Enter the world of Hannah, an animal control worker whose existence is tinged with the harshness of others' judgments due to her lazy eye and fuller figure.
Her latest call is to a chilling crime scene where a life has been violently snuffed out, the only clues being a golden knife with enigmatic markings and a sinister chalk-drawn symbol.
Lurking in the shadows near a dumpster, a solitary black cat watches. Tasked with its rescue, Hannah steps into a realm far removed from her routine. This feline, shrouded in the inky hue of night, may not be just another stray.
Is this cat an omen of doom, spinning a web of disaster for those it encounters? Or is it simply caught in the crossfire of old wives' tales and biases against its dark coat?
In this tale, reality and myth meld, challenging deep-seated beliefs and unveiling the possibility that beneath the mundane could lie the truly extraordinary as Hannah steps through the Doorway to Darkness.
For more horror, visit caseyburrin.com.
Enter the world of Hannah, an animal control worker whose existence is tinged with the harshness of others' judgments due to her lazy eye and fuller figure.
Her latest call is to a chilling crime scene where a life has been violently snuffed out, the only clues being a golden knife with enigmatic markings and a sinister chalk-drawn symbol.
Lurking in the shadows near a dumpster, a solitary black cat watches. Tasked with its rescue, Hannah steps into a realm far removed from her routine. This feline, shrouded in the inky hue of night, may not be just another stray.
Is this cat an omen of doom, spinning a web of disaster for those it encounters? Or is it simply caught in the crossfire of old wives' tales and biases against its dark coat?
In this tale, reality and myth meld, challenging deep-seated beliefs and unveiling the possibility that beneath the mundane could lie the truly extraordinary as Hannah steps through the Doorway to Darkness.
For more horror, visit caseyburrin.com.
Welcome to Doorway to Darkness. Horror Stories by Casey Burrin. Narrated by the Night Creeper. Please Follow or subscribe on your podcast app of choice.
In the darkness of a city alleyway, 27-year-old Hannah stood just steps away from a dead body covered in a yellow tarp.
Nearby, she noticed a young officer patrolling the periphery of the crime scene.
Hannah noted the officer’s close-cropped hair, which revealed hints of auburn that, when touched by the occasional sunbeam, pierced the gloom of the alley. His strong jawline contrasted against his soft blue eyes that were set off by perfectly arched brows.
What had happened to the nearby deceased man, Hannah didn’t know. As an employee at the city animal control, she’d been called there to collect a stray cat, who’d been found near the crime scene.
Now Hannah wondered how to impress the young officer before retrieving the cat sequestered behind a dumpster.
She rubbed her bad eye, almost trying to will it to work right. Due to amblyopia, commonly known as lazy eye, one eye darted off. Her parents said they never had the money to fix it, yet they went on frequent vacations together, leaving Hannah behind with her grandmother.
Even though there was another officer closer to her, she bounded up to the young patrolman who had caught her attention.
“Excuse me, sir,” Hannah said.
“Hey, back up,” the young officer said. “Get out of the crime scene. You should get out of here.”
“I’m with the city animal control,” Hannah said. “I was called by police to pick up a stray cat.”
“Oh, yeah - that. Not my area,” he said, pointing to another officer. “Don’t know much about that. You can ask him over there.”
“So what’s your name?” Hannah said, jutting out her hand. “Mine is Hannah.”
The officer's gaze swept over Hannah, starting with her knees, moving his way up to her stomach flab that spilled over her jeans where she’d tucked in her shirt. He worked his way up her chest before turning away.
“Right,” the officer said. “Ask Detective Harvey over there about the cat.”
“Didn’t catch your name?” Hannah said.
“Oliver,” the officer said as he looked down, writing in his notebook.
“What a wonderful name,” Hannah said. “Just rolls off your tongue. Were you named after a relative? I was named after my grandmother, Hannah. Who were you named after? Maybe a grandfather named Oliver? Wouldn’t that be a coincidence?”
“Officer Oliver,” he said. “It’s my last name, not my first name.”
Hannah giggled, holding her hands over her mouth, covering her front teeth that never had aligned. Her parents said they never had the money for braces either. Officer Oliver headed in another direction with Hannah scrambling behind him.
