The Cats of Willowbrook

I.

Elliot had never liked costumes. He was much more at ease when he could blend into the background – preferably in the dusty corners of the Willowbrook Library. The thought of people staring at him was enough to make him sweat.

But this year, his best friend Marcy had cornered him with a grin and a dare. He always found himself acting weird when she was around. It was like half of his brain just shut down whenever she came around. Nobody else would ever be able to corner him into going to the Harvest Festival – not that anyone else would even bother to try.

“Come on, Elliot. The Harvest Festival is the biggest event of the year! You can’t just show up in jeans. You have to wear something … memorable.”

Memorable. The word echoed in his head like a challenge he hadn't asked for. Elliot hated attention. He hated crowds. But Marcy's eyes sparkled with mischief, and he couldn't quite find a reason to say no. So here he was, standing in his attic two days before the festival, staring at the contents of a closet filled with clothes that once belonged to his parents.

Doubt clouded his mind. Why did he even think there would be something memorable to be found here? His hand dove into the pile of fabric, not really searching for anything. He grabbed the first thing that didn't feel like a jute bag and pulled out a bright orange outfit.

A closer inspection revealed a giant pumpkin suit. It was round, bright orange, and – oddly enough – came with a pair of black cat ears stitched to the hood.

He couldn't recall his parents wearing this costume, but it was perfectly ridiculous. The hoodie provided extra coverage so nobody would recognize him, while Marcy would love the fluffy cat ears.

Elliot spent the next two days avoiding mirrors and second-guessing his decision. The pumpkin suit sat in the corner of his room like a grinning dare, its cat ears twitching in his imagination. He considered backing out more than once, but each time he thought of Marcy’s grin, something stubborn kept him on course. And so, as the sun dipped behind the hills and lanterns began to glow across Willowbrook, Elliot zipped himself into the suit, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the night.

II.

The evening of the festival, the whole town got ready to celebrate. Every tree in town was decorated with festive lanterns, music floated through the air, and the scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with laughter. Elliot waddled down Main Street, the pumpkin suit squeaking faintly with every step. Some people stared, children mostly giggled, but so far nobody had recognized him.

"Nice… gourd," someone said. Elliot ignored the stranger and kept walking.

He was halfway down Main Street when he noticed a pitch-black cat walking alongside him. If he didn't know better, he would say that the cat was accompanying him to the festival. Distracted, he almost fell and landed on his face as he tripped over… another cat walking right in front of him. This one was ginger and almost completely ignored him. It waited patiently while Elliot regained his balance and continued to follow him as well. He picked up the pace to put some distance between himself and the cats. Only to discover there were cats coming from everywhere. When he started to walk, they followed him. When he stopped, they stopped as well.

“Uh… okay,” Elliot muttered, glancing behind him at the growing feline entourage. “This is… weird.”

It got weirder. The sound of music faded away slowly, leaves rustled by the wind made no more sound. And then he heard it. A faint whisper.

I always liked the fairy tale where the fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage. If you thought that was impressive, you'll be amazed by what I can do with a pumpkin.

The voice started to laugh maniacally as it died away again. The music started again, together with the crackling sound of rustling leaves.

III.

"What was that?" Elliot said to himself.

"That was Morgana." A voice from below answered.

Elliot spun around. The black cat sat on a barrel, tail flicking lazily. Its green eyes glowed like lanterns.

“You… you can talk?” Elliot stammered.

“Obviously,” the cat said, licking its paw. “That's one of the benefits of being cursed. Talking cats are practically standard issue.”

Elliot blinked. "I'm… cursed?"

"Hence me talking to you," the cat said, hopping down. "My name is Grim by the way, and I'm here to make this whole experience as comfortable as possible for you."

"What experience?" Elliot asked impatiently.

"The return of Morgana, of course," Grim purred, "Centuries ago, she lived in the forest nearby. We all did. But then the villagers came, accused her of witchcraft, and burned down her cottage. We fled… but never left. We stayed here and waited. We watched as the villagers celebrated their victory over Morgana, while we waited. But after tonight, our wait will be over. Morgana will return, and you will be her vessel."

"If this suit is cursed, I'm not going to keep wearing it." Elliot tugged at the zipper. It didn’t budge.

"If only it were that easy." The cat laughed. "The suit was stitched from Morgana's favorite spellcloth – it binds the soul of whoever wears it."

Elliot groaned. “What do I do?”

"I would wait until midnight."

Elliot made another failed attempt with the zipper.

IV.

Elliot spent a large portion of the night trying to get out of the cursed pumpkin suit. But no matter how much he pulled or yanked the zipper, it refused to budge. The rest of the suit seemed to be glued to his body, refusing to cooperate with any other attempt to remove it. Meanwhile, the cats kept him company. Meowing, purring, and laughing whenever he failed at another attempt.

After a while, he started to panic. Despite the fear of being recognized, he hit the street again, hoping to find someone who could help him. This was the moment he discovered another effect of the curse. No matter how hard he tried, nobody noticed him when he approached them. Everybody turned away or pushed him away whenever he got near. They all ignored his screams for attention as they headed toward the town square to get ready for the fireworks.

Grim accompanied him the whole time. His amusement slowly turned into frustration when Elliot made another desperate attempt to draw someone's attention.

"How many times are you going to repeat this before you'll accept this doesn't work?" He meowed.

An early firecracker exploding made Elliot jump. He turned to the crowd at the edge of the field. Children danced, people laughed, but nobody noticed him. Elliot’s world narrowed to the suit’s stiff seams and the ticking of the church clock. Midnight—the end of the festival—loomed like a guillotine.

“*She* is coming,” a cat whispered in awe.

With a scream, Elliot stumbled into an empty barn at the festival’s edge. Scissors glinted in the moonlight. He grabbed them, hands shaking. He stabbed the suit, screaming as the fabric tore with a sound like rending flesh. He ripped the suit apart—arm, leg, torso—flinging the pieces into the darkness. Outside, he could hear the cats hiss.

Naked except for his undershirt and trousers, Elliot bolted.

V.

The townsfolk crowded the central field, faces tilted skyward as the first fireworks exploded—a cascade of silver stars. Laughter and cheers rose from the crowd.

Then, a frantic cry shattered the joy.

“SHE’S COMING FOR ME!”

The whole town turned.

Across the field, sprinting on pale legs, hair wild, was Elliot. He ran in his underwear, pumpkin scraps fluttering behind him like orange ghosts.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Marcy started laughing. "THAT ABSOLUTE LEGEND!"

The laughter spread like wildfire. Soon, the entire field was in hysterics.

"Did you see him?" Mrs. Henderson gasped between giggles. "Naked as a jaybird!"

"Streaking across the field like the devil himself was after him!" added Mr. Thompson, already embellishing.

As the townspeople collected their chairs and blankets, still chuckling and already spinning the story into legend, Marcy lingered a moment longer. Her laughter faded as she glanced toward the treeline, where dozens of cats sat watching in eerie silence. Her smile faltered — just for a second. No one else noticed the cats. All forty of them, moving with uncanny purpose, collecting the scattered pieces of the pumpkin suit. They carried them away into the woods, where the old foundations of a burned cottage lay hidden beneath two centuries of overgrowth.

There, in the moonlight, they arranged the pieces carefully, reverently. And waited.

After all, the cats of Willowbrook were nothing if not patient. They had already waited two hundred years.

They could wait a little longer.