer or further away, but sound always carried strangely around the old house. Something about the way it was built at the bottom of a valley and the land rose up all around it, something to do with the way the trees grew, thick in some places, thin in others.
She emerged from the trees and the wind comes for her with claws.
But Willow ignored the way the cold air made her hair stand on end and focused on the crumpled patch of black fur.
It was the cat, shivering and crying by the side of the road.
"Oh baby," Willow knelt next to the cat, reaching out one hand "Oh poor thing."
The cat shield away, but when it tried to stand it cried out again and Willow could see that its back leg was broken, the bone not piercing the skin but jutting the wrong direction.
"Okay, okay, you're not going to like this," Willow reached out both hands "But I'm going to have to pick you up."
The cat cowered, but didn't react otherwise as Willow carefully lifted them off the ground.
It cried out in pain and scrabbled its claws against her shirt as Willow tried to settle them against her side. Willow froze and the injured leg wasn't jarred any further and after a moment the cat relaxed fractionally.
Measuring each step and each breath carefully, Willow retreated back to the path and walked, most of her attention directed towards keeping the cat's leg still.
It was only when her arms began to grow tired did she look up and realize that she was no longer on the path she'd started on.
It was far darker than it should have been, the trees had vanished beneath wild bracken and rising tangled thorn bushes. There was no sign of the house, which should have been just around the corner.
Had she taken a wrong turn, wandered off entirely? No there were no turn offs and the dirt path was still beneath her feet.
What had happened?
Deep breaths, deep breaths. It was just getting darker as the sun began to set, it just felt longer because she was carrying a cannonball disguised as a cat.
There was always undergrowth in the forest.
She just needed to keep going forwards, one step, one breath at a time.
She ignored the shadows, the crackle and rustle in the forest around her, the beating of feathery wings through the branches over her head.
Normal. Normal. Normal.
Just keep breathing.
It was hard to ignore the sound of crashing behind her as something charged out of the forest.
The cat jammed its face against Willow's shoulder, quivering like a lost little leaf in a winter storm.
Willow looked back to see a massive shadow come shoving its way out of the undergrowth, a pair of eyes set deep in the tangled fur, glinting like a pair of lost stars.
Don't run. Don't run.
It was all Willow could think. Don't run, don't move.
For a small eternity the beast stood there, staring at her, breathing heavily.
Finally Willow heard beating wings from overhead again and, as if that had been a signal, the beast began to move forward.
Willow didn't have time to take in another breath, much less decide whether she should run or continue to stand her ground, before something came darting out near her ankles.
It was a tiny gray tabby cat, her back arched like the ridge of a hill, her teeth flashing and her claws raking furrows in the dirt.
The beast paused, but apparently more out of surprise than actual fear, as it growled and stalked closer.
One little cat, despite her ferocity, wasn't enough.
But she wouldn't have to be. She'd just been a warning.
Like a mist rising off the water, a swarm of cats came creeping out of the woods. A flood of warm bodies, twitching whiskers, and bares teeth to face the beast.
There was a dismayed croak and the fading whisper of wings brushing through the dried leaves.
That was all the cats needed to sweep forwards and crash like a wave over the beast.
A high pitched yelp came from the center of the mob and the cats receded, leaving behind not the picked clean bones of a monster, but a tired looking old beagle.
It looked up at Willow with sad eyes, before plodding past her, through the tide of cats and off the side of the path.
"Uhh..." Willow looked to the cats, but was only met with hundreds of flashing eyes that offered no answers "Thank you. Very much."
Then she scurried after the dog, picking her way through the cats, avoiding paws and tails as she stumbled deeper into the forest.
Within seconds the oppressive darkness lifted, fading back to the soft blue light, the trees became distinct entities again, her feet where on the path again, but she could see the end of it now.
The beagle stood at the head of the path, paws planted on the lawn as they waited for her to exit the forest.
"Are you okay?" Willow asked as she stepped out from beneath the shadows.