“Oh, I feel so foolish,” Hannah said. “Of course, it’s your last name. Why would it be your first name? Who names their kids Oliver these days? It’s just a goofy name. For a first name, that is. It’s fantastic for a last name. I really think that.”
“Thanks,” Officer Oliver said. “Go talk to Officer Harvey about your cat.”
“But what happened to him?” Hannah said.
“Don’t know what happened to the cat,” he said. “That’s your area. Officer Harvey will tell you.”
“I mean the man under the tarp,” Hannah said. “What happened to him?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Officer Oliver said.
“But I do worry about it. I want to know,” Hannah said. “I really do.”
“It’s not good,” he said. “You don’t want to know.”
“But I do want to know,” Hannah said.
“No, you don’t,” Officer Oliver said.
“I do,” Hannah said. “I really do.”
Officer Oliver snapped his notebook shut so hard that the resulting breeze lifted Hannah's hair slightly.
“Oh really?” Officer Oliver said. “You want to see what’s happened here? Sure, I’ll show you. Come with me.”
Officer Oliver bolted toward the yellow tarp with Hannah scampering behind him. He lifted the yellow crime tape, ducking beneath it. The tape snapped back into place, leaving Hannah to raise it again to keep up with him.
Officer Oliver peeled back the tarp, revealing the dead body of a man who looked like he was in his forties, dressed in a tailored jacket and matching pleated trousers.
He seemed normal in every way except for a gaping hole where his throat used to be and a puddle of drying blood next to him.
Hannah turned away at the sight of the dead man, not wishing to look any longer, with part of her wishing she’d never asked Officer Oliver about it.
“Found him this morning,” Officer Oliver said. “He’s not been dead too long either. Maybe three hours. Hard to tell. Neighbors called it in.”
Officer Oliver retraced his steps behind the crime tape with Hannah in tow. He stopped around another cordoned-off area.
“Know what that is?” Officer Oliver said, pointing to the pavement.
“Looks like a star symbol,” Hannah said.
“It’s like a pentagram,” Officer Oliver said. “You know, like the devil.”
“Who drew that?” Hannah said. “Did that man do that?”
Officer Oliver walked away, leaving Hannah standing there, so she followed him. When he got back to his makeshift station in the alleyway, he picked up a plastic see-through bag and pushed it in Hannah’s face.
“That’s a knife,” Hannah said.
“Not just any knife,” Officer Oliver said. “Look at it. Really look at it.”
Hannah took a closer look at the gold dagger etched with deep swirling scrolls in an intricate interlocking design. Shadows played along the grooves when the light hit them.
“What is all this for?” Hannah said.
“Don’t know,” Officer Oliver said. “Sacrifice maybe, but of what I don’t know. It’s evidence now.”
“Hey, what are you doing?” Officer Harvey yelled to Officer Oliver. “Get over here now!”
Hannah’s eyes lingered on the ornate blade that lay within the plastic. She wondered what had happened to the dead man, whose upscale clothing seemed at odds with the darkness and filth of a city alley.
She headed back toward Officer Oliver in case he wanted to show her more. But when she got closer, she heard a conversation she wasn’t meant to hear.
“Are you nuts!” Officer Harvey said. “Why were you talking to that fatty from animal control. Why did you show her the crime scene?”
“Believe me, I didn’t want to talk to Lazy Eye, but she wouldn’t leave me alone,” Officer Oliver said. “I couldn’t get rid of her otherwise.”
Hannah's eyelids began to flutter as she tried to hold back tears welling up in her eyes. The corners of her mouth quivered, but she pressed her lips together to stop it.
Hannah thought that even if he didn’t like her, why did he have to be so mean about it? Why is everyone so cruel?
Hannah straightened herself up and grabbed tighter to the cat carrier that she’d brought for the stray cat. She decided she’d had enough of the crime scene, and she had a job to do.
As Hannah turned away from the officers, she dropped the cat carrier in a puddle of muddy water that had collected in the alleyway. The dingy water splashed against her pant leg, staining her clothes.
Hannah peered down under the blue garbage dumpster, spotting the cat that was so black it nearly dissolved into the darkness of the alley.
The feline stared at her with vivid green orbs that appeared like emeralds against the blackness of her coat. The creature glared at Hannah with a flicker of nearly human intelligence.
