By Joyce Jacobo
[Author’s Note: I originally wrote this piece around Halloween, while experimenting with cross-genre works. Hope you enjoy it!]
I decided to write a short fiction about The Spectral Cat. A limber creature whose body appeared as if formed from the silvery fog that lurked around cemeteries, and whose eyes shone brighter than twin harvest moons. In fact, the beginning of my tale found her prowling about upon a spike iron gate to a nameless cemetery in the evening, deep in a forest gnarled with willowy trees that had, through the years, gained and lost many names as well.
It was the promising start.
But cats, as you know, are independent and free-spirited, obeying their own rules—particularly the ones from those lands only guessed at by the living.
So, rather than stick to the confines of my prose, The Spectral Cat decided . . . decided . . .
to break . . .
away from me and go . . .
pitter-patter pitter-patter
in the form of a poem
off
deeper into the woods
Eager to reclaim this character and return to the graveyard, I chased after and demanded that she come back to me. However, I should have remembered that no one ever really tells any cat, especially The Spectral Cat, what to do. And, as if in a show of defiance, once . . .
once again . . .
oh dear . . .
The Spectral Cat went
pitter-patter pitter-patter
away until
I came to an old house
overgrown with vines
like a forgotten memorial
that surprised me
but which The Spectral Cat approached
in graceful bounds
I opened the entrance to the slanted picket fence at the front and crept with care through a yard filled with weeds, where the sharp edges of objects I could only speculate about jutted upwards. The Spectral Cat mewled as she leapt onto the welcome mat upon the porch, turned to regard me with her narrowed harvest moon eyes, and then . . .
and then she slipped . . .
sigh . . .
pitter-patter pitter-patter
right through the door
and into the house
A chill went down my spine, followed by a dreadful sense of foreshadowing (because I knew just how many peculiar things could happen to anyone who wandered into a random abandoned house like this in a short story). Then again, my narrative now had sections of poetry as well, thanks to that elusive Spectral Cat, so I was unsure exactly what might happen because of it.
Just maybe, I thought, I could stay safe by playing her game
the game of The Spectral Cat
I tried the door
found it unlocked
and slipped inside
The first thing I noticed was soft music
as if from a phonograph
although I failed to recognize the tune
I was sure The Spectral Cat knew it well
Then I heard the crackles
of a fire in full bloom
and noticed a soft glow
from a room just off
the main hallway
And then I heard someone
who hummed along to the melody
Not The Spectral Cat
I peered around the doorframe and glimpsed a parlor room
comfortably furnished with a rug
a couch
and shelves
that held various books
(and items in glass bottles)
along the walls
My attention soon turned to an Old Spectral Man
as he creaked back and forth in a rocking chair
and stroked
The Spectral Cat
“Where have you been, oh my pretty little kitty cat?”
The Old Spectral Man asked,
while he scratched The Spectral Cat
behind the ears
and laughed
“Have you been to steal away the milk
of the dairy cows again
in the barn of that old farmer
from the next valley?
Or perhaps you tormented those screech owls
that never left you in peace at night
when you were alive?”
Or maybe you just tempted a curious mind
to follow you home—
here to become my servant forever
at the stroke of midnight
ten seconds from now!”
The Old Spectral man twisted towards me with his one, swollen, golden eye, and he cackled in crooked glee.
Within seconds, I had scurried out the door, rushed across the yard, and fallen onto the dusty path—just as what sounded like a distant church bell sounded. As the gongs faded away, I turned over and saw that the house was gone. Even the picket fence and the yard had vanished. In its place was a tombstone, with the impression of a feline at the top, set among some charred pieces of wood and the decrepit remains.
I realized The Spectral Cat had never been mine to claim. Instead, she had almost claimed me.
In the end, though, I supposed she had given me a story to tell in a special way.
So, I paid my respects to the gravesite
and whished-whished
whished-whished
away into the night.
Love this, Joyce. You are such a talented story teller. Amazing.💕💕
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Thank you so much! It was fun to play with the possibilities opened up by mixing prose with poetry. And I’m thrilled you enjoyed the ride.
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You are so welcome. It seems fun and so creative. I sure did enjoy it.💕
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Awww, I’m so happy you did!
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This was so… different. In the beginning, I was not sure how those two forms of writing would mash, but I’m a believer now. Well done. A scary tale.
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Aww, I appreciate the high praise. I love experimenting with writing as a medium, including cross-genre pieces and poetic structures. It is just so much fun, and I’m thrilled you enjoyed it. ^_^
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