I heard it again today. Plagued by terrible nightmares, somewhere between reality and sleep... The cry has taken up residence in my home. Every ghastly night, as soon as my heavy, leaden eyelids open from their steely grip, I hear that sob. Delicate moans carried by the wind, gliding through the dark corridors like a tiny boat on the calm waters of a lake.
Now, as I sit on a bed bathed in the gentle morning light, I can finally analyze in peace what happened. For a week, my consciousness has been plagued by terrible nightmares, whose basis I can find in vain in the familiar spheres of life. The same forest where I stand in my sweat-soaked shirt, the same howling of wolves that compels me to flee, even deeper into the wild forest and mysterious moors. My legs thrash under the covers like fish washed ashore, yet I still run deep into the dark trees, into the depths of sleep. In the light of day, it all seems so unreal, even playfully banal. But in the dark, the word "joke" doesn't exist; it has no place among the dark thickets and grass. Running like a madman, I finally find myself in a strange cottage. The seemingly abandoned house, cold and dangerous, slowly becomes my refuge from the lurking wolves and the piercing chill of the night. Then I notice a painting hanging on the dirty wooden wall. I approach it and see delicate trickles of dripping blood... Always the same beginning and end. A nightmare, unchanged in every detail, has taken up residence in my mind like a slimy larva. I fear waking up most. When the moon peeks in the window and the door creaks like chains of condemned men. Then I hear that soft moan, that tiny cry that wafts through my house like the smell of baking pastry. Only the light of the candle that I light with trembling hands can calm me down and drive away the sad lamentation from the walls of the house…
I know that as a doctor, I should relegate such hypotheses to the darkest corner of my mind, but… it seems to me that my problems began the moment I bought a beautiful, even miraculous painting. This painting, which had captivated all my senses, given me a pleasant dizziness and heightened the aesthetic sensations I was slowly beginning to lack, now haunted my dreams at night as something strangely mysterious and terrifying. The painting hanging above the fireplace fit perfectly into my enormous Victorian bedroom. I often sat there, gazing at it with glassy eyes, admiring its simplicity and incredible beauty. The canvas depicted a vast, dark forest, as if plucked straight from the most terrifying horror stories. Twisted, dark trees, with trembling branches, brushed the blue sky, defending themselves against its warmth and brightness, yet simultaneously curious about the beauty that this blue expanse held within. From the depths of the dark trees, a gently winding brown path emerged into a small, sun-drenched clearing. Beautiful, colorful flowers scattered throughout the meadow blended perfectly with the cemetery-like atmosphere of the mournful forest. Like fire and water… Could it be that the beauty and exquisite flavor of this work of art had stimulated my imagination to such monstrous proportions? Or perhaps it was the atmosphere of the village I found myself in. The small settlement surrounded by forests likely exerts its influence on me. But I'd lived here for several months, and nothing like this had ever happened. So what was the cause of this incomprehensible suffering in my soul?
I rose from bed, stretched like a wild cat, and padded to the kitchen. On the way, I stopped in the bathroom and washed my sweaty face, then my head, and finally my legs in a bowl of warm water. I poured the dirty water out the window onto the rows of geraniums and rose bushes. While lighting the stove and making tea, I reflected once again on the uniqueness of my story.
I bought this wonderful canvas in the nearest town, Leśna Osada. It was Czarny Dwór, located some 40 km to the north. Beautiful, well-maintained roads crisscrossed parks, gardens, and buildings like rays of the setting sun. Delicate, tastefully constructed buildings were surrounded by green fences and colorful lawns. Small palaces and fountains only complemented the place with their grandeur and craftsmanship. Wonderful avenues and landscapes, in which one could lose oneself, surrounded the city with an invisible halo of beauty and mystery. A river flowed quietly nearby. Its delicate dance could be heard beneath intricately decorated wooden bridges. The city center was filled with the sounds of street musicians and the scent of cakes, creams, ointments, perfumes, and herbs. I remember strolling the avenues in search of these extraordinary remedies concocted by local healers. The sunlight mingled with the street chatter and the satisfied cries of merchants. Amid these sublime sounds and among the delicate clouds of golden sand, I noticed a woman sitting on a black shawl. She was old, wrinkles cutting almost down to her brittle bones. Her gray hair fell delicately over her dark dress. Black, misty eyes, set deep in her skull, contrasted with her wrinkled, aquiline nose. Long, bony fingers nervously rubbed against each other as if in mysterious anticipation. She intrigued me so much that I decided to take a closer look. Slowly but agilely, I approached the old woman, who seemed to be peering into the world around her with her mysterious eyes. Only as I got closer did I notice a large object lying next to the woman, covered with a blanket. My curiosity grew like the water level in rivers during the spring thaw. I timidly glanced at the gray-haired woman, who was still staring straight ahead or searching for something deep within her ancient soul.
