A Sudden Breeze Through an Open Door

Jeremy M. Gottwig

 

I would describe the cat for you, but she is hidden within the dumpster’s shadow. She wants us to think she is gone. The rat feels her hunting him. He can see her tail twitching.

Are you the rat? I know you are here in this story with me, but I don't know where you are. You aren’t the cat; I know that much. This leaves the rat. If I'm correct, you are cowering behind the battered trash can beneath the yellow streetlamp. You want the cat to get bored and move on. You are hungry but terrified. You want to find something delectable or at least passable. Let’s be honest: even a dirty diaper would do. Your stomach feels like a pit. It hurts.

But you know the cat will catch you if you reveal yourself. She will try and snap your neck.

Oh, you aren't the rat? Yes, I knew that. I admit I was toying with you. I hope I didn’t dredge up any old memories. Nobody likes to remember feeling small.

But all this talk of food has made you hungry, hasn’t it? I apologize. Feel free to get a snack.

This story will wait for you.

Back so soon? While you were gone, the rat escaped. It was riveting. I would describe it for you, but there are only so many ways for a rat to escape a cat. I'm sure you can imagine something. The cat is disappointed, of course. She waits by the drain near the entrance to the alley. She wants the rat to return. She wants to play.

What did you get to eat? The cat smells tuna. The cat loves tuna. If you’re eating a tuna fish sandwich, you’re about to make a new friend.

Do you hear footsteps? Someone is coming. Oh, is that you? I'm so glad we finally get to meet. The cat hides behind a shrub and watches you approach.

Pretend you don't know about her. Pretend you no longer know about me or the rat or anything but your tuna fish sandwich. Your gender? Your clothing? Your shoe size? I could describe these for you, but I’d rather not. You need only imagine yourself in whatever you’re wearing now.

The only thing I'll tell you about yourself is that you are eating a tuna fish sandwich.

Now, let’s start over.

It’s half-past midnight. Nobody is around, but you can't shake the feeling that you aren't alone. Caution slows your footsteps. Your skin tingles. Your eyes dig into every shadow, every movement. A tuna fish sandwich never tasted so alive, but your nerves keep you from enjoying it.

A rat climbs from the drain and scuttles into a nearby alley. You gasp, and then you feel relief, but Jesus, you hate rats.

And there she is, the cat, standing on a stone fence. She wants to chase the rat, but she also wants a bite of your sandwich. Did I mention she loves tuna?

The cat is a Chartreux.

Given that you’re reading this book, I’ll assume you’re an expert on cats. You aren’t the sort who needs a description. If I’m wrong, I give you permission to research this breed of feline. She is going to want you to leave your sandwich on the sidewalk, but I recommend you take it with you. Perhaps just a crumb? Yes, that’s enough. This story will wait for you. Now go.

Are we on the same page? Good.

The cat wants another crumb. May she? Alright, one more. You expect her to mew at you, but you should know by now that Chartreux are a quiet sort of cat. By her clean fur and bright green collar, you can tell she’s well-tended and much beloved.

These details should strike you as important. You should be asking yourself, what is a cat like this doing out in the middle of the night? Do her owners really want her digging through dumpsters?

Perhaps you should check her tags.

You decide to follow my advice. The cat figure-eights around your legs. It’s almost as if she recognizes you. It was smart of you to drop another morsel to keep her occupied, but try not to spoil her. Now, isn’t this interesting? She lives just a few doors down from you, with...what’s her name? Keeps to herself? You forget. You didn’t even know she had a cat. Oh, and the cat’s name? Lorelei. I don’t know about you, but I have always loved that name.

From somewhere far away, you hear a siren. This should remind you that you are alone at night. But you aren't alone. Lorelei is here.

And so am I.

Still nervous? Then, let's get you home. Move along. Tut-tut. Oh, are you planning to leave Lorelei, or do you want to take her home? If you are going to leave her, then I suppose this is the end of your story. You might as well flip through to the next.

