A Cat Saved the Day
I purchased a one-bedroom flat in an older area of the city. It wasn’t the greatest location, but I didn’t have a lot of money, so I chose from what was available. The flat itself was large and airy, with high ceilings, though the entrance was dirty and old, and there weren’t many young people on the streets. Still, I was delighted because it was my first major purchase.
After years spent in a dorm, I had forgotten what it was like to have my own space. Gradually, the flat felt cold and empty. And to be fair, it was quite empty. I had very little furniture and hadn’t bought curtains yet. I planned to gradually acquire these things.
In the evenings, the flat echoed with my footsteps. It was a bit unsettling and even scary at times, but I had no choice. I couldn’t afford to buy all the furniture and renovate at the same time.
One night, I woke up feeling like I was suffocating. It felt as though something heavy was pressing on my chest. Each breath was a struggle. I tried to get up but couldn’t, as if something was pinning me to the bed. Terrified, I turned my head, trying to wake up. Eventually, I could breathe freely again. As I greedily gulped in air, I heard the floorboards creaking, as if someone was leaving the room. The floor was old, and the boards shifted when walked upon.
Scared, I looked around the room but saw nothing. Coworkers at the office suggested that it might be sleep paralysis. Some advised me to see a doctor, but I decided to wait and see if it was a one-off event.
A few nights later, it happened again. I woke up breathless, then heard someone running from the room. This time, along with the creaking floor, I heard a faint tapping, as if the person had very long nails. Even so, this didn’t drive me to visit a doctor. Two weeks went by peacefully, but then the strange episodes returned. This time, alongside the pressure, I felt a tightness around my throat. I was suffocating, nearly fainting. Eventually, it released me, and I heard footsteps again.
The next morning, I discovered strange marks on my neck—bruises, as if someone really had been choking me. Frightened, I refused to return to the flat.
I spent two nights with a friend. She insisted we visit a psychic who told me that a curse had been placed on me and promised to remove it. We went to my flat together, where the psychic performed a ceremony. She assured me it was safe to sleep now. I paid the lady, and she left.
I went to bed feeling reassured, but that night, I again woke to a choking sensation. Heavy hands wrapped around my neck. I tried to scream, but it was useless. Struggling to release the grip, I heard a hissing sound. Clearly, someone was choking me, perched on my chest. Our struggle continued for a while, then the presence relented and hurried out, nails clacking on the floor.
Panicked, I ran out of the flat and stood on the landing, deciding to return. I couldn’t sleep after that. I sat up in the kitchen with the lights on until morning.
At work, everyone noticed my pale, tired face. I didn’t tell them what happened, just blamed it on fatigue. Afraid to return, I asked to stay with my friend another night. Yet, I needed some items from home, so I headed there after work.
On the stairs, I met my neighbor, Mrs. Hudson, carrying a box. The elderly lady stopped me and asked if I needed a kitten.
I peeked inside the box to see a cute white kitten with gentle eyes. Mrs. Hudson explained she’d found him near a shop and was trying to find him a home. For some reason, I agreed to take the kitten, maybe because I was too scared to go back inside alone.
With the kitten in my arms, I entered my flat. It was quiet. I let the kitten down and went to pack. Minutes later, I heard him hissing loudly. I rushed to the kitchen to find him staring at a corner, fur standing on end. I didn’t understand what he was seeing.
The kitten darted towards the wall, tearing at the old wallpaper left by previous occupants. I wanted to pull him away, but then stories about cats sensing the supernatural came to mind.
Joining my furry friend, I began stripping the wallpaper. Behind it, I found a cavity filled with newspaper. Removing it, I discovered a strange bundle. On opening it, I nearly fainted. Inside were bones, feathers, salt, and a small photograph. An old, ugly woman with pale, lifeless eyes looked back at me. It was as if she’d been photographed posthumously.
I recalled hearing of such traditions where deceased family members were photographed for remembrance due to a lack of living images.
I grabbed a plate from the cupboard, poured the bundle’s content including the photo onto it, and set it alight. The kitchen filled with a foul odor, forcing me to plug my nose. My kitten silently watched the burning. Behind me, I sensed hollow footsteps as the presence fought its fate, desperately rushing around the flat.
Soon, all was calm. I burned the contents to ashes. Opening the windows to let out the stench, I took the kitty, my belongings, and went to stay with my friend.
After a night at hers, I returned home. The flat felt warmer and the echoes nearly vanished. It wasn’t emptiness; it was someone shadowing me.
A month later, I bumped into Mrs. Hudson again. Thanking her for the kitten, she said something peculiar:
“I always noticed the occupants of that flat slept poorly,” the elderly woman sighed. “Must be the lack of a cat. Animals are our true healers.”
Her words lingered with me. I intended to ask about the flat’s mysteries, but when I turned, Mrs. Hudson had already gone.
No longer did anyone disturb my sleep, and my fluffy protector always slept nearby.