"Could I…?" I asked, pointing to the obscured object.
The old woman smiled, revealing a row of crooked, yellow teeth. Her skin smoothed, and her hands stopped nervously rubbing themselves together.
"This isn't for you!" she said in a dry, emotionless voice. Her lips barely moved, and her eyes continued to search the depths of the unknown world.
"What, it's not for me?" I was surprised, and my hands trembled. I'd always been a bit nervous and didn't mind if someone behaved inappropriately towards me. "Then why do you keep it, ma'am? We're trading here," I said, astonished, staring into the old woman's empty eyes.
"I'm waiting for the right moment... I'm looking for the right time, go away, traveler!" she said calmly again, and her thumbs started to flutter again.
"Traveller?" I was surprised. Such expressions aren't usually used in towns like this. "I'm a doctor from the Forest Settlement. Do you know this village?" I asked, not knowing why, and since I didn't get any specific answer except an incomprehensible murmur drowned out by a passing horse-drawn carriage, I said,
"Perhaps you could at least show me, madam, what mysterious and wondrous object is hidden behind such a hideous covering."
A moment of silence, in which I could only hear the distant words of the vendors on the other side of the road. Suddenly, the old woman's hands stopped moving, and one of them moved aside, delicately revealing the hidden object.
"Beautiful," I said, staring at the eerie, dark landscape. "What talent." Suddenly, the woman's hand withdrew, and the object was once again covered by that old, dirty covering.
I remember very well the lust that awoke within me after seeing this masterpiece. Blinded by the beauty of the painting, I stood and stared at the cover as if trying to examine it with my own eyes.
"Now go away," the woman said dryly, and I felt as if she'd stabbed me in the ribs. I glanced around. Everyone was busy with their own affairs. No one even glanced in my direction. And then a thought arose within me, so mad and evil that at first I was terrified. In the blink of an eye, I turned and threw a wad of banknotes at the woman, then grabbed the painting and ran like a man possessed towards the dark city streets. No one chased me, no one even reacted. They must have seen me toss the money to the old woman. Hidden in the shadowed streets, my heart trying to leap out onto the sidewalk, I waited, clutching my painting, a wonderful painting...
The tea tasted delicious; just a small breakfast and I could open my office. I have a lot of work today, so I sincerely hoped I'd soon forget the horrors of the night.
I glanced at the clock; it was already half past eight. How time flies. Smiling, I ran through the winding corridors of the Victorian house to open my office as usual.
The queue of patients resembled a long, twisted caterpillar. People had come from what seemed like the most remote parts of the county today. A wave of those in urgent need and failing health poured in through the doors, and it would probably have been a rather monotonous day if not for Mrs. Kinkof's visit.
"Hello," I said to a beautiful and charming elderly woman. Her usually cheerful face now struggled to hold back the salty tears hidden deep in her amber eyes. "What happened, dear lady?" I asked, then settled into a soft and comfortable armchair with its back to the large window. I had a feeling this was going to be something more serious. Such things are immediately apparent. A person's face, and especially their eyes, can say more than many a fortune teller in this country.
"It's about Natalie...Dr. Wilczak. My little daughter has disappeared, I can't find her anywhere..." Heavy tears streamed down the woman's delicate face, lingering for a moment at the sunken corners of her red lips.
"Dear God, little Natalia? It's impossible." I immediately conjured up an image of the young girl, the brave patient. Always smiling and cheerful. I still remember her golden braids and the blue dress she wore to see me just two weeks ago. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Kinkof, but how...how can I help?
" "She disappeared three days ago. She was wearing a light blue dress and blue shoes. I know you often go on your walks...trips, escapades...I don't know what to call them...!!! But I wanted to ask...haven't you noticed anything?...No trace or calls...? Please help me, Doctor!"
I felt great sadness and an indescribable emptiness. I didn't like situations like this. Losing someone or something is a terrible and painful thing. I sympathized wholeheartedly with the woman crying before me, but I could do nothing to help her.
