I remember the day my mom had called me and asked that I come home from work early. The request wasn't one I took lightly as the reason surely wasn't a good one, and to nobody's surprise, it wasn't. I walked into our small ranch home to see my mother in tears with my cousin consoling her. She looked up at me with defeat in her eyes and revealed that my grandmother had passed away suddenly. The news was upsetting but upon instantly recalling the kind of person my grandma was, I couldn't say I was entirely surprised.
After the funeral about a week later, it was time for us to go and collect her things from her home, which was set to auctioned off next week. We dreaded the idea because her home was littered from wall to ceiling with junk and clutter. Calling my grandma a hoarder is most definitely an understatement. Walls were lined with old pictures of families we didn't even know, and some still had old price tags on them from when she would buy them at garage sales and flea markets. Porcelain dolls lined shelves upon shelves of dusty and dirty glassware from who knows when. Everything in the house seemed to be staring at us with almost sinister intent. Some figures and paintings even looked frightened and scared of one another. I could go on about what sort of vibes and auras came from the house, but unfortunately that isn't why I'm writing this.
We were maybe three hours into sorting through boxes upon boxes when we heard a small coo come from a dark corner of the house. I almost jumped, I admit, but when a small tin of plastic army soldiers got knocked over, we knew we weren't alone in the house. Mom shot me a confused glance as I walked over to investigate the commotion. At first, I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, just old picture frames and cardboard boxes, but then something stuck out at me. Two tiny yellow eyes were stalking my movement from underneath an end table. The small creature slowly crawled its way into the dimly lit room just enough to make out what exactly was watching over me.
A small black cat with ragged and patchy fur stopped and sat still by my feet. It had course and rough fur that almost didn't cover its whole body. It had specks of white on the tips of each strand that almost made it seem like it was graying like an old person. I knelt down to meet the creature at its level and extended a hand to the feline to offer a gesture of friendship. The cat let out a low purr and brushed its head against my hand as it turned and walked away towards the kitchen.
I asked my mom if she knew about grandma having a cat but she told me she didn't know of one. She just explained that old ladies take in anything and everything off the street. and that she's surprised it wasn't a raccoon. I shrugged but it dawned on me that we can't just leave the animal alone to fend for itself. Sure, it's survived this long but it still doesn't make it ethical. I asked my mom if she would take it but she told me she was allergic to cats, meaning this small problem was now my small problem. I decided I'd grab the cat and take it home until I could find an owner.
The only problem was the animal was nowhere to be seen. I searched every nook and cranny, but I found nothing but junk and grime. I stumbled upon a crack in the wall around seven inches wide, just big enough for a cat to slip through. The wall around it had claw makes stretching towards to ceiling but some of them were far taller than that small cat could reach. I figured it was a well-traveled path for many animals, so I didn't think anything of it. I made a few calls and noises into the opening, but nothing ever emerged. I figured I would just look for the cat tomorrow when we returned, so I got my mother, and we headed home for the evening.
The next morning me and my mother once again returned to the house to sort through more junk. When we arrived, I noticed a tiny critter was standing in the front window peering out at us. It was the cat from before. I opened the door to the home and the cat swiftly pounced over to me and seemed quite excited that I was there. It rubbed all over my ankles as I walked, nearly tripping me with every step. It made a small jingle as it pranced around, and I noticed a tiny leather collar surrounding the cat's neck. It had a gold medallion with the name "Tiny" on it. My mother saw the cat and immediately questioned its strange fur pattern. I decided to research it and the picture I used to reverse search gave me pages upon pages of information about a cat breed known as a "Lykoi". The cat's name actually translates into "Wolf cat" due it's mangy but perfectly healthy and natural appearance. While mom sorted through more boxes, I grew more accustomed to my newfound sidekick. The cat wouldn't leave me alone no matter what. I couldn't even sneak to the restroom without it following me.
When the sun began to set and twilight stretched over the sky, we knew it was time to retreat from the mess once again and go home. As I was about to leave, I noticed the cat wasn't following in my shadow anymore. The animal was actually making a quick stride toward the crack in the wall that I presumed it had gone yesterday. Making a dash to stop it from escaping again, I snatched it up from the ground and held it tight so that I could get it home safely and be able to properly care for it. The cat began to claw at me and call out wildly. I expected this but knew it was for the animal's own good, as who knows what kind of poisons or hazardous materials it could get into. I put the cat in my car, and it quickly hid underneath the passenger seat in a defense position.
That night when we got home, Tiny made his way through my home, inspecting his surroundings and looking and almost seemed intent on looking for something. The animal gave up after an hour and hid behind my couch. I figured I would give it the night to get accustomed to its temporary home before trying to get involved. So, I poured a bowl of cat food I purchased on the way home and made my way to bed. As I laid my head down I could've sorn I had heard meowing through the house, but assumed it was likely just a curious cat exploring this strange new world. I just wondered why it was so loud.
