This was the moment Casanova had longed for.
“Don’t be an idiot,” the other said with a laugh, “it’s just a cat.”
With that the collar came loose.
“Not like it’s a dog.”
Casanova was finally free.
The two deputies were not ready for the fury that came next. Casanova sunk his teeth into the nearest hand. He bit down to the bone. His rear paws flew up and caught the neck of the other man. A sharp claw sliced the deputy’s artery. Casanova was hurled exactly in the direction he wanted. As his body spun in the air, Casanova kept his head turning and his eyes focused on the open door.
Casanova heard the men screaming and yelling. He heard his first gun shot. It would not be the last. Casanova landed on his feet and ran like a cat possessed. He felt the wind of the bullet that whizzed passed him as he cleared the doorway. The bleeding deputy had pulled his gun when he was cut. The first bullet was meant for the cat. The second bullet was fired when the man convulsed from the pain of his gushing wound. The wild round entered his bitten partner’s heart and killed him instantly.
Nineteen miles South West of Woodstock in the town of Accord, and six months after the bodies of Gwen and Larry Talbot, and Deputies Santiago and Dean, were found, Willard Stiles was packing up his car for a road trip. He was heading out the next morning for a new life in California. Will was grateful for the big full moon hanging high in the sky. It was providing him with all the light he would need to finish his late night packing.
The newly retired architect was looking forward to the long drive. It would give him time to reflect on what had been and what was to come. The sun would rise in a couple of hours. Will wanted to be on the road by the time it did. Everything was done. The house and its contents had been sold at a tidy profit. What little he wanted to take with him was already loaded into the car. Other than taking a shower to refresh himself the last thing he had to do was load his Coleman Koolatron P20 Compact 12 Volt Cooler.
The cooler was his new toy purchased specifically for this trip. It was sleek and compact, which appealed to him as a designer. He loaded the Koolatron with a bunch of assorted snacks and drinks, cookies and crackers, bread and sandwich meats. Will was going to plug this baby into the cigarette lighter and let its state of the art thermoelectric cooling system do its thing. Less stops meant getting there faster.
Will was glad he was just about done because he was getting winded. Perhaps a nap before that shower was in order. He was heading back to put the cooler right between the front passenger and rear seats but stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the driver’s side door was open.
He didn’t remember leaving the door open.
Everything in the car was everything left in his life. Will was a native New Yorker originally from the Bronx. Born and raised. He always locked his doors. His husband Phil kidded him about it often once they had enough money to relocate and move their design firm to upstate New York. Phil had gone ahead to California as their advance man. Will was anxious to get back to the love of his life so he brushed off his foolish notions and went to the car.
As he got closer, a stray cat jumped out of the car and ran for the woods. When he got to the car, he found it full of cats. In the moonlight, they looked like a pack of large rats rummaging through all his things. These cats were dirty, scruffy, and mangy, and they were ripping up his belongings. Will was disgusted and incensed.
“How the fuck did you open the door?” he shouted.
The cats all turned at once to face Will.
Every cat eye was on him and neither man nor beast moved a muscle. A low growl started to come from inside the car. The collective sound was meant to be unnerving and it was, but Willard was not having any of it. He went towards the passenger side door to open it and shoo the mob out. As he crossed the front of his car he was hit sideways with a blow that was strong enough to knock the wind out of him and land him on to the hood.
Willard was dazed as his body slid down off the car and onto the gravel covering the driveway. The thing that slammed into him was on top of Will in an instant. The black and white blur began clawing at him. Will raised his arms up to protect his face. The beast bit into his forearm. The architect screamed and threw a punch that landed solidly on the face of what Will assumed was a large bobcat. The creature reared back and cried out. Silhouetted against the moon the wild cat appeared enormous.
Dozens of cats then poured onto Willard’s body. They were scratching, and clawing, and biting with a murderous determination. Will tried his best to protect himself but there were so many of them that every time he took in a breath he could taste dirty fur.
Willard began screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs as he rolled his body back and forth over the loose gravel. He could barely hear his own screams over the hissing and snarling and then his pleas were all he could hear. He stopped rolling and found himself bloody and alone. The beast and the cats were all gone, and so was his Coleman Koolatron P20 Compact 12 Volt Cooler.
Fifty-two miles South East of Accord in the town of Sleepy Hollow, and nine months after Willard Stiles was viciously attacked, Donna Lacerenza was alone at home and enjoying a beer. As a single mother of two boisterous boys, she cherished solitary moments when they presented themselves. This one came courtesy of an All Hollows’ Eve.
On this Halloween night her sons, Martin and Ryan, were out with their grandma enjoying the Harvest Festival Trunk or Treat Night at Saint Teresa’s Church. Peace and quiet had been her goal when she suggested they all go without her, but Donna had ulterior motives for wanting to be alone that night. Donna wanted to visit with her mysterious new friend.
