A Familiar Story

Elektra Hammond

 

I’m told mine was an auspicious birth, although no one knew it at the time. My mother was young, but she birthed me and my six sisters in a few, short hours. I was born at the stroke of midnight, like my mother, who was also a seventh daughter. She later told me that the moon hung full.

My early life was never easy, growing up on the streets, but we managed. My mother was a good provider, hunting for mice and scavenging scraps. She told me of exciting exploits, filled with mischief and magic—she insisted that I had a destiny, and taught me to always watch for the full moon.

I grew up. I graduated from hunting mice to taking down rats. I supplemented my hunting with digging in the humans’ trash. Not to put too fine a point on it, I became acquainted with males of the species. There were kittens, and I did my best to be a good mother, but I didn’t have the knack. Late at night, I left my kits tucked carefully away sleeping and, desperately hungry, I went hunting for mice, rats, anything I could find.

I returned to absolute horror. An owl stood over the nest, and as I watched, well, my kits were gone. I think I went a little crazy then. I attacked the owl, screeching. It looked at me, that way that owls do, and simply flew away. I tried to chase it, climbing the nearby building, hoping to jump on the owl. In my despair, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I ran across the rooftops chasing it. I wanted nothing more than to lick my kits and huddle around them, protect them—but it was too late. I continued the pursuit because I didn’t want to face the emptiness inside.

Surefooted though I am, even I cannot run uneven ground while watching the skies above. I slipped and fell to the ground, knocking myself unconscious.

I walked in dreams, wherein I met the High Purring One and he instructed me. This was how cats such as I gained knowledge of less practical things, like the mystical side of feline history, navigating the various dream worlds, and basic knowledge of the various elder gods. Not this time, though, this time I walked alone in the dreamland of Ooth-Nargai, along the shores of—

I awoke in terrible pain. I ached abominably. Even my tail hurt. I opened my eyes, and the perspective was all wrong. Craning my neck, I realized I was hanging by my tail.

“Oh, good. The pussy is awake.” The speaker was a dirty, red-headed street urchin, one of several watching me. This was not going to end well.

He set me swinging, which hurt. I yowled.

An old woman approached. The street urchins paid her no attention.

Another of the gang batted me, setting off a new bout of pain. I was making as much noise as I could ever remember making, but I didn’t think it would do me any good. Would it all end here?

“We could set her afire,” said the one who had just poked me.

The woman spoke then. “Let the cat go,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but firm.

“Go away, Granny,” the red-headed urchin said. “This ain’t no fuss of yours.” He seemed to be in charge of this group of miscreants.

“Let the cat go,” she repeated.

The entire crew shifted positions. They now surrounded the newcomer in a menacing way. A skinny delinquent spoke up, “You can’t make us do nothing.” They almost seemed to have forgotten me while distracted by this new threat.

I still hurt so much I could barely think, but I could not find a way to get my tail free of its restraints.

“Let. The cat. Go,” she said for the third time. “If you do not set the cat free, and leave this place, you will regret it.” She spoke softly, but with eyes hard as stone, and I had no doubt that she meant every word.

Hope began to seep through the pain.

The ginger-haired leader scooped up a small bit of rubble and tossed it at the woman. “Get out!”

She held up a hand holding something shiny. Hard to tell what it was, given my position. I saw a metal circle, no, two circles, threaded through a black ribbon. The ribbon was wrapped around some holly and other dried herbs…it was an amulet of some kind.

The woman was a witch!

She threw the bundle between her and the street urchins and chanted:

Three times said, a true warning spoken.

Punishment comes now, to those with morals broken.

Then, she waved her hand at them, and the entire group yelped with pain.

I’m afraid I wasn’t feeling too sympathetic.

“Leave,” she said.

They left.

“Stay still, Cat, and let me get your tail loose. It looks quite painful.” She had turned her attention to me, and while I was grateful for the assistance, I was not ready to give my trust to anyone. She might be looking for a cat to sacrifice.

She took out a small, sharp knife, and cut the rope holding my tail. She gently put me on the ground and I dashed for cover.

She didn’t chase me or cast a spell. Instead, she called out, “Little Cat, come talk to me. My name is Lisbeth.”

