The wolves were chasing me through the dark woods, I could see their eyes glinting in the shadows behind me. They were making up ground; they were catching me. I found myself on the edge of the woods, the part where it meets the highway. I was about to race across the road to safety, when a huge truck bore down on me. I could see the driver’s face; he looked familiar. He was laughing, and held a smoking gun in his hand. I was caught in the headlights, in the middle of the road. All I could do was close my eyes and wait for the impact.
I awoke and shook myself out of the dream. Dawn was breaking, and the silence told me they were still sleeping. I crept down the hall and pushed open their bedroom door. I glanced around the room, the floor was littered with yesterday’s newspapers, half-empty teacups, the Highsmith novels, damp towels and discarded underwear.
I yawned and stared at the two of them. I thought of waking them, but they appeared tired and dishevelled in the pale morning light. He had one arm over her, as if protecting her from bad dreams or demons. There was a sense of quiet loss about them. I decided to let them sleep and made my way to the kitchen to eat an early breakfast. The dawn beckoned, and I figured a walk along the beach might do me good.
I thought of them as my parents, though I knew they were not. It was just more natural to think of them in that way. I owed them everything. I pictured them laying there, their heads together on the same pillow. There has been a period of sadness, as if they had suffered some sort of loss. I do not know the whole story, I have learned to respect their privacy. I just know when something is wrong. It is an instinct I was born with.
I strolled toward the beach, the sun was coming up, and I was thankful for the early warmth. The beach was desolate, just the crash of surf breaking on the shore. The sand felt soft and comforting between my toes. In the summer, there will be more time to explore the shore, or walk the woods, concealed from the eyes of the world under the towering trees.
I visualized them both, trapped in their bizarre world of books and newspapers. so many newspapers. They are as much a constant as the ringing of the phones, the hushed conversations – the hidden meanings and the dark looks. The endless tapping on the keyboard in the search of the truth, so often lost between the chattering arses and the digital lies. I pondered why they had to live this way. I am not sure they realise that I understand their world, but I do. I think and breathe their world; I watch television and listen to the radio. I know who Piers Morgan and Taylor Swift are. Every day I breathe in their smoke; I hear their laughter in the night, and I witness how swiftly their mood can change. In the end, I feel what they feel.
My life is decidedly different from theirs. I am content to be myself. I have very little left to prove, and no desire to better myself. Sometimes I sense I am destined to live a life of quiet desperation.
If you happen to read this, perhaps you would let them know that I love being with them. Tell them that I enjoy their music, although I have no choice in what I hear. Occasionally I try to sing along, as they dance together in the dark. They merely stare at me and laugh.
Recently, I have learned to lock, and unlock doors, and to read books. I can also write, and today, for the first time, I Googled myself. This, you must not tell them. Soon I plan to write a book.
You need to know I am a natural born killer. Killing is my life, and I am extremely effective at it. I have already killed twice today, and it’s only 2pm.
So be scared, be very scared, and bear this one thought in mind. There are very few around here, apart from me, that are privy to the truth.
I am watching you.
I am the cat.
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