At night my cat is heavier than usual

I have trouble sleeping. I have since I started living with my Uncle after my dad got a divorce and killed my mom, along with himself. A notorious would-be family killer, if I weren’t at a friend’s house that night. That is, if the police interviews knew what they were talking about, apparently, a note was left on his body, asking God for forgiveness. 

His brother, my uncle, took me in after. A heartwarming gesture, only if Uncle Tommy wasn’t a violent alcoholic with more neurological issues than I care to list here.

You can do the math.

Seven years of living with him wasn’t the worst experience one could imagine. He was a narcissist, through and through. I’m still dealing with the trauma of living with him. I love how he told me that I should be grateful for his “sacrifice”. I’ve developed weird habits because of that man, and things only got really bad as I approached adulthood. He’d say, “You’re aging so nicely,” as he’d run his fingers through my hair.

That should illustrate my situation perfectly. I don’t enjoy being overly gruesome and dark. But sometimes reality is reality, burying it will do no good. I’m also very particular, and I notice things most people wouldn’t pick up on. So believe me when I say that I know my cat is getting heavier.

Because of Uncle Tommy, I can count the footsteps in a darkened home. Where bare feet slightly cling to the monolium or the sound of sweaty socks sticking to the floor as a towering figure stumbles drunkenly. Or keys. The jingling of keys always spikes my anxiety, but not a lot of keys like twenty. Not a few like three, but six. The sound of six keys haunts me.

I’ve now escaped Uncle Tommy, and I live with a coworker. He’s okay. We definitely wouldn’t be friends if we didn’t happen to work on the same assembly line every couple of days. After explaining my situation, he’s been letting me rent out a room.

One day, when we were working at the warehouse. I recognized all the noises around me. The humming of the machine as the rollers push packaged goods down an entryway. The scanning of machines verifies the package’s destination and ensures that it is being processed properly. All of this was normal and relatively easy to tune out. What wasn’t normal was a high-pitched whining.

The whining was infrequent, but it was often enough that I thought maybe a roller was loose or a bolt somewhere was coming undone. Earlier in the shift, a return package was flagged for an error due to an inconsistent weight of the original item. I placed it in a bin nearby with the rest of the rejects. When I finally dropped off the bin to see what the error was, I noticed a box had several holes in it. Small holes, as if the box was punctured with a pen or something. 

The high-pitched whining was coming from inside the box.

I tore it open right away. Bile crawled in my throat as I stared at its contents. What sick mother fucker ships a cat as a fucking return? She couldn’t have been older than a few weeks. Their weak “mews” broke my heart. All I wanted to do was protect her.

I cradled her in my arms as I flagged for an emergency. My supervisor came over with his prominent waddle. 

“Why are you behind on those—” He saw the tiny black cat in my arms. “Why do you have that?”

“Some sick asshole sent him as a return.”

For once, Mike was at a loss for words.

“What do you think we should do with it?”

“That’s why I called you over here. I don’t know what to do.”

I cradled the tiny black cat in my arms. It was barely bigger than one of my hands. It looked weak, and I figured anywhere was better than here for the kitten.

Mike looked me up and down and said, “Well, it’s just a cat. Toss it outside or something.”

You know that rush of emotion that’s overwhelming? When you want to say everything but also nothing? I felt a rage that I’m sure only leads to murder. In this moment, I did the only responsible thing and walked away. Mike shouted after me, but it didn’t matter what he said. I had to help this kitten, and I didn’t care if it cost me my job.

A vet wasn’t actually too far from where I was, and when I explained that I work at a warehouse nearby and I found the cat in a return box, the veterinarians were appalled and didn’t even charge me. The cat was extremely weak. The vets held them overnight after some shots and check-ups. However, they did ask one question that caused me to pause.

“So what are you going to name her?”

I thought for a moment, but it seemed obvious, and a name came to me like lightning.

“Boxes.”

So that’s how I got this fat sack of shit. She’s my sweetie pie, and she always cuddles up on my chest, making it obscenely difficult to breathe.