When Hannah stood up, she noted red smears on her hands that looked like blood. That caused her to peer around the dumpster, finding blood droplets leading to the back of the dumpster where the cat laid.
Hannah wondered if this cat had been hurt by the same person who had killed that dead man.
She laid down fully on her side in putrid eye yolks and rotten garbage, so she could be on the same level as the cat.
The cat’s eyes almost shimmered with an inner light as Hannah heard the faintest purr that sounded like a melody of earth and sky woven through the threads of time.
For how long Hannah laid there staring at the cat she didn’t know. For a moment, it felt like the entire world had stopped spinning, and only the two of them existed.
Suddenly, Hannah was jolted out of the otherworld and back into this one, where the putrid smell of rotten eggs and the sounds of officers talking in the background returned to her.
“Hey baby, how are you?” Hannah said. “Don’t be scared. I’m here to help you.”
With its spine arched, the cat’s growl sliced through the air as it struck out at Hannah just feet away.
“No one is here to hurt you,” Hannah said. “It’s OK. I’m here to help.”
The cat sprung to action, striking out at Hannah's arm so fast she couldn’t react. Almost instantly, Hannah felt the warm rush of blood as it welled up from the fresh wound, spilling over her skin in a crimson tide that beaded into droplets. She bounded up, noting her hurt arm.
“That’s one mean bitch,” Officer Harvey said, standing behind her. “Ugly too. Skinny, weedy, slimy black hair. Maybe you should just let it die back there.”
Ignoring Officer Harvey, Hannah grabbed her backpack, retrieving the first-aid kit. As she dressed the wound, her hand shook with frustration at her injury so deep that it might need stitches, but she didn’t want the officers to know.
For nearly an hour, she laid partially under that dumpster, talking to the cat, trying to coax it out. With each passing moment, the cat’s growls subsided until there seemed to be a ceasefire. Hannah finally stroked the back of its head before she could drape a towel over it, allowing her to draw the creature to her.
With no fight left in it, the cat entered the carrier without even a murmur before Hannah closed it.
Just as she was leaving, Hannah noticed a trickle of blood from her wound had stained her pants.
After dropping off the cat at animal control, Hannah headed home to her apartment, a two-bedroom abode in a six-floor building. She trudged up the stairs to the top floor because the elevator was out of order again. The landlord, Mr. Jones, hadn’t fixed it in three weeks.
Hannah reached the threshold of her apartment, once shared with Emily, who just vanished into a new life with her boyfriend, skipping out on her half of the rent. That left Hannah to fend off the wrath of Mr. Jones alone.
As soon as she pushed the apartment door open, she found the uninvited and unwelcome Mr. Jones on the other side in her living room. As soon as she saw him, she determined she’d smooth the conversation over.
“It’s my building,” Mr. Jones said to Hannah. “I can be wherever I want.”
“Why are you here?” Hannah said. “What do you want?”
“Are you going to report me?” he said. “Maybe I’ll report you.”
“For what?” Hannah said. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Things change,” he said. “I may need to amend your lease, especially now since your roommate Emily skipped out on her part of the rent.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” Hannah said. “I don’t want to report you. I just want to know why you are here in my apartment.”
“It’s not what I want,” Mr. Jones said. “It’s what I don’t want – and that’s trouble. And that would be you.”
Hannah looked down at the floor and began biting her nails, a bad habit she employed whenever she felt nervous.
“You can’t change the lease in the middle of the year,” Hannah said.
“How many animals do you have in here?” Mr. Jones said.
Hannah felt her stomach drop, and her hands began shaking as she paced the floor past Mr. Jones, placing him between her and the door.
“You know how many. I moved in with them. You said it was OK when I moved in,” Hannah said. “I also foster cats and kittens who need homes sometimes. You know that, too. You can’t change terms in the middle of the lease.”
“Can’t I?” he said. “You going to report me? Listen, it’s not a matter of what you want. It’s a matter of what you can do.”
“What are you driving at?” Hannah said.
“What do you think I want? What do all landlords want?” Mr. Jones said. “We want our money. It’s unfortunate that Emily skipped out on you, but I need my money.”
“I don’t have the other half,” Hannah said. “And I have no money to move. You’ll have to go after Emily for that. Now please leave me alone.”