The dog just huffed and and galumphed down the driveway, ears flapping in the wind.
Had...had any of that been real?
Well some of it had to be, because she was still clutching a whimpering cat in her arms.
The garage door was open and Crane's car was parked amidst the chaos of accumulated junk, so Willow didn't even bother to look for him when she entered the house, just started yelling.
"Uncle Crane! Uncle Crane! I found a cat and it's really hurt. Please can we go to the vet, I have money I can pay for it!"
Crane popped his head out of his study, eyebrows raised in bewilderment as his niece rushed towards him, carrying a crying mound of fur with yellow eyes.
"Please? I have some money, I'll pay."
He blinked at her a couple of times while resettling his glasses "It's hurt?"
"I'm pretty sure their leg is broken. It's kinda bent the wrong way and starting to swell and they cry whenever I bump it. I think... I think someone dumped them out of a car."
"Oh dear," Crane reached out to let the cat sniff at his fingers. The cat wrinkled its nose, then poked out its tongue to lick at Crane's thumb.
"Let me get my coat. You go get in the car."
"My money-"
"Don't worry about it."
Willow felt relief settle down on her like a ray of summer sun.
1,475 words
Willow sat in the window seat, book dangling from idle hands. She used to be able to lose herself in books, any kind of book, even if it was an imperfect story or dull or her third reread. She used to be able to lie on her stomach, the evening sun slanting over her back, and just read, surrounded by the leathery smell of the seat.
Now the words didn't summon any excitement, didn't ignite her mind the way they used too. The sun was too hot and if she lied on her stomach it was hard to breathe. The only thing she could smell was mold.
Why couldn't she feel the way she'd felt last year? Or was it the year before that?
What was wrong with her?
She could hear the wind playing in the leaves outside the window. That was nice at least.
But as soon as she turned her attention away from struggling to focus on a story that didn't interest her, Willow realized there was another sound woven within the rustling.
A cat. A crying cat.
It sounded close. How had she not heard it sooner?
Setting the book down Willow slid off the window seat and into her shoes.
Uncle Crane was gone, but she still felt compelled to step quietly across the creaking wood floor and to ease the old door open so the hinges didn't cry out. She stepped out on the porch and the crying cat got louder.
Where was the poor thing?
She walked along the side of the house, combing through clumps of grass stray pieces of scrap metal to find the cat.
It didn't sound any nearer than it had out on the porch or any further away. Weird.
Willow stared at the path leading down through the trees. If she went far enough, it would run parallel with the highway.
An idea came oozing into her mind and she swallowed with a wince before turning her feet towards the edge of the lawn.
The slice of bare earth cuts through the trees, disappearing into the blue gloom that hung beneath the branches of the conifers and birch.
The cat's crying didn't grow any closer or further away, but sound always carried strangely around the old house. Something about the way it was built at the bottom of a valley and the land rose up all around it, something to do with the way the trees grew, thick in some places, thin in others.
She emerged from the trees and the wind comes for her with claws.
But Willow ignored the way the cold air made her hair stand on end and focused on the crumpled patch of black fur.
It was the cat, shivering and crying by the side of the road.
"Oh baby," Willow knelt next to the cat, reaching out one hand "Oh poor thing."
The cat shield away, but when it tried to stand it cried out again and Willow could see that its back leg was broken, the bone not piercing the skin but jutting the wrong direction.
"Okay, okay, you're not going to like this," Willow reached out both hands "But I'm going to have to pick you up."
The cat cowered, but didn't react otherwise as Willow carefully lifted them off the ground.
It cried out in pain and scrabbled its claws against her shirt as Willow tried to settle them against her side. Willow froze and the injured leg wasn't jarred any further and after a moment the cat relaxed fractionally.
Measuring each step and each breath carefully, Willow retreated back to the path and walked, most of her attention directed towards keeping the cat's leg still.
It was only when her arms began to grow tired did she look up and realize that she was no longer on the path she'd started on.
