Deep into research and planning for my next book, I realised
that time had run away with me before I decided on a topic for my latest post.
I hope this short story that I wrote many years ago will suffice. Sadly, it
says a lot about the state of some of our children in these times, and the poor
conditions thrust upon them. It is called The
Kitten.
The demons were at his heels. He was panting when he
reached the house. It stood, dark, forbidding. He knew it was empty. For the
past two years since the Grimwalds had moved out no one had been brave enough
to occupy it, even for a night.
He climbed through the hole in the
fence that was well known by all the local kids. He had come here once with the
Wells Street gang, but had heard they never used it as a meeting place any
more. He was an outcast now, belonging to no gang. His mum was always
bad-tempered and drunk most of the time; had been since his dad went away. What
was it about grown-ups that made them take all their problems and misfortunes
out on their kids?
The house loomed before him, dark
windows glaring down like black glass eyes. Did he have the courage to go
inside? Well, there was only one way to find out. A gust of wind sent a carton
flying about and it caught him on the shins, scaring him, making him shudder.
He felt as if he had stepped into a movie he watched once, where a werewolf
lived in the cellar of a house just like this one. His teeth chattered and he
shivered wildly. What was he doing here? He must have gone mad.
Mad or desperate? Where else could
he go? His mum had a new boyfriend with her—some pathetic creep she'd picked
up. Greg, his best friend, had been ordered to keep away from him. Funny ideas
some grown-ups had. They could only get together at school now. Of course he
could go and hang about near the station, but all the druggies got there. He
didn't fancy getting mixed up with that lot; he'd managed to keep out of their
way up to now.
He wasn't welcome with the gang any
more, since he'd refused to take part in their shop-lifting caper—to prove his
bravery, they'd said. What was brave about nicking a few silly bars of
chocolate and some cigs?
He reached the tree where he knew he
could get into the house through the upstairs window, and began to climb. He
reached the second limb up when a pitiful sound stopped him in his efforts.
"Meow...." it came again.
"Where are you? I can hear you,
but I can't see you," he called in a loud whisper, and received another
yowl in response. Up another foot he went until he could get a hold of the
branch hanging over the balcony. A scruffy ball of fur began to hiss at him as
he sat back on the branch, and he saw a small dirty-white kitten further up,
its coat all wet, its eyes wide and staring. It hissed again and he chatted to
it for a few minutes in what he hoped was a comforting tone. He didn't know
much about animals, for he'd never been allowed to keep a pet, but he felt a
strange empathy with this little creature. It looked just like he felt. Lonely.
Sad. Miserable, and confused. "Come down then and you can
come inside with me," he called, and to his surprise the kitten obeyed,
dropping onto the branch beside him. "Wanna come into the house with
me?" he asked, and it began to wipe its wet nose on his hand. It sniffed
at him a bit and then jumped onto the top rail of the balcony, making a sound
in its throat as if calling to him.
He tentatively crawled along the
branch and followed the kitten as it jumped down. It turned to make sure he
followed before disappearing through a gap in the double doors. He pushed the gap a bit wider and went after
it. The room was so gloomy that he couldn't see the kitten, but then felt it
smooching about his ankles. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he was
able to follow it to the door, which creaked as he pushed it open. The wind
whistled mournfully down the passageway. Strangely, he didn't feel so
frightened now he had the cat to keep him company. Stealthily they went down
the stairs, and then he heard the strange noise. His flesh began to crawl,
goose bumps rising on every inch of his body.
"Who's there?" he
whispered, his voice coming out odd and shaky. He'd heard of knocking knees but
until that moment hadn't known just what it meant. "Come out, if you know
what's good for you," he cried, not having a clue what he would do if a
man came out carrying a gun or some other weapon.
A funny scuffling sound was followed
by a dragging noise and if the cat hadn't decided at that moment to smooch round
him again he would have fled. His feet felt as if they were glued to the floor.
As if in a dream where you couldn't move he watched as the door to what he
guessed was the kitchen slowly opened. A scrawny hand appeared around its edge,
the fingers bent and twisted, like talons.
He opened his mouth to scream, but
all that came out was a small yowl just like the cat had made. A face, a
terrible face, all lined and flabby, with skin hanging in folds beneath each
eye followed the hand. The hair surrounding it was like the strings on the
filthy mop that his mum kept outside the back door. He managed a scream then, but before he could
turn and run the thing had moved to clamp those long talon-like fingers over
his arm. In terror he shrank from the vile smell coming off what he now saw was
an old woman.
"Let go of me," he ordered
with as much bravado as he could muster.
"Not until you keep quiet,
silly little dope. What d'you want to do, waken the dead?" she asked,
giving an unearthly cackle that made him shudder anew.
"Are you dead?" he asked
croakily as she released him. He thought of running but decided to stay and see
what happened. She certainly didn't look like a ghost, and ghosts didn't stink,
did they?
She took out a piece of rag from the
pocket of her cardigan and blew her nose noisily. "Not me. Want a
bite?" She offered him a piece of bread. "Nice house isn't it?"
she asked companionably. "You must have been mighty desperate to come in
alone boy. Tell Old Jane your sorry tale and perhaps I'll let you stay."
She
picked up the kitten and stroked its wet fur before sitting down on the floor.
He joined her, feeling safe now as he took a bite of the bread.
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