Cat's Cradle

by William W. Johnstone

  Betty Reynolds opened the door wide. The men looked in. The home was immaculate. Neat as that pin. Nothing out of place. She waved them inside.

  Both men stood, too stunned to speak. Neither could quite believe their eyes.

  Betty said, “You both must be mistaken. There’s been no trouble here. My husband came in just after I called the sheriff’s office. I’m so sorry I forgot to call you.” She paused. She seemed to have trouble making her lower jaw stay in place. Her words were slurry. A bit of spittle oozed past her lips. “I’ve been shopping in Farmville all morning. Just got back about a half hour ago.”

  Dan sighed. He didn’t know what to say. She was lying, sure, but? ... Taylor said, “Do you, ah, mind if we look around?”

  “Not at all, Captain.”

  The entire home was neat. No paintings or drawings on the walls. No broken glass or litter. The toaster was back on the counter.

  With a huge dent in its side.

  The back screen door had been repaired. But there was no glass in the once shattered kitchen window.

  The men excused themselves and left.

  When the front door closed, Betty picked up the phone and called the high school. She seemed to understand the gruntings from the other end of the line. More spittle oozed from her mouth. She grunted into the phone.

  Had the men returned to the house and looked in, they would have seen Betty Reynolds and her kids, ages fourteen through eighteen, standing in the living room, holding hands and humming. Their cat sat on the TV, swaying back and forth to the humming.

  The house was a mess, littered and trashy, the paintings and drawings very much in evidence on the walls.

  When the front door closed behind the cops, the toaster fell off the counter.

  In the car, rolling toward the high school, Dan said, “She’s lying.”

  “Hell, yes, she is. But why?”

  “There is no way she could have straightened up that mess and removed all those drawings from the walls.”

  “But she did, Dan! They’re gone.”

  “Were they really gone, Tay?”

  “Old son, don’t start with that. I’m goosy enough as is.”

  “All right, let’s look at it like this: did we really see those drawings? Could it have been some sort of illusion? Or was what we just left some sort of illusion?”

  Taylor shook his head. “What’s next, Dan? Calling a priest to perform an exorcism?”

  Dan forced a smile. “We might have to. I don’t know of any Baptist preachers who would agree to it.”

  A devout Catholic, Taylor had a good laugh at just the mental picture of that.

  “That was blood running down the the wall this morning,” Taylor said. “Blood out of crayon.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Both men were then silent as they drove to the high school. Pulling into the lot, Dan said, “I don’t see Mickey’s car.”

  They parked and sat for a moment, staring at the empty building, neither of them liking the vibes they were receiving.

  Dan picked up his mike and called in, giving his location. “Send backup and roll silent, please.”

  “Ten four, Ruger One. Rolling.”

  Taylor said, “One of these days, someone’s going to come up with a code for a cop’s hunch, huh?”

  “I sure heard that.”

  The men got out and walked toward the high school. They tried the two double-doors in the front. Locked. Dan banged on the doors. Nothing. He looked through the glass of the doors. He could see only muted murkiness.

  “I don’t like the feeling I’m getting,” Taylor said.

  “Nor I. Let’s wait for the backup.”

  The deputy’s car rolled up, tires crunching on the gravel. Dan waved Bowie to a halt. “See if the back doors are unlocked. Call us if one of them is open. Look in, but don’t go inside.”

  Bowie nodded and pulled around back.

  “Your staff is young, Dan,” Taylor observed.

  “Yes. Most of them under thirty. I’ve been rebuilding since I took office. They’re all good cops, though. Not a hotdog in the bunch.”

  “Ever have one of those?”

  “Two of them in ten years. I fired both of them.”

  “I heard that.”

  Bowie got out of his car and walked up to one of the school’s back doors. Locked. He tried the next one. The doorknob turned in his hand. He opened it wider and looked inside. He looked to the right. Nothing. The gym was empty and silent. He looked to his left.

  And looked into the face of hell.