"Unfortunately, dear lady, I am incredibly sorry, but I haven't seen anything that could help find Natalka. However, as soon as I learn something...
" "Thank you very much," she said tearfully and left, leaving me alone with sad thoughts circling the office like cold, black crows. I continued
to see the next row of patients as usual, without any mysterious stories or unusual events. However, sadness and an unimaginable desire to know the truth still lingered in my mind...
The evenings in the Forest Settlement were wonderful. The surrounding forest gave the village an air of inaccessibility and created an unsettling silence. The golden moon rose above my house, and I sat on the terrace, sipping fresh tea, lost in my thoughts amidst the darkness of the garden trees. It was very late when, jolted from my daydream, I rose from the wooden table and walked my weary legs toward the front door. Black clouds, delicately disturbed by the golden glow of stars, circled the sky. Somewhere in the forest, I heard the mournful wail of tawny owls. Before entering, I glanced around once more, making sure that all the villagers had laid their weary heads on the white, fragrant duvets.
The house was strangely cool. I climbed the high stairs and, as I undressed, left my wardrobe on them: shoes, tie, waistcoat. I entered the bedroom, dark as the rest of the apartment, and closed the door behind me. I lit five candles in a candlestick to the right of the bed and another five in a candlestick to the left. The room danced in a golden glow. Shadows loomed on the vaulted ceilings like the bodies of hanged men. Only the wall containing the fireplace and the painting remained in darkness. I decided to take one last look at the painting, my supposed cause of nightmares and strange household noises. I lit a single white candle from its clay stand and, with a touch of trepidation, slowly approached the canvas.
In an instant, all my senses were heightened to their limits, and the sweat on my hands made it almost impossible to hold the stand with the candle's writhing flame. In the wondrous painting, now swarming with mysterious shadows, I glimpsed a tiny figure. My knees grew weak, my head swelled, seeming to crush my body into the dusty floor. I took a closer look at this strange phenomenon. The figure turned out to be a girl. A tiny figure with a sad face stood on the path leading to a mysterious and dark forest. I rubbed my eyes as a few drops of sweat blurred my vision and began to sting unbearably. This was no ordinary girl, and I knew it. That face, that blue dress, and blue shoes… A silent scream escaped my lips and burned into the yellowish flame of the glowing candle. Yes… it was Natalia Kinkof. Tiny eight-year-old Natalia, whose mother had grieved so deeply in my study. It was impossible, my thoughts screamed within me. They clattered and clanged as if they had become great church bells. Their clatter made me dizzy and nauseous. The girl's sad face stared at me…and waited. Fear enveloped my body, gripping it until it ached, piercing my very bones…
I blew out the candles and ran from the bedroom. I lay down on the couch in the downstairs living room, far from this nightmare, probably caused by my intense concern over the loss of such a young person. I felt that even Zeus's aegis wouldn't protect me from this fear that had settled in the cold corners of my body. My delicate subconscious had encoded what it wanted, and now it was revealing its secrets to the real world. I'd always known I had a weak head; I took everything too personally. "Too literally," as the Turkish bashats say. Sometimes I felt like a sponge, absorbing all feelings and storing them deep within.
That night, the nightmare returned. This time, I was surprised because it was somewhat different from my previous dreams. Fleeing the howling wolves, I found myself in a cold house, a place so alien and yet somehow familiar. I looked again at the blood-dripping image, and again, strange shivers gripped my body. What distinguished these terrible dreams was the fact that this time I found the door to the basement of an abandoned small house. The cold earth greeted my feet with a sense of relief. In the dark, rather small room, I could only make out the outline of something resembling a tombstone. The cold radiating from it cut my skin like a whip or a Japanese katana.
I woke up, drenched in sweat, and screamed into the dark, muggy air. A shy, gentle cry answered me, coming, it seemed, from my bedroom upstairs. I lit the candles, and as if by magic, everything stopped. Soaked in sweat, I rose from the leather sofa and went to the window. The moonbeams prowled my garden like a pack of rabid dogs. I put on a cashmere robe and, holding a candle before me, headed upstairs. The creaking boards gave me no comfort. My racing heart pounded in my chest like a furious, thoroughbred English thoroughbred. After a moment, I stopped at the bedroom door and gently opened it. Darkness poured from the room like ink from an inkwell, waiting for me to enter its entrails. Advancing in the candlelight, I approached the painting and screamed. The sad little girl was no longer alone. A new figure stood beside her. It was a grimy, crying boy. His black fringe and striped sweater evoked new images in my mind.