Derrick, the coworker who’s letting me stay with him, didn’t even mind the pet. Buuuuuut we can’t let his landlord know. Also, the landlord can’t know that I live there either, but that’s neither here nor there. 

I also didn’t lose my job. Was I bitched at? Yeah, but what soulless mother fucker ships a mother fucking nine-week-old kitten when it was supposed to be a blender? God, I hate humans sometimes.

As I mentioned earlier, because of Uncle Tommy and a couple of bad nights with my parents, I’m very cautious when it comes to nighttime. I never sleep easily, and the slightest noise will startle me awake. Some of this tension has been alleviated due to Boxes finding the most comfortable spot in the entire world, being my upper chest, right under my chin. Whenever Boxes sleeps there and purrs or snores (Yes, she snores. She sounds like an asthmatic truck driver), I suddenly have trouble waking up once I do fall asleep, thanks to Boxes. Whether that’s due to cat dander or to an undiscovered allergy, I will not bother finding out.

But two weeks ago was when the first odd occurrence began. I started my usual routine. Make sure my door is locked. Lights off. Covers on. Wait for Boxes. Boxes shows up. Curls on my chest. Pass out.

And Derrick isn’t like a pervert or anything. He’s made one attempt at sleeping with me, but he was drunk and won’t make that mistake again. So I knew he wasn’t trying to creep on me. 

But I had trouble sleeping that night, despite Boxes sounding like they needed a CPAP (I’ll get that checked out at some point). It was footsteps on carpeted flooring. I’ve taken the time to memorize Derrick’s walking pattern. He steps, then shuffles. Sometimes he gets confused and will retrace himself, so it’s very inconsistent, almost random. But these steps weren’t Derrick’s. They came in twos, leaving a soft thud in a constant rhythm that was eerily familiar. I couldn’t place it at first, but then I knew. It was exactly how my Uncle walked. 

My heart sank as I instinctively reached for the switchblade I hid under my pillow. Boxes protested as they meowed, before trying to get comfortable again during my panicked frenzy. 

“Not now, dammit!” I whisper-shouted to Boxes, who couldn’t have cared less about the terror I felt.

I wondered if my Uncle had found me after all these months. I left the instant I turned eighteen. I’d been working for only three weeks before I got out of that place, and my departure wasn’t exactly… mutually acceptable.

I held my breath as the footsteps continued outside my door. They were barely perceptible, but I could hear them. Whoever was walking just beyond my door was stepping back and forth like they wanted to enter the room, but couldn’t. It was exactly like how my Uncle did when I started locking my door at night. A soft knock on the door would happen now and again, then a dragging, like a hard item was sliding across the door’s surface.

I listened until I couldn’t listen for another second. Eventually, the snores of Boxes cured my mania, and I passed out from exhaustion. I convinced myself the following morning I’d been imagining things and that nothing was there, or maybe Derrick had a friend over who likes to sleepwalk right in front of my door for hours.

Not exactly a concrete theory, but I’m working out the kinks. That concrete theory immediately turned to Play-Doh whenever I confronted Derrick if a girl was over or something, and he only replied with, “I wish.”

I know I’m being unreasonable in my paranormal, or maybe not paranormal, assumptions. My suspicions were more or less confirmed whenever the following day nothing out of the ordinary occurred, and I was convinced my paranoid delusions were just that. Paranoid delusions. I mean, what are the odds my Uncle found where I lived and just walked back and forth in front of my room for several hours? It sounds ridiculous. I refuse to humor such blatant mania.

Life continued as usual: go to work, come home, doomscroll, go to bed. Until last week, a loud bang in the middle of the night startled me awake. Not like a gunshot bang, but like someone hit the ground hard. Like they hit their head first, then their body followed shortly after. Boxes was only startled when I was. She hopped off and found a comfortable spot elsewhere shortly after.

Meanwhile, it felt as though my heart was going to explode out of my chest. 

“Glad nothing bothers you, Boxes.”

