Kitty

by Mike Ramon

Bernie shot out of bed, unlocked the door (he didn’t stop to wonder how, if the previous day had been a dream, his door was still locked) and went looking for Tammy, for his good girl Tammy. He checked the kitchen, but her bed was empty. He went into the living room, and stopped cold in his tracks. There was a trail of mud and something else, something brighter, leading away from the living room window. The widow itself had been left open the night before (the night that was not a dream, after all), but the screen was missing, as if something had knocked it out. He followed the trail with his eyes; it disappeared down the dark hall that led to the empty garage.

  He walked slowly to the entryway of the hall. It was too dark to see the end of the hall, or the door to the garage. He reach for the witch and flipped it up, and in the light he saw Tammy, with her he rear pressed up against the closed garage door and her head buried deep into the flesh of an animal, or half of an animal rather; it looked like the hindquarters of a deer. A strange sound escaped Bernie throat then, a strangled, mewling sound. Tammy’s head came up at the sound, her muzzle smothered in gore. Bernie took one step back, and then another. Tammy stood then, and he could see that she was now as big as a mountain lion, but with that same familiar coat, gray with black patches. She growled at him, a deep, bass growl that sent adrenalin streaming through his body with a warning flashing in his mind: GET OUT! YOU ARE NOT SAFE HERE!

  He turned and ran for the front door, but halfway there he swerved for the window with the missing screen, and hoped he was making the right choice. On the one hand he wasn’t sure if his old knees could get him up and over the windowsill, and on the other hand it would save him the time it would take to unlock the deadbolt and throw back the chain on the door. He ran as fast as his legs would allow, and when he was just a couple steps away from the window, he jumped, his hands held out in front of him, trying to make his frame as small as possible so that it would fit through the window. As he went sailing through the window a feeling of pride welled up inside him.

  This old boy still has a few tricks up his sleeve, he thought triumphantly.

  Just as his feet hit the ground something hit him from behind; it felt like he had been clipped by a Mack truck. He tumbled face first onto the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He tried to lift himself up, but then a weight descended upon him, driving him back to the ground. He heard another growl, low and dangerous.

  “No, girl; it’s me. It’s me!”

  Then he heard the sound of a car engine. He looked and saw an old blue Ford coming up the driveway.

  “Help me!” Bernie called, scrambling for the car.

  The car stopped, the engine cut out, and the driver opened his door and stepped out.

  ‘No, get back in the car!” Bernie yelled.

  “What’s wrong with you, mister?” the driver asked.

  Bernie scrambled up onto his feet and looked back. Tammy was gone. The window frame with the missing screen stared back at him like a vacant eye.

  “Where did she go?” Bernie asked.

  “Who?”

  “Didn’t you see her?”

  “Mister, I just drove up here, and next thing I know you’re hollering like you just saw a ghost.”

  Bernie turned to the man, a tall guy in a cheap gray suit, with a bad hair piece on his head.

  “We have to go,” Bernie said.

  “Listen mister, I don’t know what’s goin’ on here exactly, but you need to calm down. And let me tell you, I’ve got just the thing to help you with that.”

  The man walked around to the back of the car and started fumbling with a key ring with too many keys on it.

  “What are you doing?” Bernie asked. “We have to go. It’s not safe. I’ll explain in the car.”

  “Now hold on a minute. I’ve got just the thing right here.”

  The man found the key he was looking for and slipped it into the trunk lock, popping it open. He reached into the trunk and brought out a bottle filled with a clear liquid.

  “This here is the reason why I stopped here on my way to town,” the man said. “I saw this place, and I said to myself, ‘Fred, I bet the fella who lives there could use some of that good tonic I got back there in the trunk.’ That’s exactly what I said to myself.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Well, now there’s no need for strong language, sir. I promise you this here tonic will cure any number of ailments.”

  The man closed the trunk.

  “Of course, if you don’t want any, then it’s your loss, my friend.”

  Then the man’s face changed, turning from the smug face of a slick salesman, certain that in the end you will buy whatever it is he’s selling, to the face of a man who is looking straight into the eyes of an abomination, an unspeakable horror. Bernie saw the change and acting without thinking, purely on instinct, he ducked. Something awful cut through the air above his head and slammed into the salesman. She looked even bigger now, even though it had only been a few minutes since he had last seen her. It was Tammy, improbably huge Tammy, unexplainably terrifying Tammy, who once upon a time had been Bernie’s good old girl.

  Bernie stood from his crouch and rushed around to the driver-side door. He jumped in, trying to ignore the piercing screams coming from behind the car. He slammed the door and reached for the ignition. The keys weren’t there. Then he remembered the key ring the salesman had fumbled with before opening the trunk. He scrambled then, checking the visor, the glove box, anywhere there might be a spare key. No luck. Then he thought of a book he had read many years ago called Cujo, about a mother and son who get stuck in a broken-down car while a rabid St. Bernard stands watch over them, waiting for his chance to tear them to pieces.

  To hell with that, he thought.

  He jumped out of the car and ran for the vacant window of the house. He made it to the window, but he had no strength for another leap, so this time he climbed through, first one leg, and then the other. He ran to the end table beside the couch and picked up the phone, an old, black rotary-style deal that he had owned for going on thirty years. Just as he picked it up he heard the screaming stop outside; it just cut off suddenly, as if Tammy had grown tired of playing with her food, and now wanted to turn her attention to other matters. Bernie had a bad feeling, so he hung up the receiver and picked up the whole telephone set, then headed down the hall to his bedroom, thankful for the extra-long cord keeping the phone plugged into the wall.

  Just as he made it to his room he heard something crashing into the house, and he slammed the door shut. Once again he locked it, a cat’s inability to open doors be damned. He kneeled down on the floor and set the telephone set down, then picked up the receiver. He thought about who to call, and then the obvious answer came to him: the police. As he dialed the 9 something slammed into his bedroom door. He froze for a second, and then there was another bang. It scared the crap out of Bernie, but the door was holding. He dialed the first 1 before the phone was ripped out of his hands. It clattered against the door with a hard thunk. He grabbed it up and dragged it back to him, and put the receiver to his ear. Silence. He toggled the button on the switchhook. Still nothing. He pulled on the cord, which ran under the door, and it kept coming and coming. He saw what the problem was--the end of the cord had been chewed off.

  Then Tammy slammed against the door again, and this time a crack appeared, running up the middle of the door.

  “God damn!” Bernie exclaimed.

  The bedroom window. It was the only way out now. He ran to it and pulled up on it. The damn thing wouldn’t budge. Tammy hit the door again, and Bernie could hear the sound of wood starting to shatter.

  “Come on, you son of a bitch.”

  He pulled again, and the window opened a couple of inches. There was another bang on the door, and Tammy was in the room. Bernie looked back for just a moment, and saw that she was even bigger now--the size of a male lion, at least. He turned back to the window and pulled as hard as he could, and then he was grabbed from behind. He wa
s thrown onto the bed, and he felt the bed move as Tammy climbed up with her awful weight. He could feel hot breath on the nape of his neck. Then he felt something him in the back, almost like a punch. For a second he felt nothing else, and then a hot, searing pain bloomed in the center of his back. That’s when the screaming began.