I was intrigued. I moved to full view of the witch and looked at her. Once I got close, I noticed she wasn’t as old as I had thought—she was using baggy clothes, cosmetics, and possibly a wig to give the appearance of age. Hmmm.

“I understand you, Little Cat. I grew up an orphan, not unlike those ragamuffins that had the best of you. I found a better way than cruelty, and I need a partner.” She tilted her head, just a touch, and looked at me with honest eyes. “You’ll never go hungry if I have food, and you’ll never want for adventures.”

I took a step closer, fascinated despite myself.

“Interested, are you? Come along. If you’re not happy with me, I promise on the unpronounceable gods to release you safely on this very spot.”

That was a very powerful oath. If she broke it, her life would be forfeit. I nodded to Lisbeth, indicating I was willing to give it a try.

“Come along,” Lisbeth said.

She led me into a narrow alley where a broomstick leaned against the wall. We flew to her flat, Lisbeth astride the handle and I digging my claws deep into the straw brush.

 

§

 

Days later, for an hour after the clock struck midnight on the night of the full moon, Lisbeth was able to understand my speech. It was proof of our bond. And after sharing my name and history, it was quite convenient to briefly discuss the latest client who'd come to her for aid.

“Horace seemed earnest. The fee for helping him will keep us in tea and biscuits for a good bit,” I purred.

Acting as if she wasn't the least bit surprised to be chatting with me, she replied, “Indeed, Graymalk. Let me outline my plan for Mrs. Diamondia's next séance.”

And she did.

 

§

 

At the appointed hour, on the next full moon, Lisbeth and I arrived at the address Horace had given us. Introductions were made, with Lisbeth assuming the identity of Mrs. Victoria Maxwell, a woman who had met Horace through the shop and was interested in communicating with her long-gone mother. With little delay, our group made its way to Mistress Diamondia’s residence, I carefully tucked into a large bag over Lisbeth’s shoulder.

We arrived just past sundown, knocked, were separated from the agreed upon “monetary gift,” and were delivered to a small sitting room with a single door, decorated in traditional witch: cosmic symbols, Egyptian hieroglyphs, exotically scented candles, and dark draping. None of it made sense, of course—Mistress Diamondia was a fraud. Lisbeth spent much of the time since meeting Horace in research and divination, and had produced the name Agnes Dymond, former governess.

When we arrived, there were already two women in the room.

There was a tray of full sherry and brandy glasses with matching decanters on the sideboard, and most of the attendees had partaken. Lisbeth, of course, abstained.

A few minutes later, another couple, about the same age as Horace, arrived.

My sense of time is keen—I am a cat, after all—we waited in that room for nearly an hour. Many glasses of alcohol were consumed, and the glasses were regularly cleared and replaced by a housemaid. Much of the talk was about who the various people in attendance wanted to contact during the main event. I was sure someone was listening in, I just didn’t know from where.

Finally, I heard the jingle of a tambourine, then a woman entered the room from behind one of the wall hangings. Nice touch. From my vantage point in Lisbeth’s bag, I could see this arrival was a tall, generously proportioned woman. She bowed slightly and said, “I am Diamondia. Welcome to my home. If you have an open mind, and you believe with all your heart, the spirit you seek will come to you.”

Then, “I know almost all of you. Who are you?” She indicated Horace with a broad sweep of her hand.

“That’s my son, Horace,” said Euphemia, who had been quiet and subdued, but was now substantially more forthright.

Perhaps the sherry she’d been sipping steadily since our arrival?

“And you?” Diamondia indicated Lisbeth.

Euphemia again responded, “My friend, Victoria Maxwell.”

I was pleased, and I was sure Lisbeth was, too. The plan had been for Horace to vouch for Lisbeth, but Diamondia didn’t know Horace. Having Euphemia step up was a stroke of luck—it legitimized Lisbeth.

“I’m honored by your presence in my humble home, Horace, Victoria,” Diamondia said. “I hope I can help you on your spiritual quests. Let us all adjourn to the meeting room, and begin our ritual.”

