Grief settled in. Tears blurred her vision. Her legs had gone numb from sheer terror. She lay sprawled on the cold, wooden floor—soaked in sweat, gasping between sobs. Then her eyes widened, her mouth twisted open, and a bloodcurdling scream tore through the silence. But what had driven her into such a frenzy?
Two months ago, on a rainy afternoon, Reiko was walking home from school. The fog was thick, suffocating. The streetlights barely cut through the gloom. Then she heard it—a faint meowing, desperate and weak.
Lightning flashed, illuminating a large, cat-like shadow stretching across the sidewalk. She hesitated. Then, as the thunder rolled away, she saw the source—a small, drenched kitten huddled against the curb.
She exhaled a nervous laugh. "Must've been a trick of the light... You're just a little thing, aren't you? Where's home?"
The kitten had no collar, no sign of belonging to anyone. A stray.
She scooped it up, shielding it under her umbrella, and despite the downpour, she smiled all the way home.
When she arrived, she kicked off her shoes and rushed inside. "Look what I found, Mom! Can we keep her?"
Her mother, Marie, turned from the stove, immediately recoiling. "No! Absolutely not. I'm allergic."
"But we can't just throw her out in the rain. I'll keep her away from you, I promise."
Marie sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fine. But if that cat comes near me, it's gone. And you disinfect every surface it touches. Understood?"
Reiko nodded eagerly. That night, during dinner, she announced the kitten's new name: Neko.
A week later, her younger brother, Soichi, came home early from school, pale-faced and frantic. "Dad... We have to get rid of that cat."
Their father, seated on the couch, barely glanced up from his newspaper. "What are you talking about?"
"I heard rumors... from the kids at school. The adults have been talking about a huge cat—way bigger than normal—wandering the streets at night. The way they describe it... it sounds like Reiko's cat."
Their father chuckled. "It's just an urban legend, Soichi. Don't be ridiculous."
But the next morning, a nightmare awaited them.
Saturday. No school. A morning that should have been peaceful.
"Soichi, come down for breakfast, or your food's going to get cold!" Marie called.
Silence.
"I'll check on him," their father muttered, rising from his seat. But before he could take a step, something thick and wet dripped onto the table.
A dark, red droplet.
Then another.
The family froze. Their heads tilted upward in unison.
The ceiling was soaked with blood.
Panic surged through them. They raced upstairs and burst into Soichi's room.
The walls were painted crimson. His bed—drenched. His throat—slit wide open. The window—ajar, curtains swaying in the breeze.
Marie's wail shattered the air. "My baby! My sweet Soichi! Who... who could do this?!"
Reiko staggered backward, bile rising in her throat.
Her father clenched his fists. "No signs of forced entry. It had to be someone in the house..."
Two weeks passed. No answers. Only suspicion.
Their father, once a pillar of strength, crumbled under the weight of grief. He stopped going to work. He stopped speaking altogether.
Marie's silence shattered one evening.
"It's Neko," she hissed, eyes vacant, voice trembling. "That cat... that thing did this."
She muttered it again. And again. And again. "That cat has to go. That cat has to go. That cat has to go."
Then she lunged.
Reiko barely had time to react before her mother's fist collided with her face. She collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
When she came to, Neko was gone. The front door was wide open. Her mother stood trembling, hands bloodied, muttering in a daze, "What have I done...?"
Her father remained in his chair, staring at nothing. Pale. Hollow. Empty.
Four weeks later, their home was a rotting carcass of what it once was. Her father muttered nonsense, speaking to things that weren't there. Her mother had vanished entirely.
"Dad, snap out of it! Mom left!"
His eyes darted wildly. "No. She was eaten by that cat. I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes."
Reiko scoffed. "As if I'd believe that. How can something so small devour a whole human? She left because she couldn't live with her guilt."
Neko purred, brushing against her leg.
Reiko stormed out.
Present day.
It was raining again. Almost exactly like the day she found Neko.
She sprinted home, soaked from head to toe. "Dad, I'm home!"
Silence.
Her stomach twisted.
She checked the kitchen. Empty.
The living room. Nothing.
His study.
The computer screen glowed in the dark, a video playing.
Reiko leaned closer. Her father appeared on the screen, eyes sunken, voice hoarse.
"Reiko... I'm going to prove it to you. If you're watching this, it means my plan worked. I'm gone. But you—run. Take this video to the police. It'll clear your name. I love you, my daughter. I hope... I hope you'll forgive me."
Her breath hitched. She skipped forward in the video.
There. In the dim lighting, Neko slinked into frame, creeping toward her father.
Then it happened.
Neko stretched. And stretched. And stretched.
Bones cracked. Flesh twisted. The small house cat warped into something monstrous. A grotesque, towering beast with jagged fangs and piercing, abyss-like eyes.
Her father screamed as the thing lunged, claws tearing into his flesh. Blood splattered the lens. His final pleas were cut off by the sickening crunch of bone.
Then, silence.
Reiko collapsed, trembling. Her breath hitched in gasps.
A soft pattering echoed above her.
She looked up. Neko was perched atop the clock. Watching. Waiting.
Their eyes met. Hers, wide with horror. Neko's, void of life.
Then Neko dropped from the clock.
A guttural, wet crunch.
The rain had stopped. The house was quiet.
Neko padded toward the open door, dropping a torn collar onto the doorstep.
Reiko was nowhere to be seen.
The cat licked its paw. Groomed its fur. The door slowly shut.
Somewhere in the city, a child heard a soft meow in the rain.
A shadow stretched impossibly long against the pavement.
A giggle. A new plaything.
The End.