Marcus never liked the cat at first. It wasn't like any cat he had ever seen. It had a glossy coat of black fur that almost seemed to absorb the light around it, making it look like a hole in space when it sat still. And it always sat still. In fact, it didn't do much of anything other than sit. Sometimes, it would stare at Marcus with those bright, unblinking eyes—eyes that never looked like they belonged to a normal cat. It was as if there was something deep inside them, something that wasn't quite right, but Marcus couldn't put his finger on it.
At first, he assumed it was just the cat's temperament. Maybe it had been through some kind of trauma, like how some of the stray dogs in their neighborhood looked. But there was something about the way it moved—or rather, didn't move—that set it apart. When it ate, it didn't act like the other cats. It didn't pounce, didn't scramble for its food. It just stared at the bowl until the food was gone. And when Marcus tried to pet it, it would allow him, but only briefly, before walking away with its tail high in the air, making a noise like a hiss but without any real aggression. It was strange. Quiet. Too quiet.
Marcus's mother had found the cat in their backyard one night, just sitting on the porch steps like it belonged there. She thought it was a stray, and after a few days of no one claiming it, she brought it inside. They named it Muffin, though Marcus always thought the name didn't suit it. Muffin was supposed to be cute, fluffy, warm. The cat was none of those things. But he kept that to himself, not wanting to upset his mom.
It wasn't long before things started to get worse. Strange things. Little things, at first. Like how Muffin would always find a way to sit in the same spot at the window, staring out into the darkness, not moving. No one else seemed to notice, but Marcus did. He noticed how Muffin's eyes would glow sometimes when the moonlight hit them just right, how it would blink once, then immediately look back at him with a gaze so intense it sent a chill crawling up his spine.
The worst part, though, was how it began to follow him. At first, it was innocent enough—Muffin would walk behind him as he went to the bathroom, or stand at the edge of his bed at night, staring at him. But then it started to get more persistent. It would sit at the door whenever Marcus left the house, its eyes never leaving him. If Marcus moved to a different room, Muffin would be there waiting for him, sitting on the floor in the corner, its head slightly tilted as if it was studying him. And sometimes, when Marcus would fall asleep, he'd wake up to find the cat lying beside him on the bed, just watching him. Silent.
One night, after his mom had gone to bed, Marcus lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling. The house was eerily still. He could hear the faint creaking of the floorboards downstairs, but nothing else. Then he heard it—a soft, almost imperceptible noise, like a meow. It wasn't a normal meow, though. It was too low, too slow, almost as if it were trying to say something.
He didn't want to look, but he did anyway. He turned his head just enough to see Muffin sitting on the edge of his bed, its eyes wide, its mouth slightly open. The cat's pupils were no longer the small, round slits they used to be. They were large and dark, stretched almost to the edges of its eyes. Marcus's breath caught in his throat, and his heart started to pound. He couldn't look away. He wanted to, but he couldn't.
Muffin meowed again, and this time it was louder. But it wasn't the same as before. It was… deeper. It sounded almost like a growl, but not quite. A rumble deep in its chest, vibrating the air. Marcus's stomach twisted, and he suddenly felt sick. He pulled the covers over his head and shut his eyes tightly, but he couldn't get the sound of the meow out of his head. It wasn't a cat's meow at all. It was something else. Something wrong.
The next day, he didn't tell his mom. She would just think he was imagining things. But Marcus was sure. Sure that the cat wasn't just a cat. It was something else. Something that shouldn't be here.
It got worse after that. Every night, Muffin would stand by his bed, meowing that horrible, low sound. The cat's eyes didn't look normal anymore. They were huge, completely black, the pupils gone. Just two empty, glossy orbs. Marcus could feel the air change when Muffin entered the room, a coldness that sank into his skin. It was like the room itself was alive with something unnatural. The house felt wrong, too, like something had shifted when Muffin arrived. Every corner of the house seemed darker. Every creak of the floorboards felt louder. And sometimes, when he walked into a room, he could have sworn that Muffin wasn't where he had left it. That it had moved. He started to think it wasn't just the house. It was the cat.
Then, one night, everything changed. Marcus was playing in the living room when he saw Muffin at the window again, staring outside. It was the usual position, but this time, Marcus noticed something new. The window was open, but the night air was still. There was no breeze, and the trees outside were motionless. Yet Muffin's fur was moving. It was undulating, like it was floating in water. Marcus blinked, rubbed his eyes, but when he looked again, Muffin's fur was still rippling. And then, just like that, it stopped.
For a moment, Marcus was too scared to move. His legs felt weak, his throat dry. But he knew he couldn't stay in the same room as the cat anymore. Not after what he had just seen. He ran upstairs to his room and slammed the door behind him, locking it. But the meowing came again, the low rumble, closer this time. He didn't know how the cat had gotten into the room, but it was there now, sitting by the door, its black eyes staring through the cracks.
The door shook with every meow. The sound vibrated through Marcus's bones. The air felt thick, like something was trying to break through it. Something ancient. Something hungry.
The meowing grew louder, more desperate, and Marcus couldn't take it anymore. He threw open the door. But there was no cat. Just the dark hallway stretching in front of him.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to go downstairs. He didn't want to see the cat again, but he knew it was waiting. He could feel it. It was like something was pulling at him, dragging him toward the stairs, toward that deep, unnatural rumbling.
He stepped forward, one foot in front of the other. He couldn't stop himself. It was like his legs were moving without his control. Down the stairs, toward the living room, toward the window. He reached the doorway and saw Muffin again, sitting by the glass. But this time, it wasn't staring out. It was staring at him. Its mouth was open wide, and for the first time, Marcus saw teeth.
Long, jagged teeth that gleamed in the dim light. Teeth that didn't belong to any cat.
It was all too much. Everything felt wrong. The house. The cat. The air itself. Marcus didn't know what the cat was, but he knew it wasn't going to stop. It wasn't just here to watch him. It was here for something else. Something much bigger.
He tried to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, he fell to his knees, clutching at his chest as the meowing reached its peak, a noise so loud, so deep, it rattled his bones. He felt the air around him grow heavier, colder, and then he saw it. Muffin's eyes glowed brighter, and Marcus's vision began to swim. It was as if the room was pulling apart at the seams, stretching wide like a gaping mouth.
And then, in an instant, the cat was gone.
But Marcus wasn't alone. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the reflection of something tall and thin standing behind him in the window. Something that wasn't human.
He never made it to morning.