You’re still here? Then you’ve decided to do the right thing, but be careful, the cat may bite. Lorelei is like that.

What about your sandwich? I almost forgot that little detail. A small irony, because without that sandwich, you may never have met our lovely Lorelei. Finish or toss it. Carrying Lorelei will be easier with two hands. The story will wait, but hurry.

Now, pick her up and start walking. Doesn't her fur make you think of dark clouds? Don't worry if you hear footsteps behind you. That's just me.

You need to decide between taking Lorelei to your home or her own. Surely you don't want to wake her owner given the advanced hour, but doesn’t it feel just a little strange to keep her in your own house overnight? You might feel like a thief, or perhaps Lorelei’s owners might peg you as one if they come looking for her.

“Have you seen our cat?” they might ask, and then they would see her, hiding beneath your couch. Would they be outraged? Would they call the police? You would be innocent, of course, and I suppose you could explain yourself out of this situation, but what if there was something more sinister at work? What if you had come to love this feline and could no longer bear to let her go? What if she begins to dominate you? What if you find yourself never leaving your house, because she might need something? Like tuna. Lots of tuna. What if she always wants more! more! more! and if you don’t give it to her, she will dig her thoughts into your head at night and invade your dreams? Perhaps Lorelei is that sort of cat. She is this story’s lure after all, and she has caught you. Do you know the meaning of the name Lorelei? I think you should look it up. This story will wait for you, but take Lorelei with you. Imagine her in your mind. I’m not giving you a choice. Now go!

And so, now you know. You are wondering if you made a mistake getting wrapped up with our lovely Lorelei. Yes, carry her to her home. The sooner she’s off your hands, the better. You walk to your neighbor’s door, and you raise your hand to knock, but you then realize the door is ajar. This explains how Lorelei came to be outside, but why is the door open in the middle of the night? Being unlocked is one thing, but ajar?

You yelp in pain as Lorelei bites your thumb. She leaps from your arms and runs inside.

I warned you this might happen, but I suppose you forgot. Anyway, you’re free of her, so shut the door and go home, quick, before something else happens. But wait a moment. I heard something, didn’t you? A grunt and a moan from deep inside the house. These are not the sounds of love but of pain.

And there is now another character in your story.

Perhaps you should pretend you heard nothing and go home, but wouldn’t it be wrong to go home without inspecting the situation? You could call the police and be done with it, but I don’t think I’m going to let you. After all, your phone is unavailable. Perhaps it’s broken or lost. Perhaps you are using it to read this story.

Another moan, and this time you swear you hear a gasp for help.

And then you hear sobbing.

I hope this doesn’t dredge up any old memories.

The voice is clear and ageless, but it ceases before you can get a bearing.

You step inside the house.

You call out, but get no response.

And now, you must continue. You don’t want to seal your exit, so you leave the front door open.

I suspect you may come to regret this decision.

Try and keep calm as you search the house. You may feel like an intruder or a creep. You may feel just as worried someone will catch you as you are of what you might find, but keep searching. Don't stop. Look through the kitchen and the pantry. Look through the dining room and the bathroom. Is there a basement? If so, you should check there, too. The lights are on in every room. It’s as if they are trying to tell you they have no secrets.

And where is Lorelei? We had almost forgotten about her. You detect a set of glowing, gold eyes and spot her on one of the chairs beneath the dining room table, a table not unlike your own. Lorelei is watching you. At this moment in the story, she has nothing more to do.

But I suspect she’ll have some future part to play.

You call out once more and get a whisper in reply, but it sounds like nothing more than a slow breeze through the open door.

Perhaps we should resume our search.

Does this house feel familiar to you? I’ve offered little in the way of description, so I suspect you are filling the gaps with images of your own. Perhaps you’re imagining somewhere you lived long ago. When I imagine this house, I remember a place from my childhood. The house with the red door, I used to call it.

