Look what the cat dragged in

The soft breeze caressed my face, bringing with it the scent of the ocean. Small waves washed up against the shore, embracing my feet. It was calming, yet my heart was still racing, the pounding of the organ echoing throughout my body—in my ears, my veins, my vision was flickering with each beat. I felt an urge to go farther into the ocean that awaited me. I listened. The water that surrounded me like a blanket, dulling my senses, calming me. The water reached my shoulders, but the urge to go farther stayed. I did. I moved farther till I was sinking into the dark, something pulling me down.

My vision went, embraced by the never-ending darkness. The pressure that should have crushed me was absent— I felt like I was floating. Nothing moved, the particles froze, the slow currents dissipated. Suddenly, a light shone in the distance. It was pale light, bobbing in the darkness like a fishing line. I couldn’t resist—I moved towards it. The brightness increased as I approached it, becoming a light blue as I drew closer. Soon, I reached the light, the enticing glow filling my eyes like a moth to a flame. I reached out, trying to grasp it.

It jerked out of my reach, and I moved again. I reached out again, this time slowing my movements. Patiently, I wrapped my hands around it, the light pulsing with life. It had a fleshy texture, smooth and wet. As I gazed at the light, I felt the water shift below me. Looking down, I see a horrifying sight: a giant beast made of human flesh, with bones sticking out, forming what almost looks like fins. Oversized teeth jutting out of its mouth, and small eyes that held too much knowledge. It sat motionless in the water, its eyes peering through my soul. The bulb was still in my hand, and before I knew it, the beast lunged—

I woke up with the taste of salt clinging to the roof of my mouth. The ceiling looked wrong—as if it were poured instead of built. I blinked, waiting for reality to return to normal. The air felt still. I could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs. The house was always this quiet during the day.

I coughed, half expecting water to come spilling out. None came. Only the memory of sinking stayed. The memory of something pulling me down. Inhaling, I looked around from my bed—something felt wrong. Like something else had been breathing right next to me before I woke. Outside, the cicadas had gone silent.

Marlow wasn’t curled up next to me. Of course, he wasn’t. He was always gone in the mornings, playing outside.

I lived on the outskirts of town—not far enough away to be isolated but close enough to be known. A narrow road lined with leaning trees and old buildings fading into the forest. I worked nights at the 24-hour diner off Route 6, pouring coffee for truckers— they spoke softly of things they had seen in the treeline while driving. I slept when the sun rose. At least I tried to, anyway.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed—creaking with the shifting weight. The floorboards groaned beneath me, the sound of an old house. It was familiar; it should have been comforting. Instead, it sounded different, like the house was reacting. Listening.

I went downstairs to open the back door. The woods waited. Dense. Still. The color of wet stones and dewy grass. Trees that looked older than they were. Older than the memory of the town, of the streets, before the sawmill closed, before everything became quiet. Marlow slipped from the treeline like he had always been there.

His fur was a deep black. The kind that swallowed the light. The sun hit him, but nothing reflected. His eyes were wide and calm, too calm. He walked towards me, tail high and proud, paws soundless on the porch. He moved like he owned the place. Like he had always owned it.

“Where did you go?” I asked. Not expecting an answer. He only blinked. But it felt as if he understood the question.

That night, I fell asleep before the sun fully set. I had the night off, thankfully. I dreamt of the ocean again—not the waves or a romantic date, but the dark beneath. The place where light goes to drown. Something was calling. Waiting. I woke up to something wet pressed against my cheek. Warm. Soft. I jolted awake.

Marlow sat beside my head, purring lightly, while the slick, warm thing clung to my skin. My fingers trembled as I reached it. A tongue. Human and pink. Still alive. I didn’t scream.

I placed the tongue in a bag and stored it in the freezer. I don’t know why— why I didn’t report it. Marlow sat beside me, curling around my legs, purring softly, like a lullaby meant to keep me calm. As if this was expected of me. The next morning, the poster started appearing.

