The Wall-Crawler’s Ward

When I was about twelve, maybe eleven, my bedroom door creaked open on its own, and a black cat poked its head around the corner. It sauntered in, climbed the wall like it was walking on solid ground, and traced an intricate pattern across the ceiling before leaping onto my dresser, where it performed a strange, graceful dance among my trinkets.

I thought it was a dream at first, but then a small girl in a black dress appeared, picked up the cat, pet it, and scurried away down the hall. This happened every few weeks for years. As I grew older, I noticed the girl aged with me, but the cat never changed, its sleek black fur always shimmering, its dance always the same.

At first, I was terrified. I tried to ignore it, but eventually, I grew accustomed to the visits. I even started to look forward to them, finding a strange comfort in the ritual. But the girl always remained silent, her face hidden beneath a fringe of dark hair.

When I was in my early twenties, I decided to try speaking to her. I waited for the cat to appear, and when she came to retrieve it, I said, ‘Hello.’ No response. I tried again the next visit, and the next, and the next. Four times I reached out, and four times she ignored me, as if I were invisible.

Then, one night, I left my window open, hoping to feel the cool breeze. The cat came, and I felt an overwhelming urge to touch it, to connect with it somehow. I rose from my bed and crept toward the dresser, my hand outstretched. Just as my fingers were about to brush its fur, the cat leaped, not to the floor, but out the open window, disappearing into the night.

The girl entered the room, her eyes scanning for the cat. When she saw it was gone, she turned to me. Her eyes, which had always been vacant, now blazed with fury. She let out a low, guttural hiss, and her form began to contort, her legs bending backwards, her fingers elongating into claws. She lunged at me, and I stumbled back, but she grabbed my arm, her grip like iron.

I tried to pull away, but she held fast, her face inches from mine. ‘You let him go,’ she hissed, her voice like gravel. ‘He was my only companion, and you let him go.’

I was frozen, unable to speak. She dragged me toward the window, and I saw the drop below, the dark street. ‘Now you must take his place,’ she said, and she shoved me out.

I fell, but instead of crashing to the ground, I found myself hovering in the air, my body weightless. I looked up, and the girl was standing on the wall beside the window, her eyes now glowing in the dark. ‘You will be my new cat, forever dancing for me,’ she said.

I felt my body shift, my spine lengthening, fur sprouting from my skin. In moments, I was a black cat, my vision sharp in the night. I tried to meow, but only a hiss escaped. The girl smiled and scooped me up, cradling me in her arms.

Now, every few weeks, I climb the walls of her room and dance for her, and I watch as she ages, but I remain the same, my black fur eternal. And I wonder if anyone else will ever try to touch me, and if they will meet the same fate.