"Filip... Filip Naichter?" I asked myself. The figure in the painting reminded me so much of the boy from the nearby village. I couldn't concentrate on what the hell was going on here. I kept hoping it was just a nasty mirage, a momentary weakness and indisposition of my soul. Little Natalka leaned over a crying boy, lost and alone on the edge of a dark forest.
Suddenly, the bedroom windows burst open with a silent cry, and the cool, damp night air flooded into the room. I hurriedly closed the shutters and, at the same time, drew the heavy coffee-colored curtains. Slightly frightened, I approached the painting again and once again illuminated myself with the glow of the warm candle. A truly extraordinary sight met my eyes. The little girl who had previously stood over the crying boy was now erect and terrified. Her outstretched, trembling hand pointed to the entrance to the dark forest. The children's frightened eyes seemed to scream in the depths of my home, disturbing its peace and quiet...
Rushing out of the bedroom, I noticed there were no candlesticks on the side tables. Descending into the living room, I also didn't notice the clothes I'd previously scattered. Again, prickles of fear ran down my spine like a funeral procession, and I felt uneasy. I was becoming a small, defenseless child, like an ostrich, wanting to bury its head in the sand. I spent the rest of the night in the kitchen, staring at the candle flames.
The first rays of sunlight soothed my quivering imagination. I rose from the table and slowly walked to the bathroom. The relaxing, warm water refreshed my mind and swollen body. I didn't want to look in the bedroom, not now. The head wounds were too severe, and I was already thinking about seeking help from eminent foreign psychiatric specialists. I hurriedly dressed, posted a note announcing the indefinite closure of the office, and headed down the hall, eager to quickly prepare my carriage.
The warm morning air smelled of resin and the delicate freshness of mown grass. I climbed into a carriage drawn by two shiny black horses and slowly, without arousing suspicion from the nosy tenants, drove away towards the Black Manor. The longer I sat at the reins and the more I looked around the dark, dense forests, the sooner I longed to reach the city and find the cursed old woman to whom I owed my troubles. The sandy road wound through dark trees and intricately woven shrubs. A leafy dome formed overhead, blocking out every ray of sunlight. The forest chill gripped my hands and tightened around my feverish temples. A strange, surreal feeling of being watched grew like mercury in a thermometer. Dark green seemed to pour into my lungs and fill every fiber of my terrified body.
I rode like that until the horse's hooves touched a cobblestone street. Only then, for the first time in a long time, did I breathe an inexpressible sigh of relief and wipe my sweaty forehead. I dismounted the carriage and hurried to the center of town.
She was sitting in the same spot. Her black, swollen eyes were once again staring into the distant void. Passersby passed her as if she didn't exist, as if she'd become just another cast-in-place concrete monument like so many others in Black Manor.
"You're a thief," she was the first to speak to me. There was no trace of anger in her voice. Her eyes, still fixed on the same spot, were boring into the space like a mole digging underground passages.
"I'm sorry," I said, confused and completely unprepared for the conversation. This arrival had arisen in my mind spontaneously and completely by accident. "I need help, something's happening... it's probably a painting...
" "Give it back," the woman whispered dryly. Her voice sounded like she was swallowing desert sand.
"Never," I shouted. "It's beautiful... it's mine," I said, then I was surprised and began to ponder the venom of my words to this innocent woman. What venom had poured into my heart that I spit fire at every word.
"It's a painting of witches, which should be destroyed at a time known only to me and destined for it," she hissed now louder, but still fearing my reaction.
"You're crazy, woman. The painting is mine. I mean... the children appearing on the canvas.
" "The children will show you the way..."
"What way, what are you talking about?" I shouted, asking myself rather than the old woman.
"The way to death," the woman thundered, "they want you to find the guilty party. A deed so vile that it hides behind the dark grasses of a person's soul." A crooked smile revealed the old woman's fetid lips.
"I see, dear lady, that your mouth is incapable of telling me anything normal or worthy of my attention, so I must end this conversation.
" "Image," the woman hissed, her eyes, staring at a point somewhere beyond the worlds, boring holes in the muggy afternoon air.