“Maybe you should think about what I’ve said today,” Mr. Jones said. “Get a second job. Borrow the money from your family. I’m not saying you should or that I’d change the lease. I’m saying you should think about that.”
With that, Mr. Jones brushed past her, exiting the doorway, which Hannah quickly closed behind him.
Collapsing on the couch, Hannah threw her backpack on the cushions, knocking its contents in a haphazard cascade across the floor.
She clasped her hands together against her stomach so hard her nails cut into her skin. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t even manage that. What was she going to do?
Her cat, Stripe, brushed up against her as if he knew she was in distress, while her other cat, Mayo, jumped up on the couch next to her.
Hannah had no friends, not real ones at least, not that she didn’t try so hard. Her isolation expanded further when Emily skipped out – a betrayal that left her to the whims of that nasty Mr. Jones. How could she do that to her?
Her parents let it be known they’d provide no financial support whatsoever. Perhaps her grandmother would’ve, but she had died.
What about the little black cat she found today – just another neglected soul adrift in a sea of misery. But Hannah couldn’t do anything about it now.
Hannah gathered her scattered belongings, deciding to straighten herself up. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day, she thought.
As she was putting her items back in her purse, she noticed the powder compact she used to cover her acne had broken into pieces.
Hannah stared at the tag with the word “euthanize” on it as she stood in the backroom of the animal shelter. She’d reported to the animal control at 6:30 a.m., which was a full hour before anyone was supposed to be at work.
She’d come in early to see how the little black alley cat she’d rescued the day before was faring, hoping she was doing well. But clearly, she was not, as she’d been moved to the room from where no animal ever returned.
She read the veterinarian’s note of the female cat’s injuries as fixable but her temperament as impossible, so the recommendation was to euthanize.
Tears welled up in Hannah’s eyes as she stared at the note. She had rehabilitated some of the worst cats by bringing them home, allowing them to decompress from the sights and sounds of an animal shelter. But she knew she couldn’t do that for this cat, not after her conversation with Mr. Jones the day before. With him, she had no room for error now.
“Baby, it’s OK,” Hannah said. “It’s me. I saved you yesterday from that yucky alleyway. Remember me? I’m sorry we couldn’t do more for you. You deserve better.”
Hannah touched the top of the cat’s head, but she didn’t protest this time. She stroked her head for another minute before closing the cage. Hannah decided to make the morning for this cat as pleasant as she could with the little time she had left.
“I’ll get you some water and food,” Hannah said. “You shouldn’t be uncomfortable. You have a few more hours.”
Hannah walked out of the cat-holding area to retrieve cat food and water when she heard the cat hiss and snarl, coupled with the unmistakable clang of the cat’s body hurtling against the back of the metal cage.
Hannah dropped the water bowl as she felt her heart beat wildly against her chest. She ran to the back room, and when she arrived, she spotted a sight her eyes did not at first accept.
In the darkness of the room, Hannah saw a middle-aged man with a graying beard dressed in a suit looming over the cage, reminding her of the well-dressed dead man she’d seen before under the yellow tarp.
The man held an ornately crafted golden knife, just like the one Officer Oliver had shown her at the crime scene yesterday.
A chill ran down her spine as the room felt both impossibly large and suffocatingly small, like the walls themselves were caving in on her. Hannah determined this man would leave the shelter immediately.
“What are you doing!” Hannah yelled at the man.
The man’s head swiveled around, a look of utter surprise etched into his face with a mix of curiosity. His attention, once firmly fixed on the cat, now belonged to Hannah.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said, raising his palms to her. “I’m sorry you’re caught up in this. I didn’t think anyone would be here this early in the morning.”
“I think you should leave!” Hannah said.
“Listen, you look like you have a crappy job,” the man said. “I have money. I can pay you for this cat. How does $500 sound to you?”
“For what!” Hannah said. “To kill her!”
“You don’t understand. This is not a cat,” the man said. “And the tag on her cage says she’s slated to be euthanized anyway, but that won’t kill her. Not the way you think. The only way to remove this evil is to kill her with this dagger coupled with this sigil I drew on the ground, sending this witch back to hell.”
Hannah looked down at the floor where the man had seemingly drawn the same symbol with chalk on the ground, just like the other crime scene the day before.
