The scratching stopped. A long pause. Then a single, clear word: “Company.”
He’d followed the first instruction for six months. The second was harder—Scratch seemed to feed himself, returning each dawn with a full belly and a faint, coppery smell on his breath. Catscratch
Not the gentle pad of a paw on wood. Not the soft scrape of claws on a rug. This was a slow, deliberate thrrrp-scrape … thrrrp-scrape … coming from the other side of the basement door. The scratching stopped
“Who’s there?” Leo whispered.
But tonight, the scratching was relentless. It wasn’t just annoying. It was inviting . A rasping whisper between the scrapes: “Leo… Leo… let me out.” The second was harder—Scratch seemed to feed himself,
The scratching resumed. But this time, it was inside the walls. All of them. All at once.