I left her more pleased than frightened by her nonsense. Walking toward the carriage, which was two streets away, just behind the wooden church, I encountered a large and very kind man. He turned out to be a seller of an incredible variety of items. His wares were wonderful and fit the broadest commercial categories. The shop contained everything from pig food to antique clocks. Expensive scarves to cheap used rags worn and rotting in the dry wind.
"Hello," he called, wiping his hairy, greasy hands on a woolen apron. His attire, so out of place in the slowly falling asleep town, awakened in me joyful memories of when, together with my aunts and the courtiers, we had enjoyed flour pastries, fatty meats seasoned with exquisite wine spices, and the sweet aroma of simmering chocolate. "
Hello, a beautiful sunset will be over Czarny Dwór today. The forests have spread their crowns like corpses begging for forgiveness. In the evening, we can expect a wonderful display of golden stars against the dark sky. Perhaps even Orion himself will appear over Czarny Dwór," I said, gesturing to the surrounding buildings.
"I hope so," he said, smiling, and after a moment added, "And how do you like the new tea?" He asked just as cheerfully. Then he added, "Gooseberries are a wonderful addition, aren't they?"
This question intrigued me
. "How do you know I bought gooseberry tea?" I asked. Then I waited for the conversation to develop, hoping it was some nosy merchant who liked to spy on his customers.
"Don't be silly, my friend, you bought it from me two days ago
." "No!" I exclaimed. "That's impossible!" I wasn't even in town!!!"
"Of course you were there... He was there and bought a box of gooseberry tea." The words flowed like a torrent. After a moment, he stopped abruptly. He eyed me the way men eye each other during a spectacular duel. "Are you okay?" he asked, confused by my weakness and the whiteness of my complexion, which was always full of life and vigor.
"No, nothing," I replied, and with a staggering step, ignoring the merchant's calls, I walked away toward the carriage. As I was leaving town, I noticed a note stuck to a post, the content of which I should have expected, and which simultaneously shocked me... It was a request for information about the missing Natalia Knopf, and beneath it another, for any information that would help find Filip Naichter.
The night was quiet. The moon curled over the dark undergrowth, settling into a blissful sleep. Nocturnal animals were setting out on their hunt, announcing their presence to the black forest. His hands seemed to intertwine above my head like a large umbrella or the dome of a mighty temple. A faint feeling of fear gripped me; even the horses felt strange. Something was here, but I didn't know what.
I quickly got out of the carriage and raced home. I lit a candle and raced up the stairs to the cursed bedroom. The stench there made me dizzy. I went to the fireplace. A scream flew from my lips like a flock of crows startled by a gunshot. The image vanished. The empty space on the wall took my eyes.
Outside the window, a storm had broken out. It came by surprise, like a fox sneaking into a henhouse at night. Thick raindrops clattered against the delicate windows, like the sound of a thousand drums. I grabbed my head and, terrified, fell to my knees. I screamed along with the dark sky, from whose mouths flocks of winding lightning bolts rained. Who is doing this to me? I thought, unable to gather my wits. Who wants me to lose what little sanity I have left…who! Who!! Who!!! My white-hot thoughts faded in the cold raindrops.
I stood up and ran out of this accursed house. The girl in the painting was pointing to the entrance to the forest. I felt that this was where I would find the answer to who was behind my worries, what cursed manipulator and criminal.
What if it's that old woman... I thought as I ran along the path leading to the dark forests. She's mad, she thinks she's a witch. Such sick minds are capable of inhuman behavior. Suddenly, a brilliant idea burst into the swirling thoughts, into the gears of my imagination. I stole a painting from that sick woman. The madwoman had gotten it into her head that she was someone unknown and was framing me... She told me to follow the children's sign... so I'm going and I'll catch that old woman. Raindrops blurred my vision of the sad world. I ran almost by feel, guided by instinct and a few visible clues. Time and again, lightning slashed across the world. The blood-red sky spread its arms over the forest, inviting me into unknown depths. I ran into the thicket of trees and, panting, leaned against one of the enormous, ancient elms. I waited a moment, hoping the storm would subside. Meanwhile, the storm monsters only grew stronger. The forest wasn't my ally, nor did it oppose me. Initially, it represented solitude… a kind of alienation. It was a hermitage, a temple where a tortured hermit contemplates the world and spiritual matters. However, the deeper I delved into the forest, the more my impressions shrank and burst like soap bubbles. I ran frantically into the darkness, my lungs burning with fire, and my leaden legs weighed down, dragging me down to the muddy, cold ground. My head was spinning as if I'd drunk too much alash. Suddenly, amidst the roar of thunder, I heard a single, yet very familiar, and terrifying, sound. I was terrified. I wanted to scream, but my vocal cords were momentarily paralyzed. Such sudden and uncontrollable aphony caused my soul to drown in an ocean of terror. The howling of wolves came from all sides. I felt trapped. I couldn't give up; I had to catch this woman before she stole another child. A witch... I thought, and suddenly it felt even colder than usual. Darkness enveloped my body like a shroud, and in the sky, Thor, the god of thunder, raged, hurling his arrows into the dark and impenetrable night. Fleeing a pack of wolves that seemed not far away, only moments away from meeting their white fangs. I ran as fast as I could, stumbling over branches protruding from the ground. After a moment, my eyes caught sight of what I feared most... a small house. Was this the cottage of that sick woman? Satisfied and terrified, I stood before the door to a nightmare...
