Claws of Death

Whiskers is a small, furry, and very lonely cat. With guardians as neglectful as his, who would blame him for going off the deep end?

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1. Claws of Death

Once upon a time, there was a cat named Whiskers. He was small, and furry, as most cats are theorized to be. He spent most of his time in the basement of the Brown family home, chasing rats, and other such tiny rodents, as most cats are theorized to do.

The Browns were not a reclusive people. They often were out on the town, held social gatherings of various sorts, and spent time with friends. There was nary a day that they were cooped up in their home. Whiskers was, understandably, quite lonely.  

He tried to get their attention, time and time again, however they were ordinary humans. And, like most ordinary humans, they didn’t understand the complex emotions that cats felt. They simply saw him as something they had to feed, and house.  

Whiskers did not like this.  

So, in the dark of night, when the Brown family finally strayed from their active lifestyle in order to get a few hours of sleep, he plotted. He plotted of ways to get noticed. He plotted of ways to be loved.  

He plotted revenge.  

And, it was on one of these nights that Whiskers finally put his plan into motion.  

He crept through the house, to the upstairs, where his owners slept, and slipped into their bedroom. He slinked up, around, and onto the bed, quietly and quickly reaching Mr. Brown’s face. He smiled grimly, in that way only a cat can, as his claws stretched forward.  

In one swift motion, they sliced through the skin of the man’s throat. His eyes flashed open, and he tried to scream, but no sound came out… except for a gurgle. Blood rushed from the open wound, and within a minute, he was dead.  

Mrs. Brown slept on.  

But, not for long. He slunk around the bed, paws leaving little red footprints behind him. He meowed quietly, but it was enough to wake her up.  

“Whiskers? Do you need to go out?” she grumbled, shifting towards her husband. Whiskers laughed to himself as her face became confused… “Oh, honey, did Whiskers go on our bed? That’s gro-”  

Then… she opened her eyes.  

She gaped for a moment, but before she could scream, Whiskers jumped on her face, sticking his tail in her mouth. Her shout was muffled, and tears ran over her cheeks as the cat grinned wickedly.  

“Well, well, well, Mrs. Brown. This is… different, isn’t it?”  

Her eyes widened exponentially as the cat spoke, trying to scream again, and still failing miserably.  

“Now, then, dear Mrs. Brown, I’ll make things very clear to you,” he went on. “You can either comply with me, or I’ll kill another member of your family. Are you willing to hear my proposition?”  

Ignoring him completely, she tried to scream again. He tutted sadly, and scratched her face brutally, hitting her with enough force to disorient her for a few minutes. Plenty of time.  

He jauntily padded into their thirteen year old son’s room. The boy was sound asleep, not even stirring from the commotion in his parents’ room. The cat leapt onto his bed, and, before the boy could even flicker his eyelids, ripped a large, gruesome hole in his chest. The child started to scream, but Whiskers clamped his jaws around the boy’s neck, puncturing his windpipe with his teeth. The boy’s terrified, pain-ridden yell cut off nearly instantly, and he went limp.  

Whiskers’ grin, now crimson, was even more ghastly than before.  

He peeked into the daughter’s room, to make sure she was still asleep. When he saw that she was, he returned to Mrs. Brown, grinning like a kitten on crack. She stared uncomprehendingly at the wall. “Well, Mrs. Brown. I’ve just killed your son. So, if you didn’t believe me before, you have to now. Are you going to do as I say?”

Mrs. Brown nodded dumbly, her face trapped in a mindless stare, as tears ran down her cheeks.  

…  

The Browns were not a reclusive people. They often were out on the town, held social gatherings of various sorts, and spent time with friends. There was nary a day that they were cooped up in their home.  

Only, recently, no one had seen much of the Browns. The little girl still went to school, but her brother was nowhere to be found. This caused concern among the teachers, as some would theorize it would. When approached, the girl would adopt a sad expression, and say she doesn’t know when he’ll be coming back, but otherwise remain silent. No one ever saw Mrs. Brown or her husband.  

Rumors flew, as some would theorize to happen. Some say that he ran off with a younger woman, taking the boy with him. Others say that they’re just on vacation, and the younger girl didn’t want to go and they had a relative look after her. Still others wonder if they’re even alive.  

However, people do see a strange woman, a strangely familiar woman, with strange scars on her face, going into the pet store every single day, and leaving with the most expensive, most decadent cat food that money can buy. She never speaks, aside to thank whoever is working the register that day. If anyone stops her, tries to talk to her, she just ducks her head lower still in her slouched stance and ignores them. Some would theorize there’s an edge of desperation in her actions… Whiskers knows this to be the truth.

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