I lick my lips and call out uncertainly, “Reap?”
My cat is sitting in the middle of the hallway, white tail flicking back and forth like a windshield wiper. His eyes are wide, unblinking. “What’s wrong?”
I let go of the wall, crouch in front of him, anxious to get him in my arms and make sure he’s okay. Make sure we don’t have a repeat of that episode a couple weeks ago. But the moment my fingers sweep his fur, he turns his back on me, tail shooting up like a warning.
Meooooooowwwwwwwww.
He howls so loudly, I feel it in my teeth. I’m freaking out now. I grab for him, but he slinks farther down the hallway, a tiny puff of white in the darkness. I chase him, swearing under my breath, hoping he doesn’t think this is a game. But he pauses, turns around, meows again.Follow me,he seems to say. My chest tightens, but I follow Reaper. Funny how we trust our pets more than human beings.
Reaper and I pad silently down the hallway. Finally, he raises his head, sniffs the air.
And stops. He whirls around, looks me dead in the eye.
Meowww.
Here,he says.It’s right here.
God, I hope it’s not a dead parrot. I step forward, scanning the area where he sits, my jaw tight.
Empty. There’s nothing there at all but Reaper, sitting still and silent on the floorboards, tail whooshing back and forth, faster now than before.
I exhale impatiently, scanning again. I crouch, grab him, and sweep my hand over his body for any sign of discomfort. The only thing out of place is his heartbeat. It’s way too fast.
I let him go and rock back on my heels, shivering. I have that horrible, sweaty feeling you get right before someone jumps out and screams, “Boo!”
And then he does something I’ve never seen him do. He tilts his head back and stares pointedly at the ceiling. Shit. I bolt up, terrified. It’s too dark to see the ceiling, but my brain helpfully fills it in. I imagine horrific things: someone stuck to the ceiling like a spider about to pounce and hammer me to death. Bill Campbell about to come down from the attic and hammer me to death.
Wait.
The attic.
Reaper is standing right under the attic.
I gasp, and he gives me a look that says,About time you figured it out, dipshit.
A small staircase is tucked under a panel in the ceiling, directly above him. How the hell does Reaper know about the attic? He’s never been up there. He couldn’t have. The only way to get in is by pulling the cord anchored in the ceiling.
I tilt my head up, and there it is. The little cord to open the attic. Slowly, I reach up and close my fist around it.
He heard noises coming from the attic. Especially at night.
I drop my hand, swallowing hard. I’m so scared I’m panting. Bill Campbell heard noises in the attic…
I scoop Reaper up and press his soft fur to my face like a shield. His heartbeat is wild under my fingertips. “Did you hear something up there?” I whisper into his neck.
I’m glad he can’t answer. I wait below the attic, debating whether to pull the cord or not.
Meoww?
I make up my mind. I turn around and carry Reaper back up the dark hallway, my face still pressed into his neck. I’m not going up there. Not tonight anyway.
Creeeeeeeeak.
My heart stops. I freeze. Reaper’s heartbeat slams against his ribs. I’m inches from my door, but I can’t move. I heard it. I know I did. Up in the attic, something moved.Someonemoved.
I force myself to move as quietly and calmly as possible back to my room.
And I don’t want to admit this.