I sleep with a nightlight. I didn’t always sleep with a nightlight until, on more than one occasion, I found my Uncle sitting in the corner of my room in utter blackness. He didn’t know I could see him, but I could. He was breathing erratically, like someone was choking him. I don’t know if he ever knew what I saw at nighttime. I told him I was just afraid of the dark, but really, I knew it was because he watched me while I slept. After the nightlight, he didn’t come into my room anymore, at least not that I noticed. So yes, I have to sleep with a nightlight. It helps me feel a crumb of security.

I stared at my door for a while, hoping that I was just imagining that “thudding” noise. Right when I closed my eyes to sleep again, I heard it. A double thud in quick succession. Louder this time. 

“Derrick?”

No response. I looked to Boxes, who I hoped would be a normal cat for once in her life and freak out at a loud noise, but she slept peacefully beside me. Their fur was soft under my fingers as I tried to calm myself by petting them. I looked to the nightlight and felt its dim lighting radiate a warmth and a comfort I desperately needed right now. 

Thud-thud.

The noise was near thunderous. It was right behind me. My eyes shifted to the door, which wasn’t far from my little beacon of hope. The door was now ajar.

I wanted nothing more than to get up and scream. But it was in this moment that I wondered if I looked at the thing, if it would make it real. The air suddenly felt stale, like a hot and humid day. I buried myself beneath the covers and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in. I felt the bed slowly indent from the weight of Boxes exploring my body. But something was odd; it definitely felt like a cat, but the pressure was more than I was familiar with. I wondered if whatever was on me could hear my teeth chattering. I began to hear a soft wheezing right beside my head. I did not leave from under the covers that night. 

When morning arrived, my door was now shut and locked as it had always been. I wanted to confront Derrick about the situation, but couldn’t find the correct words that didn’t make him sound like a creep or have him question my sanity.

The strangest detail from that night’s events was the fact that I never heard any footsteps, just two thuds like a body dropping. There is no fathomable way in which I can rationalize that situation, so I didn’t. I simply asked my roommate casual questions about his last night’s whereabouts.

“Soooooo what did you do last night?”

Derrick leaned against the kitchen counter as the vacant look in his eyes showed a hint of consciousness.

“Cass, I was… uh… playing games… and a little exercising.”

He seemed cagey, so I pressed further. 

“What kind of exercises?”

“Yeah, like. Private exercises?”

This not only had me curious, but suspicious. 

“Like, did you have a trainer over and you were banging a drum or something? What are you doing?”

He blushed slightly.

“Just… ya know. The thing guys do.”

“Like dropping heavy weights on the floor?”

With this question, his surprise was evident.

“What? No.” Derrick looked relieved. “I thought you could hear me chasing the chicken if you know what I mean. I have a weird ritual ever since I met a Romanian girl last September, where—”

I held up my hand. I didn’t need to know any further details.

“No like… You didn’t hear a loud thud last night?”

He shook his head. 

“No…?”

An awkward silence filled the room as Derrick had revealed a little too much about himself.

“Well, I’m going to get ready for work.”

“Uh… Need a lift?”

I shook my head.

Although this living situation is much preferable to that of living with Uncle Tommy, if these strange events keep occurring, I will just have to take Boxes and find somewhere else to live. I trust Derrick, I think. He’s like a dude-bro, kind of, but he isn’t rude, and he respects my privacy. Plus, renting a room for $100 a month is unheard of. I just don’t know why these events started happening, and what the heck is causing them.

During my shift, I could feel Mike wandering in my area more often than I liked. I could hear his set of keys. He only had three, so this wasn’t an implicit sign of danger to my brain that would send off warning signals. I’d always hear Mike before I could see him. He just seemed to pace by my station every couple of hours as if he wanted to talk with me, not like he was actually supervising my work.

It’s annoying enough that they installed virtually a billion cameras to watch every move you make, but I prefer my supervisors in their shitty little office to on the floor with the rest of the people just trying to get through this mind-numbing work. I nearly confronted Mike after the eighth time I caught him pacing by my station, but after that, I didn’t see him for the rest of my shift.

