The scratching stopped. A long pause. Then a single, clear word: “Company.”
The basement stairs descended into perfect, absolute black. No smell of damp earth or old preserves. Just a stillness that felt hungry. Catscratch
And sitting on the kitchen counter, cleaning one gray paw with deliberate slowness, was Scratch. The cat yawned, revealing a mouth full of needles, and for the first time, Leo saw the truth in those yellow eyes: I was keeping it in. You let it out. The scratching stopped
“Who’s there?” Leo whispered.
He pressed his ear to the cold wood. The voice was soft, dry, like paper being torn. It was not Scratch’s voice. Scratch had no voice. Scratch only had claws. was Scratch. The cat yawned