Cats

A pizza delivery guy stumbles upon a home of an eccentric old woman with an alarmingly large collection of cats.

Just one last delivery for tonight. The night air is crisp as I hurry down the quiet suburban street, pizza box in hand. Pulling up to the address, I notice what seems like a dozen - maybe even more - bright, piercing eyes of cats roaming around. Never seen this many all in one place before.

I ring the doorbell, hearing muffled footsteps before the door creaks open. A petite elderly woman stands before me, her thin frame swathed in an oversized cardigan. A faint smile crosses her wrinkled face as she peers up at me.

“You must be the pizza boy," she rasps. "Please, come in while I get your change.”

“I’ll just wait at the door, ma’am,” I say. It’s certainly unusual to be invited into a home for a pizza delivery. 

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. Come in, it’s a cool night. I’ll only be a few minutes.” 

I hesitate for a moment but she ushers me in, clicking the door shut behind me. Immediately, I’m overwhelmed with the thick scent of cat litter and stale kibble. 

“Have a seat. I’ve prepared a glass of milk for you,” she said, now guiding me over to the couch. Cats of all shapes and sizes swarm around me, weaving between my legs and meowing softly. 

I have no choice but to plop myself down on the cat-hair-covered couch after she - Mrs. Barlow, as the address label indicates - shuffled off down a dimly lit hallway, leaving me alone with her feline companions. 

I glance around the living room. It's a cramped, cluttered space, every available surface covered in cat toys, scratching posts, and bowls of food and water. 

A sudden movement at the top of the stairs catches my eye. I turn to see a young girl peering down at me, her expression unreadable. She stands motionless, her gaze deadpan, before vanishing back up the staircase. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Must be her granddaughter, but what a strange little girl.

Mrs. Barlow returns, a small metal box in her hands. "Here we are," she says, setting it on the coffee table. "Please, help yourself to the milk and I'll get your money."

"Actually, Mrs. Barlow,”  I say, addressing her to be polite, “I think I'll just take the cash and be on my way. The milk is very kind of you, but I really shouldn't."

She doesn’t say a word in reply, but her insistent gaze leaves me with little choice. 

I glance down at the milk, an uneasy feeling in my stomach growing. Somehow, it feels...off. But the woman's expectant stare compels me to reach for the glass, the cool liquid sliding down my throat. 

As I swallow the last of the milk, a strange heaviness settles over me. My eyelids grow unbearably heavy, and I blink rapidly, fighting against the rising tide of drowsiness. The room seems to sway, and I grip the arm of the couch to steady myself. The cats around me seem to sense my distress, their meows taking on a mocking, taunting quality. Something's not right. 

"What...what did you do to me?" I slur, panic rising in my chest.

Mrs. Barlow's smile widens. "Oh, don't worry, dear. You're going to be just fine." She reaches into her cardigan pocket, producing a large syringe filled with a cloudy liquid.

I try to stand, to run, but my limbs feel so heavy, it’s as if I’ve been tied to the couch. The young girl I saw earlier is now standing at the bottom of the stairs, silently watching the scene unfold.

"Please," I beg, my voice weak. “help me.”

But the girl merely blinks, her expression betraying no emotion. Mrs. Barlow advances, the syringe glinting menacingly.

The last thing I see before everything goes dark is the her twisted, triumphant grin and the syringe hovering dangerously close to my arm. 

"Don't worry, dear. This won't hurt a bit." 

When I finally regain consciousness, my eyes take a moment to adjust, and I realise that I’m still in the living room. Naked, disheveled people, their eyes vacant and their movements languid.

One of the captives, a young woman with matted hair, turned to face him. She blinked slowly, her mouth curving into a lazy smile, and then she leaned forward, her head tilting to one side and I spot the collar around her neck. A soft, purring sound rose from her throat, and she began to rub her cheek against his arm.

Mark recoiled in horror, feeling his supper rise up to his throat. They move with such feline grace, bodies contorting unnaturally, their limbs shifting and twisting in sickly way.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Mrs. Barlow enters, a twisted smile on her face. She carries a tray of bowls filled with what appears to be cat food and water. 

“You're awake. I was beginning to worry,” she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She sets the tray down, the captives immediately swarming around it, lapping up the contents like famished felines.

"What have you done to them?" I ask, my voice trembling.

Mrs. Barlow's smile widens. "Why, I haven’t done anything to them. They are my collection.” She produces a syringe from the pocket of her cardigan, the contents glinting ominously. "And you are the new addition.”

"Stay back!" I cry, pressing myself against the wall. 

But Mrs. Barlow advances, her grip on the syringe unwavering. I glance around the room, desperately searching for a way out, but the captives remain oblivious, purring and rubbing against one another. I spot the young girl standing silently in the corner again, her eyes fixed on me.

"Please," I plead, "you have to help me. You can't let her do this to me."

Mrs. Barlow draws closer, the syringe poised to strike. I try to scramble further away, but my body is still refusing to cooperate from the drugs. I'm trapped, at the mercy of this deranged woman and her unspeakable experiments.

As the syringe pierces my skin, I let out a cry of anguish. The cold liquid burns as it courses through my veins, and I can feel my consciousness slipping away once again. The world begins to blur, the faces of the captives growing indistinct. 

The cluttered space feels warm and inviting as I blink awake, the scents are no longer offensive but comforting.

I glance down at my own naked form, the collar around my neck a tangible reminder of my captivity. A part of me wants to resist, to fight against the overwhelming urge to surrender to this twisted new reality. But the alluring scent of the cats, the warmth of their bodies, proves too tempting. A strange, primal instinct is compelling me to join them.

I hesitantly reach out and set my paw on the soft fur of the nearby cat. It turns to me, eyes bright with awareness, and begins to rub against me, purring.

The world seems more vibrant, sounds and smells more vivid. 

A small part of me is crying out, worrying that this isn't right. But it's getting harder to hear that voice now. I'm getting pulled deeper into how things are in this reality.

Reviews

[hasbibiii]

I love how you introduced the twist, flowed in just right. Lovely read.

[Clarisse]

The many cats remind me of my friend, Richard. He has so many cats! I can honestly smell the house as well, because I've been to Richard's house numerous times. the way the little girl was just there, drives my curiosity to the max! This is an amazing story, one of the very few that I've read, sense how I just found this site today. The delivery boy's first thoughts were that the house was cramped and cluttered. But at the end of the story, he finds comfort within the house. I've never read a fascinating story like this, good job!

[Zara Monzel]

Thank you, I'm glad you resonated with the setting!

[Relic]

Great story, Zara. Stephen King would approve, I'm sure. :)

[Zara Monzel]

Thank you! I'm flattered.

[emmajoygreen]

Brilliant!

This is how a short story should be written. You have found a unique theme, a scary theme, a great finish -whilst all the way through, used fine phrasing and punctuation, plus, believable tho' extraordinary dialogue. 'I'm getting pulled deeper into how things are in this reality.'

Will definitely return to read more of your writing!

[Zara Monzel]

Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback!