Broken Cat
Broken Cat
The antique shop was crammed with dust-laden trinkets and forgotten treasures. Amelia, drawn by a peculiar pull, found herself drawn to a porcelain cat perched atop a chipped pedestal. Its once-gleaming white was now marred by a jagged crack that bisected its head, revealing a hollow, gaping maw. One glassy eye stared vacantly, while the other, miraculously intact, held a disconcerting glint.
Amelia, a lover of all things vintage, felt a strange pang of pity for the broken feline. She bought it, despite the shopkeeper’s unsettling warning: “That cat, dearie, it’s cursed. Best leave it alone.”
Amelia, of course, scoffed. Superstitions were for the superstitious. She placed the cat on her mantelpiece, a stark contrast to the warm decor of her living room. It seemed to cast a chill in the air, an unseen shadow following it.
That night, Amelia awoke to a scratching at her bedroom door. A low, mournful meow echoed through the room, and a cold sensation brushed against her cheek. She dismissed it as a nightmare, but the scratching persisted. As she drifted back to sleep, the cat on the mantelpiece seemed to shift, the cracked eye focusing on her with an unsettling intensity.
The next day, the scratching resumed. This time, a dark smudge appeared on the wall beside the cat, like a paw print pressed in soot. Amelia, now genuinely disturbed, tried to move the cat, but it was as if rooted to the spot. It felt cold to the touch, radiating a bone-chilling energy that made her shiver.
Days turned into nights, the scratching escalating into a frantic battering against the door. The cat, inexplicably, seemed to be growing larger, the crack in its head widening, its single eye burning with an almost malicious gleam. The smudges on the wall became more frequent, taking on the form of distorted feline paws, as if the cat was trying to claw its way out of its porcelain prison.
One night, the scratching was replaced by a bloodcurdling screech. Amelia rushed to the living room, the air thick with an acrid smell. The cat was gone from the mantelpiece, its pedestal shattered. Instead, in its place, stood a towering, emaciated creature. Its once-perfect porcelain body was now covered in a sickly gray fur, its cracked head gaping open, revealing an abyss of pure darkness. The single remaining eye, now glowing red, locked onto Amelia with a primal hunger.
Amelia, frozen in terror, could only watch as the creature let out a guttural growl, its voice echoing the scratching, the meowing, the bloodcurdling screech that had plagued her. It was a creature of pure despair, a manifestation of the broken cat’s sorrow, seeking vengeance on the world that had shattered it.
As the creature lunged, Amelia finally screamed, the sound lost in the echo of its chilling cry. And in the darkness that followed, the broken cat’s curse was unleashed. The scratching continued, but now, it was everywhere, a haunting reminder that some things, once broken, can never be fixed.