“Sibella has already killed so many,” the man said. “My colleague died in an alley trying to rid the world of this evil, but Sibella killed him. Ripped out his throat.”
“Sibella?” Hanna said.
“You should know I’m willing to do anything to stop this evil,” the man said. “I don’t want to hurt you. Listen, I have money. Lots of it. I can pay you if you just look the other way.”
“Get away from that cat now!” Hannah said. “I’m calling the police!”
“Will $1,000 do? Or $2,000?” the man said. “For this cat. This is a city shelter. You put animals down all the time, so what’s one more? It will be fast, and we will rid this world of evil before it’s too late for us all. I can pay $3,000. In cash. Right now. How about that? Just let me take the cat.”
Hannah bit her lip while staring at this man who bore the unassuming air of a college professor. In her mind, a storm brewed. She needed the money now that Emily had skipped out, and Mr. Jones was after her. This offer of money acted like a beacon in a stormy sea of her troubles. It’d buy her time with the rent, or she could make a fresh start at a new place with a down payment and a first month's rent.
As enticing as this offer seemed to be, she knew handing this cat into the clutches of this man would haunt her forever.
“Get out of here and never come back!” Hannah said.
“You don’t understand,” the man said before stopping mid-sentence.
A wave of sheer astonishment washed over his face, changing his features into a look of profound disbelief. His eyes, wide and unblinking, stared at Hannah, seemingly looking for help. The knife, once firmly clasped in his hands, slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground, breaking the charged silence. He grabbed his legs and now seemed to disregard his direction.
With a staggered step, he lurched back again and again as each move appeared to be a dance of confusion and dread for the man.
“What is happening?” he said. “What did you do? You’re with her, aren’t you!”
He proceeded to walk backward, with each step measured and deliberate. Backward, he moved in a dance of retreat toward the back door with Hannah following him, not knowing what to do.
“What did you do?” the man yelled at Hannah. “You’re vexed now. Stay away from that cat. All of our lives depend on it.”
Grabbing at his legs, the man walked himself backward out of the building and on the sidewalk as Hannah followed him out the back door, through the back driveway onto the sidewalk.
“I can’t control my legs,” he screamed at her. “You must stop it. Tell her to stop. Only you can make it stop. Only you command her now.”
“What are you talking about?” Hannah said. “I’m not doing anything. I’m making sure you're long gone from here.”
Hannah stopped in her tracks as she could see the man walking straight toward the street. She could clearly see the natural trajectory of the man if he continued.
The man turned around and began running with his back turned to her, begging her to help. He headed down the street, about a block away from her at that point.
“Make it stop!” the man yelled at Hannah. “You’re in grave danger! More than you could ever know!”
Hannah’s mouth hung open as she felt a rising tide of horror within her as she watched the nightmare unfold before her. Rooted to the spot, she was gripped in dread as she watched the man running away from her. Time slowed, each second stretching into eternity as she watched him walk in front of a speeding car that smashed him into the pavement.
A crowd assembled around the man, who laid on the ground, covered in his own blood but appearing still alive.
Hannah dashed back into the shelter with hands clasped over her mouth due to what she’d just experienced.
But what had she just seen? A man who appeared perfectly normal in every way had just tried to kill this cat he declared a witch. Were these the ravings of a madman? Yet what had driven him to walk into oncoming traffic?
Hannah ran her fingers through her hair as if to pull herself together. She marched back into the back room to the black cat who sat at the center of the enigma.
When Hannah got back to the cage, she found the cat sitting in the center of it as if she’d been waiting for her return. Gone was the cowering, injured cat, but rather, in its place sat a creature with a gaze unwavering and all-knowing.
“Sibella?” Hannah said. “Is that your name?”
The cat stared back at her as if she understood the weight of Hannah’s words.
“This can’t be true,” Hannah said. “He’s crazy. It’s not real. It must all be a hoax of some sort. Just because he believes it doesn’t mean it’s true.”
With a mixture of conviction and doubt, Hannah decided to prove this cat was simply just that – a black cat – no more, no less.
Hannah turned away from the cat, pulled out her cell phone, and typed in the name “Sibella,” in the search ending on her phone, but nothing notable came out other than it being a popular name from the 1700s.