It was far darker than it should have been, the trees had vanished beneath wild bracken and rising tangled thorn bushes. There was no sign of the house, which should have been just around the corner.
Had she taken a wrong turn, wandered off entirely? No there were no turn offs and the dirt path was still beneath her feet.
What had happened?
Deep breaths, deep breaths. It was just getting darker as the sun began to set, it just felt longer because she was carrying a cannonball disguised as a cat.
There was always undergrowth in the forest.
She just needed to keep going forwards, one step, one breath at a time.
She ignored the shadows, the crackle and rustle in the forest around her, the beating of feathery wings through the branches over her head.
Normal. Normal. Normal.
Just keep breathing.
It was hard to ignore the sound of crashing behind her as something charged out of the forest.
The cat jammed its face against Willow's shoulder, quivering like a lost little leaf in a winter storm.
Willow looked back to see a massive shadow come shoving its way out of the undergrowth, a pair of eyes set deep in the tangled fur, glinting like a pair of lost stars.
Don't run. Don't run.
It was all Willow could think. Don't run, don't move.
For a small eternity the beast stood there, staring at her, breathing heavily.
Finally Willow heard beating wings from overhead again and, as if that had been a signal, the beast began to move forward.
Willow didn't have time to take in another breath, much less decide whether she should run or continue to stand her ground, before something came darting out near her ankles.
It was a tiny gray tabby cat, her back arched like the ridge of a hill, her teeth flashing and her claws raking furrows in the dirt.
The beast paused, but apparently more out of surprise than actual fear, as it growled and stalked closer.
One little cat, despite her ferocity, wasn't enough.
But she wouldn't have to be. She'd just been a warning.
Like a mist rising off the water, a swarm of cats came creeping out of the woods. A flood of warm bodies, twitching whiskers, and bares teeth to face the beast.
There was a dismayed croak and the fading whisper of wings brushing through the dried leaves.
That was all the cats needed to sweep forwards and crash like a wave over the beast.
A high pitched yelp came from the center of the mob and the cats receded, leaving behind not the picked clean bones of a monster, but a tired looking old beagle.
It looked up at Willow with sad eyes, before plodding past her, through the tide of cats and off the side of the path.
"Uhh..." Willow looked to the cats, but was only met with hundreds of flashing eyes that offered no answers "Thank you. Very much."
Then she scurried after the dog, picking her way through the cats, avoiding paws and tails as she stumbled deeper into the forest.
Within seconds the oppressive darkness lifted, fading back to the soft blue light, the trees became distinct entities again, her feet where on the path again, but she could see the end of it now.
The beagle stood at the head of the path, paws planted on the lawn as they waited for her to exit the forest.
"Are you okay?" Willow asked as she stepped out from beneath the shadows.
The dog just huffed and and galumphed down the driveway, ears flapping in the wind.
Had...had any of that been real?
Well some of it had to be, because she was still clutching a whimpering cat in her arms.
The garage door was open and Crane's car was parked amidst the chaos of accumulated junk, so Willow didn't even bother to look for him when she entered the house, just started yelling.
"Uncle Crane! Uncle Crane! I found a cat and it's really hurt. Please can we go to the vet, I have money I can pay for it!"
Crane popped his head out of his study, eyebrows raised in bewilderment as his niece rushed towards him, carrying a crying mound of fur with yellow eyes.
"Please? I have some money, I'll pay."
He blinked at her a couple of times while resettling his glasses "It's hurt?"
"I'm pretty sure their leg is broken. It's kinda bent the wrong way and starting to swell and they cry whenever I bump it. I think... I think someone dumped them out of a car."
"Oh dear," Crane reached out to let the cat sniff at his fingers. The cat wrinkled its nose, then poked out its tongue to lick at Crane's thumb.
"Let me get my coat. You go get in the car."
"My money-"
"Don't worry about it."
Willow felt relief settle down on her like a ray of summer sun.
