Bakeneko

This is a piece I did for English last year, drawing from Japanese folklore. The last section is a bit weaker than the the first two, but hopefully it still manages to maintain the mood.

Bakeneko

“Kaya!” I could hear my mother calling, her strident voice dragging me forcibly from the warm depths of sleep. I groaned, and pulled the covers up over my head. I know, I know. I shouldn’t have been sleeping in the middle of the afternoon, but it was so much more attractive than the alternative. “Kaya!” She forced my door open and tugged the blankets from my face, tapping my temple in that particularly annoying way of hers. “Quit napping, and do your homework.” I batted away her hand and rolled onto my back. She glared down at me uncompromisingly.

“I know,” I muttered, “I’m coming.” She snorted in disbelief, but turned and swept back out of my room nonetheless. Remaining on my back, I stared blankly at the ceiling, preparing to heave myself from bed. Faded glow-in-the-dark stars from my younger days blinked back at me, offering no condolences at all. Sighing, I rolled to my side, and came face to face with my cat, Poppy. I blinked, startled. She gazed at me with flat, shrewd eyes. It was unnerving. How long had she been there? I couldn’t remember her jumping on the bed, but here she was, curled up like she’d been there for an eternity. Granted, I might have been asleep, but still I think I would have noticed a cat landing in my face. I shook my head. “Hey Poppy,” I murmured, rubbing her behind her ears and sat up, extricating myself from the covers. She’d just surprised me, that’s all. Cats were like that. I gave her a final pat and left the room, glancing back as I passed through the doorway. She was still staring at me.

I woke abruptly, a shudder running the length of my body violently. I sat up, hyper-aware. Pearly light spilled through the window, as if the moon had thrown up all over my room. My pajamas stuck to me uncomfortably, stiff with dried sweat as I stared around with wide eyes. There was creak in the upper left corner. All houses creak at night, when no one should be listening. A shushing noise filtered through the vent. Mom often let the washer run after everyone had gone to sleep. I jumped as a series of thumping pitter-patters went through the wall right next to my bed. Mice. Just mice. The house creaked again. I wrapped my arms around myself. It was no more than I’d heard any other night, but that little half-sense left over from when humans were still living side by side with wildness whispered that something dangerous stalked, leaving its footprints in that instinctual bit of my brain.

I slid out of bed, berating myself all the while for giving in to a stupid and illogical fear. But I couldn’t help it. Sneaking up the stairs, I cringed at every squeak. I peeked into the living room, my gaze darting around, scanning every shadow. Nothing. Oozing into the kitchen, I did the same, my uneasiness intensifying. Still nothing. I thought of going back to bed; obviously this was a ridiculous venture. But my feet carried me down the hall, the gloom growing closer, uneasiness turning into a heavy feeling wrapped around my throat and pressing on my shoulders. My breath came shallow and infrequent as I nudged open the door to my parent’s room. I stared into the darkness, waiting for my sight to adjust, listening to my parent’s peaceful breathing. A lump at the foot of the bed raised its head and stared at me with cool yellow eyes. I took a step back. Just Poppy. Just Poppy. The thought repeated itself over and over as I staggered back down the stairs.

Just Poppy.

Poppy was gone. I’d put the nightmare incident from my mind when I came home a few days later to find my little sister practically half-way under the couch, her rear end in the air. I stared at her for a second, then asked, “What are you doing?” She pulled her head out, and quite a bit of dust along with it, and wailed,

“I can’t find Poppy! I’ve looked everywhere!” A chill trickled through my ribs. I dismissed it. Sasha adored Poppy. It was understandable; we’d had her for a long time, longer than Sasha had been alive. Thirteen years, actually.

“You can’t have looked everywhere,” I told her, “Or you would’ve found her. I’m sure she’s here somewhere.”

“But I did.” She gazed up at me tearfully. I sighed and dumped my backpack.

“Come on. I’ll help you look.” I was a sucker for puppy eyes.

I spent the next thirty minutes combing the house with Sasha. Poppy really was nowhere to be found. Trying, and failing, to comfort my increasingly despairing sister, I went to ask my mom. I found her in her bedroom, looking as if she’d just finished eating something. “Mom, have you seen Poppy? We can’t find her.” She looked at me intently.

“No.”

“Um, I think she must have run away…” My mother didn’t look concerned at all. She watched me for a long time, finally blinking slowly.

“Is that so?”

“Uh, yes…” I trailed off, spiders crawling up my back, my half-sense humming again. The only sound was Sasha sniffling. I waited for my mother to blink, break eye contact. She didn’t. “Come on, Sasha, let’s go ask the neighbors or something.” I herded my sister towards the door, looking back only once. She was still staring at me.

Something was terribly wrong.