God, I hate that asshole. I can’t believe he wanted me to just get rid of Boxes like he was nothing. I know a job is technically important, but at some point, we have to change our priorities when the situation requires. Mike was probably going to rub it in my face that I got a strike on my record, but figured he didn’t want to push his own luck, now being known as the guy who would let a kitten die.

After my eight-hour shift, I collapsed on my bed, and nothing happened for a few nights. I was convinced that the situation was over and that I was having a nightmare or something, as I often did.

But two nights ago, I fell asleep without issue, until I heard two people talking to each other. My initial assumption was that Derrick took another girl home from Bumble. But it was almost like someone was pleading. I looked towards my nightlight and expected Boxes to be on my chest or by my side or something. But she was neither. She was occasionally pawing at the sliding closet door.

“Boxes, come back here!” 

But the black cat just kept pawing at the closet door, where her food is stashed.

“You hungry? What’s wrong?”

She kept pawing at the sliding door. It’d rattle with a slight intensity, as if a dog were ramming into it. That confused me, but I took it as a sign of Boxes’ desperation.

I groaned and got out from under the covers and went to close the closet door, since it was open slightly. When I approached the door, my blood turned to ice. I could hear my father’s voice inside the closet. I looked to Boxes, who was just staring up at me. I got as close as I could to the door and pressed my ear up against it. Two distinct voices I knew to be both my mother and my father were arguing.

“You can’t be here.”

“Honey, please. We can work this out.”

“You got caught, Steven. You played with my heart and our family, and you lost. I hope it was worth it. Don’t make me call the police.”

There was an intense silence. It sounded like my dad was confronting my mom about the divorce.

“I love you.” It sounded like my father’s voice.

Another long silence followed. Then I heard rustling followed by a click.

“Steven, are you serious? Put the gun down, you can—”

“Where’s Cassandra?”

“She’s not here.”

“Where’s Cassandra!”

“Fuck you!”

A deafening bang filled my ears. I stumbled backwards. My hand covered my mouth. I hadn’t heard their voices in so long, and this is when I hear them? A second, slightly less audible gunshot followed the first one. I was confused. But my dad asked where I was. Then it dawned on me. This must’ve been my mother and father’s last interaction, before he killed her, then himself.

I fell to the floor, landing on my back, then cried. Boxes walked over and trilled, then found her usual spot just above my chest, and by my neck. I could feel their purrs in my throat. For once, this was actually uncomfortable. Boxes has definitely been gaining weight. But they still looked to be the same size. I mean, they have a little sway in the belly, but I heard that’s normal for cats. The lump in my throat disappeared as I now struggled to breathe. I let out a choked compliment.

“Thanks, Boxes.”

This event was the most disturbing so far. I’m usually not that creative. My nightmares are usually just a balding man chasing me around with a belt or a knife or something. But these dreams were vivid, almost too real. I can’t imagine my mother reacting like that. She wasn’t confrontational, but for her to stand up for me… I just couldn’t see it. Maybe I can’t imagine her like I used to.

The following morning, I went to confront Derrick, but he confronted me first.

“Yo, Caddy. I need to talk to you.”

I sighed. He always seemed to have a new nickname for me every time we interacted.

“Yes?”

“I know, like, we ain’t supposed to have a cat in here. But I thought you said he’d always stay in your room?”

“She, and yes. My door is always closed.”

He didn’t seem upset, just confused.

“Yeah, well, last night, Boxes was in my room during my special exercise time and like, wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, it was late though.”

I guess what happened last night was a nightmare, then, and didn’t actually happen. It just feels so real.

“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”

“I mean, like I don’t mind or nothin’, just like, if he’s found wandering—”

“She.”

He conked his head with his fist, clearly trying to store Boxes’ gender within his brain bank somewhere.

“If she’s found wandering about, they might kick us out… so…”

“Won’t happen again,” I repeated. “By the way. Did you hear anything strange last night?”