  * * *

  Finished with his finals, Mike sat in his car on campus and finished reading the last few pages of the old, dog-eared book. It was one of the few copies left in print on ancient religions. He’d had the book for several years, but had forgotten it. When he recalled it, he’d had to spend several hours in the attic of his parents’ home searching for it.

  The book had been published in the mid-1800’s, in England. It had never been reissued because none of the stories in the book could be substantiated. Most religious experts and historians had scoffed at the book, ridiculing the writer, sending him into oblivion.

  But shortly after the book was published, the author had been murdered. His body gnawed on, drained of blood. Cat tracks had been found in the blood around the half-eaten body.

  “Shit! Mike said, settling back in the seat and rereading the last story in the book. A chapter about a group called the Cat People. As he read, a cold, eerie feeling crept over him. Despite himself, he could not help but look up and glance around him.

  “A child and a cat,” he read aloud. “The girl and the cat are capable of changing forms, one into the other. They must survive on human flesh and blood. The bite is highly infectious, and can produce strange effects on humans, from rapid aging to a rabies-like condition. In times of great stress, the child, always named Anya, after a woman who supposedly mated with Satan, forming the religion, is thought to have the ability to call on Satan or one of his minions. The religion supposedly originated in Egypt but is rumored to be worldwide.

  “Shiitt!” Mike said.

  “What are you mumbling about?” Carl asked.

  Mike jumped up, banging his head on the interior roof of the car. “Oww! Damn, you scared me.”

  Carl laughed at him.

  “You all through with your finals?” Mike asked.

  “Finished. What’s wrong, Mike?”

  “You mind some company at your house?”

  “You know I don’t. Mom and Dad are always glad to see you. Even if you do destroy Mom’s food budget,” he needled his friend.

  Mike ignored the jab. He leaned over and opened the door on the passenger side. “Get in. I think I’ve found what your dad is looking for.”

  “Do I have time to pack?”

  “No.”

  * * *

  Bowie recoiled in shock and horror and screamed as the dark-skinned, wrinkled-looking creature leaped at him, riding him down to the gym floor. He threw up his arm, shielding his face. Raw pain ripped through him as the thing’s teeth tore great hunks of meat from the young deputy’s right arm. Blood slicked the gym floor. With his good arm, his left one, Bowie managed to get his club out of the ring. He hammered at the head of the creature. Dark stinking blood leaped from the cuts on the man-like creature. What had once been Mickey howled in pain and rolled away from the deputy, strange gruntings coming from his mouth. Bowie rolled the other way, his left hand fumbling for his .357. Mickey staggered and lurched across the gym floor, slipping and sliding in his haste. Bowie fired, the pistol awkward in his left hand. He missed, the lead tearing up a section of the gym floor, the lead whining off. Mickey ducked beneath the bleachers.

  Dan and Taylor were moving before the sounds of Bowie’s screaming had echoed away. Together, the men kicked open the front doors of the school, running inside.

  “The gym is in the back,” Dan said. “That way.” He pointed. “Bowie! Bowie! Sing out!” />
  “In the gym, Sheriff!” came the shout. “But Jesus God, be careful.”

  Taylor took one look at the bloody deputy and ran out the back to the deputy’s car, radioing in for help and an ambulance. He jerked Bowie’s shotgun out of the clamps on the front of the cage and ran back inside.

  “Where’d he go, son?” Taylor asked.

  “Under the bleachers, Captain.”

  “Hang on, boy. Help’s on the way.” Taylor quickly inspected Bowie’s arm. Great hunks of meat were gone from the forearm. He could see the whiteness of bone. A pressure bandage would do no good. Using Bowie’s belt, Taylor fixed a tourniquet, stopping the gushing of blood.

  “That’s against policy, Captain,” Bowie joked. “Don’t you know I’m liable to get me a slick lawyer and sue you for doing that?”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Taylor said. “I’ll say the devil made me do it.”

  Mickey had climbed up into the top of the bleachers, pushed open a crawlspace entrance, and was now making his way through the darkness, on his hands and knees, moving over the classrooms, toward the far end of the school.