And now you are imagining the front door as red. I apologize. I didn’t mean to taint your vision with visions of my own. I invite you to reclaim this image. Imagine this place as your childhood home. Imagine the ghosts of your family moving from room to room. Imagine the smells you used to smell, the sounds you used to hear. What color was the front door? Imagine that, too. And now, imagine you are small and alone inside this house. Someone else is with you, but you still feel alone. You feel like the rat hiding from our Lorelei.

Or don't. It's up to you.

This sense of familiarity should grow stronger when you open the first bedroom door. It is full of the sorts of things you loved as a child. On the floor next to the bed rests that book you used to read over and over. There are photos on the wall. You want to inspect them, but the sound of scratching draws you from this room.

You peer out and find Lorelei laying on her side and flipping her claws against another door, a closed door.

A whisper of air passes through the gap at the base of the door.

We’ve belabored this long enough, don’t you think? One can tease the plot along for only so long. Lorelei wants to lure you deeper into this story, and now, she is pointing the way. You should follow. At this point in the story, it would be criminal to turn away.

And then, you hear a weak voice through that door, but you can’t make out the words. It sounds like the voice of an old woman.

Talk to her. Tell her why you are here, and ask her if she needs help. Go on.

“Oh, yes,” she whimpers. Several seconds pass. “I called for you to come help me, but I didn’t think you were going to come.”

You open the door and step into a hospital room.

And now, you are somewhere else.

An old lady lays in the bed. She wears breathing tubes and has wires taped to her arms. A door opposite you is open, and you can see nurses and doctors passing back and forth. The TV is playing an old episode of Cheers. You hear canned laughter. The old lady looks at you. Her eyes are milky white with only a hint of color. She has no hair.

I can’t tell you how to feel here in this moment. Whether you feel surprised, afraid, or simply cold is up to you. Such is the risk of these sorts of narratives, but I can tell you that something about this old lady feels familiar. Perhaps you met her on the street once, or perhaps she is someone you haven't seen for many years.

Perhaps she is someone from your childhood.

“I wanted to see you again,” she says. “I left the door open for you, but I didn't think you would come.”

Can you think of anything to say right now that wouldn't come across as stupid or cruel? I can’t.

“Well, here I am,” you could say, with or without Taa-Daa hands.

Or perhaps, “Who are you?” Not even prepending, I'm sorry, but..., could soften such an insult after she has spent so much time thinking about you. Obsessing about you. Calling to you from her deathbed.

Do you think she sent Lorelei to lure you to her hospital room? It's possible, I think. Do you suppose this old lady is a witch?

A nurse enters. With little more than a glance at you, he checks her vitals, writes something down and moves on to the next room.

“They don't care about me,” the old lady grumbles. As she coughs a deep, watery cough, she forces, “He didn't even acknowledge my guest.” And then her eyes are back on you. She smiles, and her lip twitches. Doesn’t that twitch seem familiar? It does to me. “Don’t pretend that you know who I am.” Her lip curls as she says this, just a little.

She waves you closer, and now you must decide if you will allow her to draw you deeper into your story. Behind, you can still see the house through the open door. If you let go, will the door close?

Do you feel the breeze?

Lorelei slips between your feet and jumps into the old lady’s bed. It happens fast. You release the door and chase the cat, but when the old lady’s face brightens, you catch yourself.

She winces, and then her face goes slack. It is as if she is trying to ward off pain. She places a hand on the cat's back and whispers, “Look at you, you beautiful thing,” and then her eyes are back on you. She strokes Lorelei with her long fingernails. “Come closer,” she commands, and you can no longer think of a reason to hold back.

But perhaps you should. Perhaps you should run and shut this vision behind the veil of memory. Perhaps there is something wicked about this old lady.

But don’t my thoughts taint your perceptions. Move closer. Move closer. Hesitation implies fear, and in this moment, you need to show strength.

“I knew your mother. When you were little. We were friends.” She takes a deep, hoarse breath, and adds, “I called you here to make amends.”