He shook his head, then looked concerned.

“Did you hear anything strange last night?”

I pondered for a brief moment if I should confront him about my nightmare about my parents, but I just don’t think he cares, honestly.

“Nah. Nothing to worry about.”

“A’ight. And what you feeding her,” he emphasized. “Little rascal weighs a ton.”

I laughed.

“She’s not that heavy, Derrick.”

He smiled. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. You need a lift today?”

“No. Thanks, though, Derrick.”

“You got it, Splash.”

God, I hate these fucking nicknames. 

When I got to work, Mike was pacing outside my workstation again. I must’ve been sleep deprived because it almost looked like he was worried about something. Probably something about how a quota isn’t being met, and he’s getting his ass chewed out for it. But he’s never had any problems bitching at me in the past to “work faster”. After I caught him pacing by my station the sixth time, I finally asked what the fuck he wanted.

“Mike, is something wrong?”

He was biting his lips and didn’t make eye contact with me.

“How’s that little rat you found in the box?”

I normally tolerated Mike, but today just wasn’t the day. I hadn’t been sleeping well, and if he was going to be stalking me in front of a hundred cameras, I was going to at least see what the reason was, or I was definitely going to report him. God, I hope he isn’t checking me out.

“Surprised you cared or remembered.”

Mike did not take this sarcastic compliment in stride. He wore his trademark smug smile, as if being middle management is the peak of self-actualization. 

“Oh yeah, I actually cared about that little… black… whatever it was.”

I see he’s trying to fix his reputation as the “cat killer”.

“A kitten. It was a kitten, Mike.”

“Right, well, I forgot to tell you, but this was included in the return box. I’ve been meaning to give it to you.”

He handed me a folded, lined sheet of paper and quickly walked off. I nearly discarded it instantly, but something was gnawing away at me. Why would he keep this note? Why would someone leave a cat in a box, then also leave a note? 

“Sorry, I’m a psychopathic animal abuser. Take this cat!” I sarcastically said to myself, imagining what the note read. I leaned up against my workstation and stared at the note now and again, working up the courage to open it.

What would it matter if I opened it anyway? Oh God, what if it’s a confession of his feelings for me? Nothing Mike has to say I care to hear anyway, and he won’t change how I feel. I didn’t open it, but I did take it home at the end of my shift. I followed my normal routine, even doing an abnormal thing, having dinner with Derrick.

“Sup, ‘Sandra.”

“Hello, Derrick.”

He plopped a bag of Chipotle on the kitchen table. It was one of those particleboard flimsy things you can buy at Walmart, but it was better than nothing.

“‘Bout to tear this up! Did you know the little green leaves are called Cilantro?” 

“…Yes. They advertise it everywhere.”

“Yo? For real? Dang, I like these little green fuckers.”

“Alright, Derrick.” I went to the fridge and took out one of my Lunchables, the pizza-flavored one. I sat back down at the table and eyed Derrick with intense judgment. “Why is there one less Lunchable in the fridge?”

I expected him to show some sign of remorse or maybe embarrassment, but it was neither; he just seemed perplexed.

“Wasn’t, me C-Dawg.” I hate when he calls me that, probably in my top fifteen least favorite nicknames he has for me. “Not after last time when you flipped your shit at me. Derrick’s learned his lesson.”

I eyed him suspiciously, but thought nothing of it. Whenever he’s nervous, I notice he’ll refer to himself in the third person. I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately, so I may have forgotten.

“I must be mistaken then.”

“Oh.” He put down his burrito, and its contents spilled all over the wrapper. “Did you write that letter by the door?”

“Letter by the door? Oh, yeah, no. Asshole Mike gave it to me, said it was in the return package I found Boxes in.”

Derrick looked extremely unsettled. 

“You read it yet?”

I didn’t want to seem weird or continue this conversation for longer than necessary, so I just nervously laughed.

 “I’m sure it’s some prank by Mike, I wouldn’t take it seriously.”

