“I’m writing because I don’t have anything better to do, because I need you to know the truth and because it’s the only thing that he’ll let me do.
What happened is so bizarre, paranormal and illogical that I can’t think of many people who would believe what I’m about to tell. I’m a writer for a very demanding editorial, I had just finished writing a great self-help book, but it had some mistakes and I had been ordered to fix them and re-submit my work one week later.
I had always been a huge animal fan, and I’m not in my hometown. I came here because the main office of the editorial is in this city. I’m only on a trip and come from far away, so I wasn’t able to bring my pets. I’m staying at a small appartment with no company, and I was heading to a pet store to get a temporary roommate so I won’t feel alone while I do the fixing.
On my way to the place I ran into a cat with no eyes. Oddly, it didn’t made me scared, it even made me feel pity for it, so I decided to take it with me. I regret doing that.
I took it to the vet to check he wasn’t sick. He just had a small infection in his leg, but it was barely showing up, so it was easy to cure. In the vet’s room it was easy to notice that I was the only one who wasn’t disgusted by the animal’s situation. I never named it, both for not having time and not wanting to become attached to it.
Once in my place, I let him play all over the appartment. Despite being blind, it knew exactly where he was and how to move around. That didn’t strike me as strange, all I thought was how sassy the poor animal must have felt.
While he was playing, I started fixing the first mistakes of my book in my laptop. I went to sleep, everything normal. It was until the next morning when everything began.
Believe it or not, when I woke up, in front of me (I was looking to the ceiling) was a man staring into my eyes, standing next to my bed. Or at least that’s what I thought he was doing, since that man had no eyes to see me, just a pair of empty eye sockets. I screamed like any normal person would do, I was paralized, then the man drops to the floor and starts walking on all fours, snuggles in a corner, pulls out a notebook and a pen from his bag and starts writing.
I was brave enough to rise my head, the man didn’t react. Little by little I stood up, taking advantage of his concentration on his notebook, I approached the door and tried to open it. There was something under it, jamming it; I tried to pull it out, every time more desperately but nothing happened. I got near the window, it was covered with a lot of notebook sheets. I noticed they were the draft where I had first written my book. Few light beams came through, barely enough to light up the room. I tried to remove them but they were perfectly stuck; I hit it without any result.
I turned around and from the corner the man was staring at me, with the creepy inner darkness of his eyes. Scared as shit and shivering I made an effort to say: “who are you? what do you want from me?”. I got a loud meow as an answer. That made me think a little, I looked around, the man still staring at me with his non-existent, fixated and penetrating stare upon me. I couldn’t find the blind cat anywhere; that’s when it hit me: that thing unceasingly looking at me was my cat.
When he noticed I knew what was happening, he got near me. I desperately and pointlessly tried to get out of his reach, and he snuggled with me purring. I was about to cry. When I saw he fell asleep, I tried to think of a solution. I couldn’t do anything; if I moved I’d wake him up. God knows why, I fell asleep.
I woke up and there he was again in his corner, writing in his small notebook, staring at me every now and then just to keep writing on his notebook. I stood up, this time more confident since I had noticed he wasn’t planning to hurt me. I was hungry, then the panic came again: I was locked in my own bedroom, I wasn’t able to go out to the kitchen, I didn’t have anything to eat. While I thought about this I heard a soft creak, it was the cat’s stomach. Both of us looked at the same point, his belly, then he stared at me, with nothing to do and I, with my hair standing on end due to his dark, penetrating look, told him half-stuttering: “I can’t go out to the kitchen, only if you let me out we’ll be able to eat”. After hearing this the looked at my face for two seconds and went back to his notebook. I thought and looked for other solutions. There weren’t any: I was and still am locked up here with him
I could only think of one thing: that someone rescued me. In less than a week, the editorial would notice that I never showed up, they would try to make contact with me, I wouldn’t answer, they would call the cops and they would break in here. If the cat has able to become human or humanoid, or whatever that thing is, it will be able to go back to being a cat. Then it will seem as if I’d locked myself in the room, and the cat will walk out innocent and trick someone else. It is at this moment that I begin to write this, so when they come in and find me starved to death, they read this and do something with that fucking cat.
It’s been three days since I last wrote, I’m starving and he is too, but he won’t do anything. He just keeps writing, looking at me, as if he was analyzing me, I’m his experiment, his test dummy. What does he want from me? Why is he doing this? Am I the first one he’s ever done this to? I want to go out, I want that cat to get away from me, I can’t do anything to him, I wouldn’t change anything, I’ll still be trapped in here if I kill him, I must play along, finish his test, maybe then he’ll let me out, maybe then I’ll be free, I just have to wait, let him finish, not worry and keep calm. I’m on the edge of madness, help please, HELP, HELP ME, I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE, HELP!”
Text found next to a body inside the apartment. The body was found on the bed, on top of it there was a black, eyeless cat. The body was missing pieces of skin, under his hands there were flesh remains, and the creepiest: it looked like someone tore his eyes out. The cops, before reading this, thought stress drove the writer mad enough lo lock himself up and feed his cat and himself with his own flesh. The notebook found next to the corpse suggests something else. As soon as the cops broke into the room, the cat turned around and looked at them with the deep darkness of his empty eye sockets. He stared at one of them and oddly enough he was the only one who wasn’t possessed by panic. He took the cat in his arms while the rest searched the place. When everyone left, and before anyone could read the diary, that cop headed straight home with the cat. There have been no news about him or his famili for more than 4 days.