Cat Saves from Trouble
I purchased a one-bedroom flat in an old part of town. It wasn’t the nicest area, but my budget was limited, so I had to make do with what was available. The flat itself was large and bright with high ceilings. The entrance, however, was dirty and rundown, and there were hardly any young people on the streets. Nonetheless, I was thrilled, as it was my first significant purchase.
After spending years in a dormitory, I’d forgotten what it was like to have a place of my own. Over time, the flat felt cold and very empty. To be fair, it was quite bare. I only had a few pieces of furniture and hadn’t bought curtains yet, planning to accumulate these gradually.
In the evenings, the flat echoed my footsteps, which unnerved and even frightened me a little, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t afford to furnish and renovate all at once.
One night, I woke up unable to breathe. It felt like something heavy was pressing on my chest. Each breath was a struggle. I tried to get up, but couldn’t move, as if pinned to the bed. In fear, I turned my head, trying to shake off this feeling. Eventually, I could breathe freely again, gulping in air as I heard the floorboards creak as if someone left the room. The old wooden floors creaked with every step.
Looking around in fear, I found nothing out of place. At work, my colleagues suggested it might be sleep paralysis. Some advised seeing a doctor, but I decided to wait, hoping it was a one-time occurrence.
However, a few nights later, it happened again. Once more, I was suffocating, and then heard someone leave the room. This time, along with the creaking floor, there were faint taps, like nails clicking on the boards. Yet even this didn’t compel me to visit a doctor. For two weeks, I lived undisturbed until the sensation returned. This time, alongside the weight, my throat felt constricted. I was on the brink of unconsciousness when the grip released and I heard footsteps again.
In the morning, I noticed strange marks on my neck. They were bruises. Something, or someone, had actually been strangling me. Terrified, I didn’t return to the apartment.
I spent two nights at a friend’s place. She insisted on taking me to a psychic, who claimed I was cursed and promised to lift the spell. Together, we returned to my flat. The psychic conducted a lengthy ritual, assuring me it was safe to sleep there now. I paid her and she left.
I went to bed with a lighter heart, but again, in the night, I was being strangled. The weight returned, and I struggled for air. My hands grasped at a pair of rough, cold hands on my neck. I tried to scream, but couldn’t. Attempting to pry it off, I was met with a hiss. I was conscious that something was sitting on my chest, choking me. The struggle continued until the presence left, tapping its nails as it fled.
Terrified, I fled the apartment, standing outside on the landing for a few minutes before deciding to return. I couldn’t sleep. I turned on the lights and stayed up in the kitchen until morning.
At work, everyone noticed my tired, pale face. I didn’t mention the ordeal, blaming fatigue instead. Returning to the flat was frightening, so I asked to stay longer at my friend’s. However, I needed to collect some things, so I went back after work.
As I climbed the stairs, I encountered my neighbor, Mrs. Smith, carrying a box. The elderly woman stopped me and asked if I’d like a kitten.
I peered into the box to find a cute white kitten with kind eyes. Mrs. Smith explained she found the little one near a shop and was seeking a home for it. On impulse, I agreed to take the kitten. Perhaps I was scared to be alone in the flat, even for a short visit.
With the kitten in my arms, I opened the door and entered my flat. It was quiet. I set the kitten down and went to the bedroom to gather my belongings. Moments later, I heard a loud hissing from my furry friend.
I rushed to the kitchen to find the kitten hissing fiercely, staring into a corner. His fur stood on end. I had no idea what was happening.
The kitten suddenly darted to the wall and began tearing at the old wallpaper left by the previous owners. I moved to stop him but recalled tales of cats sensing things beyond the ordinary.
Together with my fluffy companion, I peeled away the wallpaper. In the corner, hidden by newspapers, was a recess. Removing the papers revealed a strange bundle. Unwrapping it, I nearly fainted. Inside were bones, feathers, salt, and a small photograph.
The old photo depicted an elderly, grim-looking woman with eyes that seemed devoid of pupils, as if she were already deceased.
I’d heard of a tradition where deceased relatives were photographed for remembrance, as they rarely had living photos.
I fetched a plate, emptied the contents and photo onto it, and set it alight. A vile stench filled the kitchen, and I had to hold my nose. My cat watched silently as the bundle burned. Behind me, I sensed the presence, its feet shuffling as it writhed in agony, desperately roaming the flat.
Quiet ensued soon after. I burnt the remains to ash. I opened the windows to let out the smell, collected my cat and belongings, and headed back to my friend’s.
After spending one more night there, I returned to my flat. I noticed the rooms felt warmer, the echoes nearly gone. Perhaps it wasn’t just emptiness but rather someone always lurking nearby.
A month later, I crossed paths with Mrs. Smith again. Thanking her for the kitten, she said something peculiar:
“I always noticed people in your flat had trouble sleeping,” sighed the old woman. “It must be the lack of a cat. Animals are our greatest healers.”
I pondered her words. I wanted to ask about the strange flat, but as I opened my mouth, I realized she’d already walked away.
No one troubled my sleep again, and my fluffy guardian was always there, gently purring nearby.