Everyone in the family called him her boyfriend. So did everyone she told about him at work. Donna thought he was handsome though entirely too hairy to be her boyfriend, but he was definitely cute enough to be one of the loves of her life. For the past three months, a black and white cat had been visiting her at night and Donna was growing ever more curious about her elusive gentleman caller.
Whatever she was doing, he would always find her. Wherever she was in the house, he would appear at the window. First or second floor did not matter, there he would be, just watching her. At first, he visited when the children were around. They both saw him on more than one occasion. Even grandma spotted him once or twice. After the first month the cat’s visits changed. After that, he only visited Donna when she was alone.
Donna Lacerenza was a determined woman and she was determined to catch the cat and bring him indoors. Whenever he appeared the cat looked clean and well kept. He wore no collar. Donna surmised that this was once a housecat that was abandoned. Perhaps he left his home on his own. He never asked for food or took any when they left some out for him. She thought he may be going back to his home for food because cats always return to their food source, but the fact that he wore no identifying collar probably meant he had several sources of food throughout the area.
Donna finished her beer, went to the kitchen, and rinsed out the can before she dropped in into the recycling bin. She had left her flashlight on the counter. She discreetly grabbed it and started walking to the back door. Out of the corner of her eye she had spotted her frequent visitor sitting on the ledge of the kitchen window. As she put her hand on the doorknob she turned to look but he was gone. Donna opened the door and stepped out on to the back porch.
There was a crisp cold chill in the air. Donna could see her breath. She stood perfectly still and listened. Nothing was moving. All was quiet. The flashlight wasn’t really necessary. There wasn’t a cloud in the night sky and a full moon was casting light between the shadows of the trees. Donna flicked it on anyway and scanned the tree line around her house.
There was a growl to her left.
Donna turned the beam of light and something ran out from the bushes under the kitchen window. Wha
tever it was it was larger than the animal that had been paying her visits. Donna opened the door of the screened in porch. She paused. All was still and quiet again. She stepped down the three steps of the little outside stairs and paused again. She began walking forward and scanning the woods with her flashlight when she heard something rustling between the trees in front of her.
Donna Lacerenza was an Animal Control officer for the Tarrytown, New York Police Department. Everyone she worked with thought she was tough as nails, but fair to a fault in the end. She had been with the department for so long that many couldn’t think of a time when she wasn’t there or wanted to imagine a time when she wouldn’t be there. She trained all the crews and held them all to her high standards. Donna was feared, loved, and respected. Everyone agreed that Donna loved her job and knew her stuff.
It was precisely because she knew her stuff that Donna couldn’t believe what her light had found. She had heard all about the legends and stories of big cats in the woods of Upstate New York. None of those stories was ever proven to be true. She knew the Eastern cougar was extinct. She knew there were still bobcats in the area but this was something altogether different.
An adult bobcat weighs in at around fifteen pounds. This cat was about the size of an adolescent mountain lion. Like the visitor that came to her windows this large figure of a cat was also black and white. Donna estimated it weighed in at close to one hundred pounds. As Donna kept the light beam on the thing before her the large cat rose up on its hind quarters and stood upright.
The beast lifted his head and the moonlight caught his eyes. The lush light filled his eyes and made them glow. Donna could not only see the effect, she could feel it. The energy that came from his eyes filled her with a deep longing. She could feel heartache and fear, confusion and loneliness, and a hunger both light and dark.
What she could sense was replaced with something she could feel physically. The large black and white cat had begun to purr. She could hear it purring quietly and even with the distance between them she could feel the tremors of the soundwaves coming towards her.
Donna was drawn to the strange creature before her. She foolishly started walking towards it when she heard several growls coming from the dark around her. It sounded like whispers in the dark. Cats began to appear at the tree line and around the house. When the whispered growls stopped, this single mother of two boys, alone by choice for the night, found herself facing, by her own count, some two hundred cats. They were all protecting their obvious leader.
Cats are naturally suspicious creatures. They’re suspicious of anything that moves rapidly, makes a lot of noise, or lights up erratically. Feral cats are especially wary of the unknown. Donna slowly brought her flashlight down to her side and turned it off. The absence of her light was replaced by moonlight being reflected in the hundreds of cat’s eyes before her. Donna began to hum as she walked backwards towards the house. Without turning her back to the colony she took each step of the little stairs slowly and carefully.
As she retreated to the relative safety of the screened in porch the gathering of cats begin to close their eyes and disappear into the woods. After she closed the door to her home, and locked it, she turned off the kitchen lights. She didn’t want to be seen. She turned to look at the window by the sink and there he was. The black and white cat was there again. They stared at each other until he jumped from the ledge and into the darkness of the forest.
Donna knew it wasn’t possible but, she believed that the beast in the woods and the cat at the windows were somehow one and the same. She never told anyone what happened that night. No one would have believed her. Donna remained grateful that she never encountered her boyfriend again.