She lit a small candle and marched the group slowly through the main door and up the wide staircase to a second-floor room. It was also decorated with arcane symbols that made no sense, and heavy, velvet drapes hung next to the windows. A round table dominated the room.

“Please, sit around the table,” Diamondia said, standing behind a chair to indicate her place. Euphemia eagerly moved to sit beside her, and Horace took the chair on his mother’s other side. A woman sat beside him, and Lisbeth claimed the next seat, directly across from the medium, with the others filling in the remaining chairs between her and Diamondia.

The medium placed the candle she held in the center of the table, while a maid released the window drapes to block all moonlight from entering the room. It was now well past sundown, and the room was in near darkness. The maid left, closing the door behind her.

 

§

 

I could see pretty well, of course, but I knew Lisbeth would be unable to see much of anything—it would be up to me to be the eyes for our team. I slipped out of Lisbeth’s reticule and sat in her lap, peering over the edge of the table with one paw resting on it for support.

“Are there any unbelievers here?” Diamondia, the medium, had a surprisingly squeaky voice for such a big woman. “The spirits will stay away if there is a doubter present.”

Unsurprisingly, no one left.

The medium continued. “Good. We begin.” Then in a slightly louder voice, at a measured pace, “We invite the spirits to come among us. We want to speak to those on the other side. We have questions for those who have gone before.”

She droned on in this vein for several minutes, entreating the spirits to come talk with our group.

I couldn’t sense anything. And I’m sensitive to such things. As many cats are.

“We invite the spirits to come among us.”

“Isn’t something supposed to happen?” said Horace, with an edge to his voice.

“All will be revealed to those with patience, Mr. Woolfrey, but you must not interrupt.” said Diamondia in calm, measured tones. Then, slightly louder, “We know you are there, spirits from the other side. We invite—”

The candle sputtered. I studied it and saw that the wick was discontinuous—likely cut and held together with wax. A moment later it went out. The room was now in darkness, as far as those sitting around the table were concerned. I could distinguish where everyone was easily enough.

A quiet whisper came from next to the medium, “I’m frightened.”

“You’ll be fine, Mrs. Simms,” said Diamondia. “The spirits are coming near. Hold fast. I need all of you to help anchor me. We must form a circle to share our strength. Everyone reach out with your right hand and clasp the left wrist of the person next to you. No matter what happens—do not break the circle.”

I saw the seven people sitting around the table with Diamondia dutifully reached out and take each other’s hands as instructed. As the people to either side of Diamondia reached for her, she carefully maneuvered so that the person to her left clasped her left wrist, and she reached out with her left hand and clasped the left wrist of the person to her right. Diamondia still had her right hand free to make mischief!

“We invite the spirits to—”

Without warning, I felt the table shiver and shake, then the tabletop rose up at least an inch, wobbling all the time, before dropping back down with a loud bang. Chairs creaked as the participants jumped in response. I, of course, remained calm throughout. I still didn’t feel an otherworldly presence. I could hear the medium breathing more rapidly. I dropped my head under the table and looked across at her. She was tilted back in her seat and had one bare foot braced against the table top, the other solidly against the floor. She’d lifted it—not the spirits!

“The spirits are here!” Diamondia’s voice was louder now, and a bit shrill.

“What was that?” Horace said, with a little bit of a quaver in his voice.

“It’s the spirits! Who is it? Could it be your father?” It was Euphemia, who sounded frightened. Her earlier bravado had dissolved.

“I’m getting a sense of someone, a man, definitely a man,” Diamondia was now speaking in an oddly hollow way. After about a count of ten, she resumed, “A big man . . .”

Another pause, this one longer, then, “No, a man with a big personality, full of life. A man of good character . . .” Again Diamondia trailed off.

“That must be my husband, Henry. He was highly regarded by everyone.” Euphemia’s voice was still quavering, but had a note of hope in it now.

As if anyone would come to a séance hoping to reach out to someone of poor character. She’s really pushing it.

“Mrs. Woolfrey, we must ask,” said Diamondia, “to ascertain if this spirit is the late Mr. Woolfrey.”

“Oh, yes.” Euphemia responded firmly.

The medium said, “Good Spirit, I need you to identify yourself. If you are the late Mr. Woolfrey, please ring the bell twice.”