  “Was it Mickey Reynolds, son?” Taylor asked.

  “I swear to you, Captain, I don’t know what in the hell it was. It was a monster.” The deputy’s words ended with a low moan of pain. His arm was turning black, the skin wrinkling.

  “Taylor?” Dan called.

  “Yo!”

  “Get on the horn. Tell the backups to surround the school.”

  “Right.”

  “Just like cowboys and Indians,” Bowie said.

  Mickey was scurrying like a rat through the darkness. He reached the far end of the building and kicked his way through the ceiling tile, dropping down into the science room. He opened a window and climbed out, running to the garage area. There, he caught his breath and raced for the creek that ran behind the school. He forced himself to wade through the water, heading downstream, loathing every second the water touched his flesh. He angled toward the other side and carefully picked his way up the bank, staying in heavy brush, hiding his footprints. He disappeared into the back of a store in a small shopping center and crawled behind some boxes and crates.

  There, he rested.

  It was Chuck who first spotted the open window on the side of the school. He wheeled his car in close and jumped out, looking in through the window, spotting the hole in the ceiling. He yelled for Dan.

  “He’s out and runnin,’ Dan,” Chuck said. “Was it Mickey?”

  Dan looked at the hole in the ceiling. “Damn! We don’t know, Chuck. Bowie’s going into shock. He’s in bad shape. Arm all mangled.”

  “Bitten?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Yeah. Goddamnit, Chuck, I’ve had it. Screw the OSS and Dodge and everybody concerned with this crap. This is getting too big and too ugly and too dangerous. No more coverups.”

  “No, Sheriff. We don’t go public.”

  Dan and Chuck spun around. The man called Lou stood smiling at them. “We must not unduly alarm the citizens, gentlemen,” he said.

  “I’d like to see you stop me,” Dan said. “Goddamn you, Lou—or whatever your name is—this crap has gone far enough.”

  “It’s only just beginning, Sheriff,” Lou said.

  At that moment, none of the people involved could realize just how true the man’s words were.

  “That’s your butt! Dan popped.

  Lou’s smile never wavered. “That’s an interesting choice of words, Sheriff. We thought you might have a change of heart, being the public-spirited gentleman that you are.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold chain with a tiny gold heart attached. “Recognize this, Sheriff?”

  Dan lifted his eyes from the chain and heart. His eyes were filled with black hate and rage. “I’ll kill you, Lou.”

  Lou laughed at him.

  Chuck put out his hand, restraining Dan, as his eyes picked up the forms of half a dozen men moving closer. Lou’s people.

  “Easy, Dan. We’re outgunned.”

  Dan stood and cursed the OSS man.

  The gold chain and tiny heart belonged to Dan’s daughter, Carrie.

  * * *

  “All we have to do is wait,” Anya said. The cat looked at her, understanding. “The mortals have made things much easier for us. They have unknowingly released the Old Ones.”

  The cat stretched, arching its back. It seemed to smile. The cat padded to a window in the storage garage and looked out. Several dozen cats had gathered around the building. They lay resting and sleeping on the ground, dozing in the warmth of the sun.

  “More are gathering?” Anya asked.

  Pet looked at her, passing a silent message.

  “Very good,” Anya said. “When it is time, those who have interfered will learn the power of the cat. Right, Pet?”

  Again, the cat seemed to smile. Turning back to the window, Pet yowled. The cats spread out, encircling the building. Some of them moved to the woods’ edge, almost as if they were standing guard.

  They were.

  There were cats of all types and sizes and breeds. House cats to alley cats. Strays and pampered pets. But these would never again serve-as far as a cat ever serves—any human master. They had found another master.

  Anya’s eyes held a glow she had not experienced in hundreds of years. Her lips curved in a smile, a smile that was the very essence of wickedness. “I believe our being awakened was not simply a matter of fate, Pet. We were called. The human was an unwitting messenger. We were right in assuming the Old Ones were all about us.”

  Pet cocked her head. Her yellow eyes glowed.