Missing. The picture showed a small girl with brown eyes and a hot pink coat. Who was last seen near the woods. The woods that begin near my backyard. The woods that Marlow always disappeared to. My hands shook—not from fear but from understanding. A slow, creeping understanding.

When I got home, the freezer hummed. One bag inside. Waiting. I didn’t look at it. I couldn’t.

The next night, Marlow brought a hand. Dirt packed underneath the nails, so deep that almost the entire nail was black. The skin was still warm. The fingers would twitch. I had no idea if it was still alive or if it was just nerve stimulation. I sat on the kitchen floor. Marlow curled in my lap.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” I whispered. The house was quiet. The forest breathed. I breathed. Marlow blinked—slow and deliberate— as if he had all the time in the world. As though he was waiting for me to catch up.

Days passed, and Marlow brought another piece each night. The freezer is half full now. A tongue, a hand, a braided scalp, and something wrapped in a cloth I haven't opened. Each night, I dream about that monster. The light I held in my hand. And each night the monster got closer. Its eyes became clearer; they held recognition. Like it was looking at something that had yet to return home.

The woods call to me as I stand on my porch. Not loud. Not obvious. Just a subtle shift in the air, and the desire to venture farther into the forest. Marlow sits at my feet, staring. Patient. Waiting. I haven’t followed him. But I know I will. Eventually. The freezer still hums. The woods stay waiting.

But I understand this much: I was never meant to stop him. I was only supposed to receive what he brought. To be prepared. To be collected.

That night I couldn’t sleep. Not because of work or fear. But because the woods were calling. Not with sound— with memory. The memory of sinking. The memory of the pale light. The memory of something waiting for me to return. I got up—I had to. I ventured through the house, each step taking me closer to my back door. I reached out, my hand grasping the warm metal of the handle.

Marlow sat beside me, tail curled around his paws. I don’t know when he got here, or if he was always there. He didn't look up at me. He didn’t need to—he knew. And he had been waiting. Waiting for a long time. I opened the door.

The night air rushed against my face like water. It was heavy—a pleasant weight. It tasted of salt, but the ocean was miles away. The forest was silent—but not empty. Marlow stepped forward. I followed. The trees parted for him as we reached the edge of the forsaken forest. Not as a path but as a welcome.

The deeper we walked, the more the forest shifted around us. Trees bent in smooth curves. Leaves bunch up at the tops of the trees. Flowers sprout from the ground, blooming and glowing. Nothing echoed here. It embraced the sound, stole it. Every breath felt like it belonged to something else— something that shouldn’t be alive.

Eventually, we reached an old oak tree. The largest tree I had ever seen. Its bark was thick, ridged, twisted like knotted muscles. Marlow sat at its roots. The ground breathed. Something shifted beneath the soil. Tendrils curled in a circle, altering the ground above it. The pocket of earth inside the circle opened, not like a dug hole, but like a parting mouth.

I should have been terrified. But I felt only… recognition. Like stepping back into the water I kept dreaming of. I knelt. Roots came up from the hole and brushed against my wrist, grabbing them—gently, almost affectionately. More came out of the hole, wrapping around my chest and legs. They dragged me into the open earth— I felt as if I was floating. Roots broke through my skin, gently grabbing my ribs, spine, and heart. The pain wasn’t sharp. It was intimate. Slow. Like I was being reshaped, not destroyed.

My bones softened. Skin hardened. My lungs filled with something sweet— sap, maybe— I didn’t choke. Leaves unfurled from my skin. The world dimmed around the edges. Not pitch dark— just distant. A single flower bloomed in my palm, pale blue and glowing. It was like I was holding the light in my dream again, yet this time the monster was nowhere to be found.

Marlow jumped down the hole. And curled around what used to be my thigh. His purring vibrated through the wood. The tree— the thing beneath the earth— the hunger older than the town, older than the road, older than the people— whispering without a sound: Look what the cat dragged in.

My mouth was gone. But my eyes stayed open, and I could see everything. I could feel the others in the roots—still alive, still growing, still waiting. I wasn’t alone. I never was. The woods breathed, and the forest grew.