When I woke up the next morning and walked out to the living room, I almost dropped my phone where I was standing. My living room was torn apart. Tables and chairs were knocked over, massive gashes were made in the couch and armchair. I picked up my phone and dialed 911 to tell the police about a break in.
When an officer arrived to take notes of what had happened, he seemed just as confused as I was. Things were torn apart like a stampede had just gone through, but nothing was missing. Granted, most of what was left was in pieces, but it was still technically accounted for, nonetheless. The officer said he would look for any local cameras to see if anybody snuck in overnight, but that there was no evidence of a break in, as my door and windows were all intact and still locked.
As the officer left, I noticed a small creature stroll out from behind my fridge. It was Tiny, and he walked with an almost injured limp over to his food bowl and finished off the last of kibble left in his bowl from last night. He walked over sorely to the chair and jumped up on it and sat down. Of course, the thought had crossed my mind that Tiny was behind the destruction. but the thought of him walked around with a machete and crowbar made me chuckle. I decided I'd go for a walk to put this behind me and thought maybe Tiny would want to join me. So took a piece of thin rope and tied around his collar for a makeshift leash. As I started to walk, I noticed something. Tiny wasn't limping anymore, as a matter of fact, he seemed rather spry.
That night things took a turn for the worse. Around seven o'clock, Tiny acted both injured and sick. He wasn't nearly as lively as he was this morning, and he had a hunched back and returned to limping again. He was anti-social and insisted on hiding all night. I wanted to keep a close eye on him, so I decided to put his food bowl in my room and shut the door with both of us inside. I truly wish I had just let me hide where he wanted.
As I turned out the light, Tiny was hiding under my desk, meowing and growling like crazy. I figured I would give him a moment to stop, but tomorrow would be an immediate trip to the vet. About ten minutes passed in the dark before I heard him begin to growl once again. This time it was new; it was in a much lower and pained tone. I heard the chair by desk fall over from what I assumed was a rather restless Tiny. But my heart sank to my feet from what followed next.
Tiny jumped up onto my bed, but this was no mere cat that had landed on my legs. The sheer weight of the figure rivaled that of a human being. It almost knocked me out of the bed altogether. I felt large paws that seemed like hands slowly crawl up my body. I froze with a sense of sleep paralysis as I felt large breathes waft over my neck, followed by a low purr that seemed like a growl. I didn't want to move. I wanted to call the police or the turn on the light, but I knew what I would see wouldn't be something I could forget. I felt a sudden shift in weight followed by a loud, yet careful thud hit the floor with a sudden strike. The thing had jumped off of my bed and left me alone. I was still too scared to move and knew That the being was still stuck in my room due to the door being shut. But the thought was interrupted by a crashing noise against my door. It sounded like it was charging directly into the exit to force its way out. I then heard loud and fast scratches like nails dragging across rough wood. Every swipe made an earsplitting noise that made my frozen state worsen.
Finally, I heard a yanking noise followed by the door swinging open violently. It crashed against the wall with the force of freight train and I heard the thud of feet stalk out the rest of the house and down the hallway. I almost gathered the courage to move my leg but then I heard the thing call out from the other end of the house. It was a menacing and almost threatening call that sounded like a beast was trying to mimic a cat's meow. I then heard it begin to beat on the front door and struggle for moments before it finally bshed through. The house immediately fell silent so I knew the beast had made it out of the house.
I raced to turn on the lights and noticed my desk chair was flipped over and claw marks surrounding my desk. My bedroom door was nearly turn to shreds with markings and indentations covering it. I walked out to my living room to see my front door was completely smashed and laying on my front porch. I wanted to call the police again but knew they would gain unwanted suspicions if I called about the same issue. What would I tell them? That my cat turned into a monster and ran away? I would rather not spend the night in jail for suspicion of drug use.
I couldn't sleep after trying my best to repair the damages. I recall turning on the TV to a breaking news story of multiple assaults and break ins. A man was apparently even killed overnight in a parking garage. His body was mutilated almost beyond recognition, and his possessions were stolen. I feared knowing that the perpetrator could've been the thing that WAS Tiny, but knew the thought would only bring me distress, tried shrugging it off as a crime spree from some maniac, preferably one without fur and whiskers. I needed some fresh air so I decided to step out to my backyard and drink a cup of coffee to forget the last night's events. After all, due to lack of sleep, I couldn't remember what was real and what could've been a simple nightmare. But then I noticed something.