Derrick seemed to be relieved by that. 

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way, anyway, imma game wit’ da boys tonight.”

“As always, Derrick.”

With that, our conversation ended, and my curiosity had mounted even further about this piece of paper. But I was certain whatever it was was just a sick prank. I took the note and went to my part of the apartment. 

When I entered my room, Boxes greeted me, as usual. I went to pet them and noticed something coating their fur. It was small and brown. I guess it was dirt? But it couldn’t be dirt because Boxes stays in my room all day. Unless Derrick is letting him outside while I’m at work? I don’t know why he’d do that.

By the time I entered my room and saw my beloved cat, my interest in the note and what it could say had faded. I watched a movie on my phone, and Boxes was next to me the entire time. He even got wet food tonight for keeping me such good company. I know Boxes undoubtedly suffered for quite some time, but I was glad I found them. I’m glad we found each other.

All was normal for quite a while, until I was startled by Boxes’ wheezing. He was right by my head, and the wheezing was way louder than normal. When I opened my eyes, there was no Boxes. Then I noticed my nightlight wasn’t on. I swallowed hard as I felt around for my cat, but I was alone. That was until I saw a figure standing at the end of my bed. Its outline was thin and emaciated. Its chest rose almost in an exaggerated manner, then it exhaled. Its head was ivory white. Amber eyes filled the darkness.

I couldn’t move. I just stared at the thing. With each breath, the wheezing intensified, followed by a gurgling coming from deep within. 

Then it spoke to me.

“You’re aging so nicely.”

Its words were animalistic, a pure imitation of a human’s tongue. But the tone and cadence were unforgettable. It was the voice of my Uncle, if not butchered and chopped, like that thing was mimicking him. I sat isolated. It didn’t move, so neither did I. I just watched as its chest rose and fell. I made an attempt to get up, but then it growled at me. When I lay back down, the wheezing softened. Then I felt little indents pressing up the bed, like cat paws. It got closer and closer until it was on top of me. 

I cowered under the covers. It kept crawling up on me until it reached my upper chest, just below my neck. Its weight was crushing. After settling in, it purred, but it was more like a gurgle, full of phlegm. I peeked over the covers, and amber eyes stared directly at me. I stared for a moment. It didn’t break eye contact. It just kept gurgling. 

Whatever was on me certainly looked like Boxes, but it definitely wasn’t. I slowly covered myself again and tried to justify this situation as just another nightmare. But I knew it wasn’t. I knew that thing on my chest wasn’t my cat. But I was powerless to do anything. I just stared at the linen sheets as the gurgling slowly became the purrs I was familiar with. Sunlight finally penetrated my covers, and I left my bed.

“H-hey, Boxes.” 

I tried greeting my cat as if the events of last night weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t mask the shakiness in my voice. She did her normal cat stretch as I fed her the portion of Meow Mix, if not a little more than normal. She hurriedly awaited by the food bowl as I looked around the room for the sign of that thing from last night.

There was no way that was my cat; I’m just having nightmares. Really, freaking weird nightmares.

Then my eyes drifted to the plastic tote I used as a nightstand, and that note sat on it. I then remembered what Mike told me, that the note was in the package we found Boxes in. I looked to the black cat, who was happily eating their food, and grabbed the note like I was trying to steal from the cookie jar. I promptly left the room and went to the kitchen. I held the paper firmly in my hands and slowly unfolded it. The note was rather short, but its handwriting was neat.

This kitten was born out of a litter of six, and something is extremely wrong with it. I am an animal lover, and never imagined myself doing this, but there is no other way. I have to pass this demon onto someone else. She kept getting heavier and heavier, despite being of a normal size. I woke up in the middle of the night, and it tore my husband’s throat open. It was eating him, yowling the entire time. I couldn’t pry him from his corpse. Lord, forgive me, but I tried to kill it or get rid of it, but it would come back as a newborn, no matter how many times I tried. I don’t know what else to do.

I am so sorry.