The bell rang. “Ding-dong.” I saw a long string coiled up and attached to the wall above the medium’s head. She was reaching up with her right hand and pulling it to ring the bell.

I heard chairs scraping the floor, feet nervously tapping, and a few gasps.

The bell rang again. “Ding-dong”

“It’s him. It’s my husband. It’s been difficult without you, Henry.” Euphemia’s voice had a high, slightly off-kilter sing-song quality to it.

I jumped down from Lisbeth’s lap, and trotted around the table to where the bell pull was. My claws made quite a mess of the door frame, and a bit of a racket in the quiet room, as I climbed up to the string and grabbed it in my mouth. The bell pealed a third time, “Ding-a-ling-a-ling-ling-ling.”

I jumped down onto Diamondia. She started screeching, “Get off me! What are you! Aaahh!” She followed up by incoherent, loud noises and cries of pain, as the sound of the bell occasionally rang again.

“I’ve had enough of this.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Horace stand up, breaking the circle, and he pulled back the heavy drapes. The drawn out deception had given the full moon enough time to rise.

The disheveled medium desperately tried to fight me off with one hand, even as the moonlight revealed what I could see to everyone in the room: I had loosened the string to the bell and our wrestling was periodically tangling us in it and ringing it again. The woman to her left was holding Diamondia’s left wrist, while she in turn still held Euphemia’s left wrist with her left hand, plainly showing the circle to be an utter fraud.

Got you.

At once, the silence in the room disappeared. I think the light, faint as it was, made the humans brave again. Talk of involving the local constabulary began. I ran across the table back to Lisbeth, looked her in the eye and nodded. Our bond is strong enough that we don’t need to talk. And that only works for the hour after midnight, anyway. She opened her reticule and I jumped inside.

“I need to check on something in the other room,” said Diamondia.

“Agnes,” said Lisbeth, “Agnes Dymond?”

The medium turned white. “How do you know that name?”

“I always do my homework,” Lisbeth said.

“Who is Agnes Dy-what?” asked Horace.

“Diamondia,” Lisbeth’s voice rang triumphantly, just as Agnes tried to slip out the door. I jumped out and dashed for the door, twining about her feet and ankles. She stumbled, and Horace grabbed her.

“You’re not leaving so soon, are you?” he said. He walked her over to the nearest chair and sat her down rather forcefully.

Lisbeth came over to her and started to say something, then looked down. “You aren’t wearing shoes,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You did the table raise with your bare feet. Go ahead and deny it.”

“I—I— Oh bother.” Agnes was beyond refutation at this point.

Lisbeth looked at Horace, who had taken control of the situation now that Diamondia had been exposed as a fake. “Your mother won’t come back here. Neither will anyone else. Now that Agnes has been exposed for the fraud that she is, they’ll be no need for any more séances.”

“I won’t go back to being a governess,” said Agnes desperately.

“Who would give you a character?” said Horace. “Without one, you have no chance at a governess’s job.”

He turned to Lisbeth. “Thank you for finding the truth—”

While Horace’s attention was on Lisbeth, Agnes got up and took a step towards the door. I bumped hard against Agnes’s legs, tripping her. She lost her balance and fell against the window, breaking it. Her desperate grab at the drapes slowed her fall, but couldn’t stop it. Horace and Lisbeth both tried to save her—neither of them succeeded. She fell to the ground with a final sounding thump.

I noticed my back right paw needed attention, and extended it forward, carefully cleaning each toe.

Most of the humans rushed for the stairs, hurrying outside to see if they could help Agnes. They couldn’t.

Lisbeth stopped Horace from leaving with the others. “Take your mother home, there’s no need for you to be seen here. You know where I can be found.”

Horace followed the others downstairs, collected Mrs. Woolfrey, and walked her down the lane.

Lisbeth and I quietly left as well.

 

§

 

Later that night, Lisbeth said, “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome here. Mr. Woolfrey is happy enough with us now, but eventually he’ll realize we know too much about his family’s personal matters, and he’ll want us gone. Best we leave before then.”

I said, “I wouldn’t mind a change.”

And off we headed to our next adventure.