Her eyes become little pools of piss-colored tears, but the pools never turn into rivers. She blinks and wipes them away. After a sigh, she adds, “Your mother trusted me. She asked me to watch you.” And then she shutters. “I liked it when you cried. I used to pinch you. You would get welts.”

And now you understand. She wants you to forgive her, doesn’t she? That’s why she sent Lorelei to find you. That's why she left the door ajar.

The old lady coughs once, twice, and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and returns it to Lorelei’s spine. Her mucous drips into Lorelei’s lovely fur. “I think your mother suspected. One day she quit talking to me, and I never saw you again.”

For a moment she strokes Lorelei, and then, in a motion we nearly miss, she pinches the cat behind her left ear. It is a light pinch, a playful pinch, and Lorelei closes her eyes and purrs.

And now what do you think of this old lady? Do you pity her in her state of decay? Do you want to forgive her? Are you upset at her for telling you something you wish you didn’t know? Something you didn’t need to know? Something your mother wanted to keep secret? Did she dredge up any old memories? Do you remember feeling small? Do you remember trying to hide from her as she moved throughout the house? Do you remember how the floor creaked? Don't you feel just a little like that rat?

But perhaps you should wonder if she had other victims, if she slithered her way into other lives. If she found others to hurt.

She did.

You were luckier than some; less lucky than others.

Like me.

She drew me back into this world by her calls for forgiveness, but I am the victim that can never forgive. I am already dead. I am the character without an arc. I am as I was when I died. Perhaps she hopes to calm my hatred before she passes into the darkness. Perhaps she knows I am waiting for her. Perhaps she knows she turned me into a demon.

You might suspect that she killed me, but she didn’t. I escaped, like you, but it took many years. Even as an adult, I kept coming back. A bullet killed me, but my last thoughts were of her.

But she called us here, and here we are. Ready to make amends.

Do you feel manipulated? By me? By her? By someone else? Perhaps you find this narrative unfair, but I did what I needed to do to help Lorelei catch you. I needed her to lure you to this place. I needed her to help you remember.

And now, we are going to murder this beast. I am tired of waiting. We will make it a quick. You won't have to lift a finger. I want her to know I wait for her beyond the grave. I want her to understand a few apologies will not bring her peace. I want her to believe she will spend her afterlife feeling like a rat cowering in the shadows.

Don’t you find it amusing that she waited until her deathbed to make amends?

I know you want to refuse, but doesn’t something deep down want to see her die? You could run. You could lock yourself in your own house and pretend that this experience never happened, but would you be hiding from me or your own primal desires?

But I don’t think I’m going to let you go. Perhaps you are the rat after all. Perhaps I have become the cat.

Do you feel that breeze passing between worlds?

Did you hear the door slam shut?

Open it. Go on. You will find nothing but a bathroom on the other side.

And now, you are trapped here.

The old witch is still watching you. She thinks you are afraid of her. This should disgust you.

Think of what she’s done.

I’m not going to ask you to smother her or pull the plug. I only ask that you give her my message. I want you to tell her a demon haunts this room, a demon that she created. I want you to tell her I intend to torment her as she tormented me. Tell her I will be relentless. Tell her this is what waits for her beyond the grave. Tell her after she dies, she will find me waiting for her. By her bed. Like family.

Go on, tell her, and then I will let you go.

And now, she knows.

Do you see panic flooding her face? Do you hear her voiceless scream? Do you see the creases of pain in her eyes? Do you see the sweat on her brow and hands?

Her body is too weak to survive another heart attack.

Oh, and look at Lorelei. Go on, look. She has been busy chewing on the various tubes and lines feeding the old witch’s body.

Good Lorelei. Lovely Lorelei. I will miss you, Lorelei. She used to be my cat. I gave her to the old witch before I died, but I could never let her go. Did I forget to mention that?

You should flee before they catch you alone with a dead body. The alarms will go off soon. You will have to find your own way home. Take Lorelei and go. She now belongs to you. Care for her as I cared for her. She loves tuna.

But remember. She bites.