A small wooden cottage. Its dark, glassless windows sneered. I stepped inside. On the desk, I felt for a candlestick containing five medium-sized candles. I lit them with the matches nearby and froze. I clutched the candlestick from my bedroom in my hand, and my clothes were scattered on the floor. I walked to the opposite wall and saw… a painting. Two terrified children stared at me with deathly eyes. Terrified, amidst the lightning flashes, I noticed a strange reddish goo dripping from the picture frame. On the table beneath the painting, I noticed a set of knives and scalpels, the tools I used in my work. The tools dripped with blood. Beside them stood scattered jars of paint and thinner. My eyes literally bulged, and my jaw dropped involuntarily. Suddenly, I realized the entire house smelled of gooseberries. My head felt as heavy as a cannonball. The howling of wolves was getting closer. Night guards, curious about the gruesome goings-on in this small, quiet cottage. Had
this old idiot orchestrated the whole thing, all because I'd taken her stupid painting? It didn't make sense...what was going on here? Suddenly, my gaze landed on the door, rightly so, I thought, to the basement. I slowly approached it. In the center hung a small note. I tore it off and, in the candlelight, read... "No trespassing...private study...the painting is MINE..."
With tears in my eyes, I looked around the room. It was my handwriting...lightning bolts slashed through my mind like a pig being slaughtered for Christmas...like fabric is cut for clothing. It was my handwriting...these were my things...Suddenly, like an avalanche, images appeared before my eyes like a ghostly slideshow. I saw myself with a knife in my hand, I saw the moon, blood… Crimes…
I am mad… With trembling hands, I opened the door, the scent of gooseberries becoming even stronger. I entered the small room. The cold earth welcomed my feet with relief. In the center, I saw a pair of small wooden crosses. My eyes clouded over. Madness peered into my mind like a nosy neighbor through an open window. A smile floated across my face like a galleon into an endless black sea. The howling of wolves stopped, and the house suddenly ceased to be so terrifying. I even felt it wanted to keep me within. The quick, cheerful glances of my blue eyes darted from tombstone to tombstone. Yes, I knew well what lay beneath this dirty, dark earth. An image, my image, I thought, and suddenly my mouth filled with laughter, the wonderful laughter of a madman…
Mad sounds drifted away into the cold expanse of the stormy sky. The rain subsided, and the night slowly turned into dawn…
***
A sunny day descended on the Black Manor, beautiful at this time of year. The dusty, light-drenched alleyways bore dozens of human bodies. Cottages and palaces bathed in sunlight. The markets were prosperous. Many merchants had come to sell their wares today. At the end of the alleys, unnoticed by anyone, sat an old woman. Her empty eyes gnawed at the warm air like a flock of starving rats. The woman sat on a black scarf, her hair falling gently over her dark, old dress. The old woman smiled to herself, her thumbs racing and rubbing insistently against each other. Beside her lay a strange object wrapped in rags. A black cat jumped onto the woman's exhausted back, wrapping itself around her neck and meowing softly. Its hell-red eyes contrasted with her dark fur.
"What splendor must be hidden beneath such a hideous covering," the old woman heard, then bared her yellow teeth in a terrifying smile.
"This isn't for you..." she said, then burst into a mocking, soft chuckle, and it seemed her black tomcat understood her perfectly, echoing her unusual, diabolical growl.
The end.
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