I was at home “sick” from school the day I started to feel uncomfortable being home alone. Well, I was mostly alone that day, just my black and white cat, Lucy and I. The night before, I stayed up hours after I told my mom I was going to bed and that I didn’t feel well but really, I felt fine, and I stayed up working on my sick act for the next morning. My teacher that year𑁋I believe it was my fourth-grade year𑁋was giving out an end of the year spelling test of the year’s hardest words. Considering I had already failed over half of the previous tests, I was very reluctant to take it. Though, when I think back to this now, I would have much rather failed the test that morning instead.

 Unfortunately for me, my sick act was convincing and I was granted to stay home that sunny day. Just a little after seven was usually when my mother would take my little brother and I to school, but this morning she was running a little late to make sure I had all that I needed. Once my mom yelled from the top of the stairs, “Anthony! Alex and I are leaving! Get some rest!” then hearing the faint humming of my mother’s car fade away from the house, I knew I was in the clear to start my ‘sick’ day, so I started up my PlayStation.

 Before I go on about the last sick day I ever had, I want to describe my room at that time. In my childhood, my room was the house’s unfinished basement. It was cool and remained dark for the most part and truthfully, it was too large for a child’s bedroom. At first, when we moved in, it thrilled me that all of that space was mine but after this particular morning, I despised that room.

 Once we moved in years before, we discovered the basement had little to no lighting available. It must have been something with the wiring and such, but we never really got to the bottom of it due to certain occurrences. There were no windows either, just a light at the very top of the stairs by the basement door; the switch was also there. Eventually and what was planned to be temporary, my father bought me a tall lamp that lit the room decently at best. He intended to actually install celling lights but not long after we moved in, he was killed in a fire at his work.

 Anyway, I put the lamp about six feet away from my bed and it stayed there until after my “sick” day then I moved it closer to the stairs. The lamp provided a decent light like I mentioned but it was a pain in the ass because anytime I left the house, my mother insisted that I turn it off. So, every time I returned from anywhere, day or night, my room would appear near black from the top of the stairs. Whether I liked it or not, I had to always run down into the dark abysses of the basement, find the lamp and turn it on.  An unsettling idea, right? Although before the room trade between my brother and I, I was pretty good at finding the lamp without hardly any visual at all.

 Okay, back to where I was with that day. After my mom left, I turned on my PlayStation, like I said. I played for some time and Lucy was curled in a ball, vibrating with a constant purr on my lap the whole time. Those days, Lucy was an extremely clingy cat, some could even say strangely loyal. My mother always said we were best friends and at that time, I couldn’t disagree. When I started kindergarten, I got her as a Christmas gift and ever since then, she always stayed close to me.

 In time, Lucy got up from my lap, probably to use her litter box or eat but when she returned, she jumped on my bed then continued sleeping. It wasn’t long after that when my own eyes got heavy with staring at the television for so long. In addition to that, I also did stay up much later working on the perfect cough and sick voice. I remember thinking there was some significance with Lucy getting in bed, like she was saying I needed to sleep. It’s funny how much significance you give the little things in life when you’re that young. I saved my game, turned off my console, then crawled in bed with Lucy on my pillow.

 The happenings after I laid my head down to sleep, I reduced to a dream for a good fifteen years. Around my late twenties I became convinced it was all real and regretfully, not a nightmare. As soon as it was all over, I kept telling myself I had actually fallen asleep before I crawled into bed or that I fell asleep as soon as I closed my eyes, but I know that wasn’t the case. It all happened exactly how I’m about to tell.

 Everything around me was cool, dark and quiet but moments later, couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, the silence was interrupted by what sounded like someone walking upstairs.

 My eyes slowly spread open since I was so set on sleeping and I laid in the dark listening to whatever was going on above my room, the living room and kitchen area. I hadn’t heard the front door open, so, from the start I was a little confused and a little frightened already. Although, as I reflect on this part now, once I heard the walking, I wasn’t even entirely sure it was someone upstairs. It sounded more like tapping rather than an actual person walking. Similar to the sound of a dog’s paw and nails clicking against a tile floor when it strolls around. I also knew exactly what walking upstairs sounded like, I heard it all the time, every day even. When you live beneath the rest of house, you hear everybody’s movements frequently and usually you know who is in the house.

 The more the tapping continued, the more intrigued and worried I grew with it. Lucy appeared to hear it as well since she got up from her curled position on my pillow, which made me both nervous and relieved at the same time. I was relieved I wasn’t the only one hearing it but nervous we were hearing it in the first place. It wasn’t long until I got myself out of bed, then hurried to turn the lamp on.