Twenty-seven miles South of Sleepy Hollow in the city of New York, and fourteen months after Donna Lacerenza encountered a large black and white beast in the woods, Casanova was returning to the place he called home. It was a Full Cold Moon night in December and the city was resplendent in its holiday finery. The rare Christmas Eve moon hanging in the sky added the magical glow that made this homecoming special.
It was one in the morning. A light flurry of snow was falling gently but the sidewalks were still too warm to let it stick. That would change. A snow storm was expected. By mid-day the City would be buried in fourteen inches of white powder. For now the benign snowflakes mirrored the moonlight and appeared to be blanketing everything in glittering pixie dust.
The city had fallen into a holiday hush. In anticipation of the storm the streets were quiet. In that silence, Mariya woke from a dream. She heard something moving downstairs. The sound of whatever was thumping about in her shop wasn’t what woke her. With cats running around, a sound in the dark wasn’t unusual at all. What made her open her sleepy eyes was the ringing of the bell above the downstairs door.
Mariya was unnerved. Not because the tiny bell rang twice which meant the triple locked door had been opened and closed, but because Mariya could clearly hear the security code being punched into the keypad. As the sole owner of the shop she was the only person who knew the right combination of numbers to prevent the alarm from sounding and to keep the police from arriving.
Mariya Ouspenskaya was born in Poland as World War II was coming to an end. Everyone agreed that she was a beautiful baby born in a dark time. Everyone agreed that the fact she was born with her eyes opened wide marked her apart. It made her special. It meant she was gifted in some way.
Those eyes never saw her father. Cezar was killed in the waning days of the war. Her mother never recovered from the loss. Roza gave birth to Mariya, and the event brought her joy, but not enough to tame the black dog of sadness that followed her incessantly. No longer able to withstand the heartache, she took her own life when Mariya was three years old.
With both parents gone Mariya’s upbringing became the responsibility of her mother’s sister. Zofia wanted to be far from the shadow of war and its consequences so the spinster aunt took her young charge and they both fled Poland forever.
Mariya grew up in the hard lived ghettos of New York. She knew danger all her life and learned never to appear to be afraid. She threw back the blankets on her bed. A half dozen cats jumped off in the commotion. Mariya put on her robe and grabbed the baseball bat she kept by the side of the bed. She didn’t turn on any lights as she quietly began moving towards the stairs.
Mariya was missing the warmth of her bed. She had been dreaming of her aunt before the bell rang and the intrusion began. The brownstone shop was the home they settled in when they arrived in the United States. Zofia came with all the money she had and, along with Mariya’s modest inheritance, they were able to use their nest egg to purchase the small four story brick building. They lived on the second floor, used the third and fourth floors for work spaces and storage, and turned the ground floor into a dress shop.
Aunt Zofia was a gifted seamstress. In Poland, her Warsaw shop was well known before the war. Customers from all walks of life found their way there and left with a garment tailored just for them. More importantly they left with a garment that made them feel good about themselves. This was Zofia’s gift and New Yorkers were soon drawn to her. Mariya worked in the busy shop and helped with the sewing. She had a way with a needle and thread but her true gifts lay elsewhere.
At the top of the stairs Mariya stopped to listen. All was quiet in the darkened shop below.
“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?”
Mariya knew that announcing her presence wasn’t very smart but she did it anyway. She was hoping to hear the door open and close again but no such sound came. She then began to worry less about herself and more for the cats that had run of the shop.
“Hello, my babies,” she called out. “Come upstairs to mama.”
She waited but not one cat came to her call. Mariya started down the stairs. She was disheartened when the naughty kitties hadn�
�t respond to her. Mariya had a way with animals. That was her gift. She inherited it from her mother. For Roza, it was strongest with canines. For Mariya, it was strongest with felines.
Before the monolith of steel and glass was built around the little brownstone, there was an alley in the back. Someone had abandoned a car there and Mariya used it to feed the stray cats in the area. She would place bowls of food and water, on the floors and the seats, and the cats would come. No other animals would interfere. Such was Mariya’s growing energy that all she drew to her were cats.
She didn’t hear their voices in her head but she could sense their thoughts. She could feel the essence of their being. With a little practice Mariya found she could do the same with people, but people interested her less. With the exception of those she felt needed a feline friend.
Someone would walk into the dress shop and Mariya could feel it. She would pass someone on the street and she could sense it. A part of them was missing. A part of them needed a feline presence to make it all right. Soon she began taking cats from the car and giving them new homes.
Aunt Zofia passed in her sleep one night when Mariya was out delivering a cat to a woman downtown. Her aunt died alone in her bed and Mariya always felt guilty for that. In accordance with Zofia’s will, Mariya took ownership of the building and all of the money and possessions they had accumulated. Mariya was twenty five and quickly followed her heart’s desire. She closed the dress shop and one month later opened her pet shop.
Mariya flipped the light switch at the bottom of the stairs but the beautiful crystal chandelier Aunt Zofia had chosen, and loved more than the building itself, remained dark. She tried a few more times but the results were the same. Both the chandelier, and the room, would not surrender the dark.
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