The soft padding of footsteps grew closer. Mark's heart raced as he crouched behind the statue, struggling to make himself as small as possible.
His furry companion, however, seemed completely unbothered by the tension in the air. The cat sat calmly, licking its paws, its nonchalance a stark contrast to Mark's anxiety.
"Traitor," he muttered under his breath, feeling a pang of betrayal from the one creature that was supposed to have his back. The cat, seemingly unfazed, leaped to the top of the block stone where the statue was standing and perched there, watching the scene unfold.
"Hey there, little kitty," came a soft, familiar voice. "Looks like our gravekeeper is doing a great job guarding the cemetery from bad spirits" Mark's pulse quickened.
Peeking just behind the statue, he caught sight of the nun—the same one who had been watering the flowers earlier. She was a striking figure, with a loose grey tunic that brushed the tops of her sensible shoes, her head framed by a black veil that concealed most of her blonde braid. The bright blue eyes under her guimpe were intense, almost piercing, even as she cooed softly at the cat.
Meow.
"Oh, someone's hungry after a long patrol?" she mused, her voice lighthearted. The woman reached into her habit's pocket and, with a soft shing, produced a small can of cat food.
"Here you go, eat as much as you can, kitty," she said as she popped it open. The cat meowed appreciatively and dove into the meal with gusto.
Meanwhile, Mark was still huddled behind the statue, sweating bullets. The smell of fishy cat food wafted over, and with every contented purr from the cat, Mark could feel his tension rise.
"Crazy little bastard," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow and trying to calm his racing heart. He tried to control his breathing, hoping the woman wouldn't catch sight of him.
The smug little furball was taking its sweet time eating, as if it knew exactly how to make Mark sweat. Each slow, deliberate bite of its meal seemed designed to prolong his agony. "Are you doing this on purpose?" Mark muttered under his breath, glaring at the cat.
It gave no sign of hearing him—or caring—its entire focus on savoring every last morsel, pausing occasionally just to lick its paws.
This cat wasn't just lazy; it was downright mischievous. Mark's fists clenched, watching helplessly as the seconds ticked by. Every purr, every flick of the cat's tail felt like a taunt. The longer it ate, the more it seemed like the universe really did have it out for him.
Minutes stretched on like an eternity. After what felt like hours, the cat finally finished its meal and let out a satisfied meow. The nun, seemingly pleased, took the empty can and stood up.
"Looks like you're finally done, kitty. That took longer than usual." Mark's annoyance flared. The cat had not only led him straight into danger, but now it was dragging things out even further.
The nun gave a soft chuckle. "Since you're full now, and I'm busy at the church today, feel free to head over to Diane's house for lunch if I don't make it. Just don't piss on tombstones or bury your 'treasures' under it, okay?"
Meow.
Mark raised an eyebrow at the nun's casual use of "treasures" If she only knew what sort of treasure the cat was hiding behind this statue right now—namely, himself.
With her chores done, the nun walked back toward the church and disappeared through its doors.
The cat, now looking even smugger, remained perched on the statue. He sighed in relief, finally able to relax after the heart-pounding encounter.
Despite the woman's beauty, the risk of getting caught was too high to be worth it. The cat, now looking quite smug, had succeeded in its little trick. He felt a mix of irritation and relief, eager to leave the cemetery.
"Do you know how to get out of here without alerting anyone in the church?" he asked the cat, even though it seemed a bit silly.
But given the cat's familiarity with the place—its job as the nun's "professional" gravekeeper—he hoped it would lead the way.
Meow.
Mark took that as a yes. "Aye, sir. You lead, I follow," he quipped, though the cat seemed indifferent to his attempt at humor. It hopped down from the block stone and began to walk away as if this entire situation was a normal occurrence.
Mark followed, still glancing over his shoulder, wary of any sudden movement from the church. The cat led him to a crumbling section of the cemetery wall, where bricks had long since fallen apart.
"So, this is our way out?" Mark asked, eyeing the gap with skepticism. The cat simply nodded—well, it felt like a nod—and then leapt through the gap.
With a sigh, Mark carefully climbed over the broken bricks, mindful of the guitar case strapped to his back. After crossing the wall, he took a moment to survey the new area.
He hid beside a shed or storage room, noting the small farm in the backyard. Vegetables like cabbage, cucumber, eggplant, and tomatoes were growing in neat rows. A wheelbarrow and a few scattered tools—a shovel, rake, and hoe—lay strewn about.
"So, besides the cemetery is a farm? No wonder the veggies are so big; the soil must be well-fertilized." He waited for a moment before moving towards the gate at the back of the yard, covering his face to avoid any hidden cameras.
The cat yawned, watching him walk slowly towards the exit while sitting beside the gate. Just as he was about to reach it, the door to the garden swung open, startling him. He suddenly heard a woman's voice.
"A good day to harvest my babie-."
The voice trailed as the woman, dressed in a farmer's outfit with overalls, gloves, and a sunhat. And upon seeing him with his face partially covered and carrying the suspiciously large black case that seemed almost like a body bag, she screamed at the top of her lungs.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The woman's scream pierced the air, causing the cat to leap in surprise and birds to scatter from the trees. He was stunned and, before he could react, the woman charged at him with the shovel.
Remembering that the guitar case had a hard shell, he braced himself, hoping it would serve as a shield.
DANG!
The shovel came down hard, rattling against the guitar case.
"Calm down, woman!" he shouted as he blocked the shovel with the case.
DANG!
"Shut up, you murderer—" DANG!
Another strike, and while Mark easily blocked it with the case, he felt the weight of her fury behind each swing.
"—rapist—" DANG!
The force behind the next swing was intense, but Mark stood firm, his strong body absorbing the impact without losing his footing.
"—serial killer!" DANG!
The last accusation came with a wild swing aimed straight at his head. Mark ducked just in time, feeling the air whistle above him as the shovel narrowly missed.
Each insult seemed to land harder than the blow itself. His mind raced, and he felt the weight of the accusations more than the impact of the shovel. This woman wasn't just hitting him—she was throwing the worst possible crimes at him!
As he defended himself from the frantic woman, he tried to think of ways to explain his presence without escalating the situation further.
Mark gritted his teeth as the blows rained down on his case. "Whoa, lady! I'm none of those things!"
"Liar! That's exactly what a criminal would say!"
Mark ducked under another swing, his mind scrambling for a way to defuse the situation. "Okay, okay! I get it. But I swear I'm not here to bury bodies or steal your veggies!"
The woman paused, keeping the shovel raised but stepping back slightly. "Then what the hell are you doing sneaking around here like a thief?!"
"I… well, it's a long story, but I came here by mistake! I swear! Can we just… talk this out?"
The woman eyed him suspiciously but didn't move to strike again. "You've got five seconds to explain before I bash your skull in."
Mark let out a shaky breath, grateful for the brief reprieve. "Look, I'm just passing through! I didn't mean to trespass or anything. Can we please just put the shovel down?"
Disclaimer:
The characters, settings, and elements in this fanfiction are the intellectual property of their respective owners. New Life, New Saga is inspired by Summertime Saga, which is owned by Kompas Productions. This fanfiction is created purely for fun and non-commercial purposes, and I do not claim any ownership of the original works. All rights to the original material belong to their creators. If you appreciate my work and would like to support my writing, consider making a donation on my Patreon. Thank you for your support and for reading!