 My first thought was that my mother came home to check up on me or maybe she had forgotten her lunch. Though, I declined that idea once I got closer to the bottom of the stairs in seek of getting a better listen. Whoever was upstairs, wasn’t my mother, and whoever it was, they had a friend because once I put a foot on the first step, I heard communication through whispers.

 My gut rolled with fear. I couldn’t quite make out what they were discussing but they were certainly planning something. I inferred that from how one of the voices whispered more than the other. Their voices were hard to identify from how quiet they spoke but a few times while they were communicating, both would burst into a high pitch cackle.

 Tiny and speedy sounding, similar to what you would imagine a mouse’s laugh sounding like if it could. The two or more whispered and walked all over above. Based off what I heard, they went through the kitchen, living room, my mother’s room, my brother’s room, and the bathrooms included. It seemed they were intent on looking through the entire house.

So why wouldn’t they check the basement?

As soon as that idea hit me, that’s when panic set in.

What could I do? At this day and age, cell phones were an upcoming thing and adults hardly had them, especially not children. I couldn’t have even called the police if I wanted to. Which I would have but the home phone was upstairs, and so were they. It had crossed my mind to climb the stairs and try to catch a glimpse of one of them but the image of someone flinging the door open right as I made it to the top of the steps, made me feel physically ill.

 I should just hide, I thought. Neither of them knew I was there, and I figured I could keep it that way if I just didn’t make myself heard or seen. However, if the two upstairs thought they were all alone, why whisper?

 None of what was happening made any sense to me and it still doesn’t. I think about it quite often and when I do, I ask myself more questions each time.

 Due to my growing fear and constant confusion, I couldn’t think of a thing to do. I stayed at the bottom of the steps, listening and hoping they wouldn’t open the door at the top. Lucy got up from my bed by this time and was now at my feet, looking up at the stairs as well. I’m sure she was just as curious as I was or maybe she was just curious to what I was doing. I wonder if cats can be as scared as humans. Sure, they run or jump when they get startled, and their fur gets big, but do they feel that lump in their throat? Do they quiver like their cold when they are exposed to such horror? Do they get that total transfixed feeling where they can’t move a muscle because they are so terrified? I doubt it.

 The tapping continued for a while, but the whispering ceased. They hadn’t even been near the basement door, and I was beginning to think maybe they hadn’t realized we had a basement at all or that it wasn’t a priority to them. Either way, comfort was settling in rather than panic and I felt less afraid already. Despite the fact there were uninvited strangers in my house, they weren’t bothering me. The whispering intruders may break things upstairs, more than likely steal too. But at least I was okay.

 Then suddenly, the whispers sounded again, but this time, I could hear them better. They were closer to the basement door and for the first time since I’ve become aware of their presence, I actually could make out something they said. Just one word.

 In a higher-toned voice much like their laugh, one of them whispered, “Down.”

 Instantly I backed off from the staircase and as if it was all part of somebody’s plan, my lamp shut off and blackness surrounded once more. Panic was back and more gripping than before. The only thing I could think to do was hop in my bed and hide underneath the blankets. Although, before I could get underneath the covers, the basement door flung open.

 Daylight poured from upstairs onto the staircase and I sat there watching on my bed, knowing I should be hiding but I wanted to see them. Nevertheless, I didn’t get the chance to. The basement door slammed shut and at first, I believed they had just ignored the basement but then I heard rapid tapping down the stairs. The whisperers were in the black room with me.

 Fighting back tears and screaming, I heard little pitter patters tapping on the stone floor and around my bed as if a bunch of toddlers were searching through my basement. The lamp fell over and so did some crates of Christmas decorations my mother put away. They must have enjoyed that because with the crash of crates, that high pitch laugh came again but this time, it was no more than three feet away from me. As I was trying not to piss myself, and all over my bed𑁋though, I may have𑁋something else dawned on me. Lucy was still in the room. Soon she let out a growing growl and, in her way, a mighty hiss. She must have seen whatever was in the room with us.

 Up until that precise moment of my life, as I hid underneath my comforter, I had never been so afraid. I also have never felt that sweat pouring and tear-jerking level of fear since then. While I shuddered with absolute fright, I kept listening to the ruckus they made and the diabolical giggles that followed. Our family wasn’t the religious type, but I found myself mentally praying they wouldn’t jump on my bed and find me. Although, it occurred to me even then that if Lucy could see them, what if they could already see me?

I had to get out of the basement and promptly.

Finding the stairs in pitch black was challenging, but not impossible. As I mentioned earlier, I had to find the lamp from the stairs in the dark quite frequently. Although, this scenario was the opposite, and I also had to run for my life instead of wandering in the dark pace.