  Anya laughed. It was not the laugh of a young girl. The laughter held the pent-up evil of two thousand years.

  17

  “Relax, Sheriff,” Lou said, his smile never leaving his lips. “Your little girl is just fine and dandy. She’s at home, I believe. One of my people went into her bedroom last night and got this little bauble. I just wanted to show you how easy it would be-if it came to that. It doesn’t have to; it’s all up to you.”

  “Lou . . .” Dan sputtered, his rage just barely contained.

  “Lamotta, Sheriff. Lou Lamotta.”

  “Sure, Lou. I’m sure that’s your real name.”

  Lou shrugged. “It’ll do, Sheriff. I’ve used it before.”

  Dan sized the man up. They were about the same age, but Lou was a mass of muscle. A big, solid, dark-complexioned man. Dark eyes that gave away nothing. Dan didn’t think he could take the man with his hands. But he could goddamn sure shoot him.

  Something flickered in Lou’s eyes. “I wouldn’t try it, Sheriff. It would be a stupid move.”

  “But a very delicious thought, Lamotta.”

  “You don’t have the guts to do it, Sheriff. There’s too much law and order in you.”

  “Don’t put too much weight on that thought, Lamotta.”

  Lou nodded. His smile was gone. He, too, was sizing up the man in front of him. Lou reached the conclusion that Dan Garrett was harder than he at first thought.

  “The thing in the school house?” Lou asked. “Was it Mickey Reynolds?”

  “We don’t know,” Dan said. “The deputy’s not sure what it was. It probably was Mickey.” Damned if he was going to tell the man about the Reynolds’ house. He was going to drag his feet whenever possible.

  “Well, we have more problems, Sheriff. So I’ll have your deputy taken out to our facilities. I say problems; if we can isolate and control it, we’ll have the ultimate weapon.

  “You idiot!” Dan flared. “You’ll kill everyone in this county in search of a weapon that you thought might give you the upper hand over the Russians, wouldn’t you, Lou?”

  “Yes.” He stepped closer. “Now you hear me out, Sheriff. You and your boys find this Reynolds character. And when you do, call us. You don’t tell the people of this hick town a thing. Nothing. You know the drill, Sheriff. You keep your mouth shut. Ti
ght! I’ve already talked with your deputies—most of them. I can nail two or three for income tax evasion. Don’t make any difference whether it was deliberate, or not. Three of them are in some kind of military reserve or guard. I can have them jerked back in active so fast they won’t know what hit them. And then it gets unpleasant for them. You want me to continue or do you get the message?”

  Dan met the man’s stony gaze. “I get the message,” he said.

  “Fine. I knew you were a reasonable man, Sheriff. But just let me add this one little thing. Don’t screw up and talk to the press. ’Cause if you do, I’ll take your daughter and your wife and pass them around to the boys.” He grinned. “And the girls. I might even video tape it and play it back for you. And your son, Carl? He could very easily get picked up on a coke charge. Now do you copy all that?”

  “Yeah.” Dan popped back at him. “I sure do.”

  “Fine.” Lou laughed aloud. “You’re a real wimp, Sheriff. Now run along and do your little country hick sheriff bit.”

  Lou and his people stepped into the school and were soon out of earshot. Taylor walked up, joining Dan and the chief deputy.

  “I heard it all, Dan,” the trooper said. “I thought stuff like this only happened in the movies?”

  “Strangely,” Dan replied, “so did I.”

  “You think he means it?”

  Before Dan could answer, Chuck said, “I do. I think he’s just crazy enough to act sane. I think he’d do anything he felt had to be done. And I also think he’d enjoy doing it. He probably tortured little puppy dogs when he was a kid.”

  “And pulled the wings off little birds,” Taylor added.

  “Yeah.”

  Another deputy panted up. “We lost him, Sheriff. He went into the creek. We can’t find out where he came out.”

  “Call Mr. Mathews. Get the dogs.”

  “Yes, sir. It’ll be a couple hours before he can get here, though. Get everything lined out.”

  “All right. Get hold of him.”