Next to my patio was a small stack of objects. They had a brilliant shine and stuck out like a sore thumb. The pile consisted of rings and jewelry. There were purses and wallets with entire stacks of cash laying around them. There were easily thousands of dollars just sitting there, not counting the value of the physical items. I stood frozen wandering how they ended up in my yard, but froze as I came to realize that some of these items I recognized from the news. The man who was killed...his wallet was sitting in the pile, with flecks of red still covering it. I didn't know wat to do but felt something brus against my leg. It was Tiny, just as he was when I first found him. Small, lively, and cute in an ugly sort of way. His color reflected gold onto the ground below.
I didn't know what to do. If I were to call the police, they would arrest me on the spot, they wouldn't believe that I had just found the night's crimes neatly piled in my backyard. But I didn't have time to dwell before a knock hit my front door. It was a police officer and a detective. They asked what had happened to my front door and I told them that my house was broken into again last night. They actually had come to follow up on the previous night's events, specifically about having an update on my initial call. They asked a series of questions that I either didn't know or lied about to cover my own tail. Tiny jumped up to one of the detectives and sniffed around before hissing at him and then running away to hide. He didn't seem too fond of them.
The police had asked me to lock my doors and windows at night in case I hadn't already done so, and said the neighborhood is under a temporary curfew following the night's events, and that travel was only advised if absolutely necessary and to not travel alone or without some form of protection. I thanked them for their time, and they left. As soon as they left, Tiny pranced out almost happily. I stared at the cat as he stared back, almost as if he knew that I knew what he had done. I decided to go and inspect my grandmother's house to track down any background of this feline imposter.
i searched the house for hours but found nothing. No adoption papers, no cat supplies, it was as if grandma hadn't owned him at all. I decided the only place left to look was where he had come from initially. I walked over to the crack in the wall to inspect it. I knew I couldn't fit but considering the state of the house, I knew one hole wouldn't' make a difference. So I grabbed a nearby hammer and smashed a wider opening in the wall. The crawlspace it led in to was dark and musty, with dead mice all around it. a noticed a small wooden box was tucked away in the corner so grabbed it and backed out of the hole.
There was a golden latch that almost perfectly matched the gold of Tiny's collar. I opened it to reveal a small sheet of paper was inside but nothing else. The writing was old, very old. It seemed to be written in ink with a quill on yellowed and decaying paper. It read as follows:
"To whom it may concern, the companion you have just acquired was secured in an expedition to (REDECATED). While it's true origins are unknown, the animal is wise beyond its means and possess a nearly impossible trait. Upon feeding the animal, it forms a bond with its caretaker and offer's a rather sinful and monstrous service in return. One night a week, the animal will take on a form that is neither of God nor beast and will retrieve riches and possessions for its caretaker no matter the means. It has slain innocent men in the night and upon our travels, killed half a village of natives, and piled its stolen plunder in our own satchels and baggage. A few of my men have seen the beast in its altered form and refuse to speak of it. I issue this letter as a warning to all those who may cross paths with the beast. May God not blame you for its own misdeeds."
Enclosed with the letter was an old photograph of a wooded area at night, but in the center of the picture stood a being nearly 6 feet tall. It had dark and scraggly fur with hunched legs and a loose and long tail that dragged the ground behind it. It had piercing yellow eyes that seemed to glare into my soul. It had a wide and sharp grin that seemed so uncanny that I couldn't tell whether it was smiling or screaming. Its claws were long and slightly resembled human hands but still was quite discernable from them. It stood on two legs in a position that seemed like it was going to pounce at any second. What stood out to me the most however, was the tightly fit collar on it, with a gold coin that hung just beneath it's neck.
I held the letter in shock, knowing that if last night hadn't happened, I wouldn't believe it myself. I made my way home and was greeted by a sleeping Tiny, sprawled across the arm of my chair. I sat down and stared at the sleeping animal. I thought through the events of last night and wondered how long it would take the police to trace this back to me and my newfound thief. But I realized that at least for the time being, I wasn't a suspect, I was a victim. The police had thought my house was just another home in a chain of crimes. Afterall, I would be accounted for all night as it wasn't me who would be out painting the town red. I mean I could use the money that was found, after all.
As I'm writing this, I now live in a secluded area of northeast America. I now possess a fully restored Victorian home on 45 acres of property with multiple estates across the country. I've been investigated a few times but there's never been any proof of wrongdoing. As a matter of fact, I pride myself of how well I've hidden my side gig. It's that day of the week again, which means I suspect tiny will be shedding some fur and playing fetch in the next few hours. To anybody who has fallen victim to my actions, I truly do apologize, it isn't personal I assure you. But the way I see it, it's better to have control over the animal myself, than risk it coming and turning on me. I'm sure you understand, right?