 Whenever I heard the steps a little farther from my bed, I bolted toward the direction of the stairs. I shoulder checked a wall that almost knocked me off my feet but I made it to the stairs. Actually, I planted on the stairs. The fall on the first step was painful on my hands and knees𑁋still have a scar from it𑁋but it didn’t stall me for long. In the position I fell in, on all fours, I scaled up the stairs and opened the door and shut it behind me.

 Everything upstairs looked normal, completely untouched and in order. Not a shred of forced entry evidence and no different from how it looked last night when I told my mother I wasn’t feeling well. My knee hurt like hell and blood had seeped through my pajamas, but my attention was elsewhere, and I was still fearfully trembling from it. The door remained closed as I listened nearby to the fiends below. I felt I had them trapped. There was no possible way they could escape to my knowledge, but I almost opened the door when I heard Lucy’s hiss. 

Mistakenly, I had left her down there with them and as soon as I heard her defensive tactics, I began to sob.

 After Lucy tried intimidating the intruders, she began to cry herself. Actually, no, she wasn’t crying, she was screaming and trust me, cats can in fact scream. The only thing I could compare her wails to is when someone stepped on her paw or tail but that wouldn’t do it justice. The pain she felt now sounded much worse. In the moments of her painful shrieks, she sounded more like a jungle cat than a domestic one. Lucy was in great agony and her wailing sounded violent and continued to get louder, like she was calling for help. To this day, I have never heard any living being cry or scream the way my cat did downstairs.

 Then, the screaming came to a halt when a vivid crack that seemed to echo came from the basement. I stood there in front of the door, in the silence that now filled the once chaotic house, praying once again that it wasn’t reality and that my cat was really alright. Tears soaked my cheeks, and I was still keeping them coming while I sobbed. After a minute or two, I couldn’t help myself; I opened the door and yelled for her.

“Lucy!”

With my swollen eyes, I looked upon the downwards staircase that was only lit by the streams of window light and my thoughts ran madly through my head. I didn’t know what to do, who to call, and especially, what I would tell them.  And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they got intensely more mysterious.

 Out of the basement’s black surroundings and onto the poor lit steps, came Lucy.

Not a single scratch on her. She didn’t look shaken up a bit, as if nothing ever happened and she wasn’t just screaming to the heavens five minutes ago. Lucy walked right past me and looked both ways then pinned her sight on me. Before I returned a look, I glanced down at the basement and the lamp had come back on. No longer was I trembling but I was still as a stone with the same naked fear, only with more bewilderment, and that’s saying something.

 Her gaze on me was strange. It was a similar look to how one animal curiously looks at another animal of a different species. Not only was her stare different but her eyes were too. Not totally and obviously different, they were just off. At the time and for the next year or so, I didn’t realize it, but her pupils looked lighter, nearly grey instead of jet black.

 That night I didn’t sleep in my room. Not even the next night or the night after that. I slept with my mom and told her I still wasn’t feeling well but I would still go to school the next day. For the rest of my schooling, I had never had another sick day. In those days, I would have much rather suffered sick at school than be home alone with Lucy.

 Ever since that morning, Lucy did just about everything differently. She quit lounging and sleeping where she could be found, hardly eats but still keeps her figure. I’ve never really seen her clean herself again either. When I would see her, she would always just sit in different spots of the house and stare with those dark grey centered eyes. On top of that, I haven’t heard her make a sound since those cries. Not a hiss, growl, purr, or a meow. It seemed like she forgot how to, or she had never learned.

 To no surprise, I quit letting her in my room and would normally walk away from her once she got close. Of course, I didn’t tell my mother about this and never have I told anyone else. I suppose that’s why I’m writing about it, just to express something that’s kept me guessing for the majority of my life.

 I’m writing this at the age of thirty-one and I was around ten years old when all this transpired. My black back but white bellied cat Lucy is still alive, which makes her twenty-four years old at the least. That’s remarkable for a feline lifespan, almost unheard of but, sure, there are some instances where cats make it up to that age. Not like my cat though. Twenty-one years later, she looks the exact same and hasn’t aged a day it seems. Okay, maybe not identically the same. The only thing that’s different is the cataract in her left eye that she developed during the summer of that year. Other than that, she is the same. Still unsettling to be around with her gawking and silent roaming.

 Of course, my mother and brother don’t see it. She’s just the old cat to them and they never paid much attention to her anyway.

 I mean, she is my cat.

But they didn’t experience what I did. Lucy still lives with my mother these days and because of that, I don’t go over there much. I realize that sounds absolutely absurd but if you heard those little footsteps along with those whispers and cartoonish cackles upstairs then the way my cat growled and screamed downstairs, you would know it wasn’t the same cat as before. Perhaps, not even the same thing.