She typed in the word “Sibella” again and the word “witch,” popped up a story of a 25-year-old woman condemned to be burned at the stake for witchcraft, which read:
“Sibella, a woman of fierce spirit, found herself at the mercy of the town elders’ decree. They ordered her to wed a man so cruel he’d beaten his former wife to death.
Defiant, Sibella denounced this man in the village square. But it was a crime for a woman to speak out against any man. Her defiance drew the ire of the town constable, who didn’t like her quick mouth. In a grotesque display of power and malice, he silenced her permanently by cutting out her tongue.”
Hannah tore away from the phone screen, so disturbed by this story. She glanced over at the cat whose eyes seemed to pierce through her. With the weight of the story pressing on her, Hannah took a deep breath and continued reading.
“But Sibella’s spirit could not be quelled so easily. Muted and mutilated, she turned to the shadowy realm, forging a sinister pact with the devil himself.
When the day of reckoning came, as the townsfolk gathered to witness her fiery demise at the stake, they found only an empty cell, save for a solitary black cat. Unknown to them, Sibella had been transformed into an immortal creature of the night. A black cat with emerald eyes ran out of the prison cell when the cell door was opened.
Shortly thereafter, Sibella’s vengeance was as swift as it was devasting – a curse that swept through the town, rendering all unable to speak or eat, causing them to starve to death one by one.
As legend has it, Sibella, now in her feline form, roams the world, a harbinger of doom to those who cross her path.
The only salvation lies in a golden dagger imbued with sacred symbols and the power to banish her back to the infernal depths where she came.”
After reading the story, Hannah found herself overwhelmed by the weight of the tale. She leaned against the table as a whirlwind of thought raced through her mind. But finally, she drew a conclusion.
“It’s just a made-up story,” Hannah said. “These crazy people believe it. They probably believe it with every black cat they see. That’s it.”
Hannah’s gaze locked with the black cat, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange. Hannah unlatched the cage. As the door swung open, she extended her hand toward the creature, her fingers gently caressing the smooth fur atop her head, gliding along the edge of her cheek. The cat nuzzled her hand for the first time.
“You wouldn’t hurt anybody, Sibella,” Hannah said. “Would you?”
But Hannah recalled the story about how the town constable had severed Sibella’s tongue.
Despite determining the black cat as nothing more than an ordinary feline, she was driven to explore further. With a mixture of fear and wonder, Hannah poked her finger into the cat’s mouth to confirm her suspicions that this was a basic black cat.
Recoiling back upon seeing inside Sibella’s mouth, Hannah stumbled backward, distancing herself from the cat that now felt like a dark abyss of nightmares without end.
Sibella perched on the edge of the metal cage with her tail coiled around the base of her body.
What Hannah saw in the depths of the cat’s mouth shocked her into silence. A cleanly severed tongue laid as a testament to a story that she’d believed mere folklore just seconds ago.
Hannah shook all over and felt like she’d just stepped into a freezer. She glanced at the knife on the table that the man had left and the hand-drawn demonic symbol etched in chalk on the ground. Each object now took on a darker significance, intertwining the legend of Sibella into a tapestry of terror.
Now, in the shadowy confines of that room, Hannah knew now. Sibella was no mere cat but rather a witch who had likely killed the man in the alley and almost murdered the man she met today who’d walked into traffic. How many more had suffered that fate now firmly believed by Hannah?
But what to do? Should she finish what that man had started with the golden knife? One quick slice to this cat’s neck over the chalk symbol on the ground, and all of it would be over.
She grabbed the golden handle and stared at it while her hand shook as she considered what to do.
Sibella gazed at Hannah with a depth that transcended the ordinary. Her eyes held a knowing look as if it had peered into the depths of Hannah’s soul.
Hannah threw the knife in the garbage and erased the demonic symbol on the floor. She filled out paperwork indicating the cat had been euthanized and disposed of that day before calling her boss to say she was taking a sick day.
Hannah moved toward Sibella’s cage. She picked up the tiny feline who offered no resistance, almost as if she understood the gravity of the moment. Hannah nestled Sibella into her backpack.
As Hannah flicked off the room’s lights to leave, one of the fluorescent bulbs burst, shattering glass onto the floor.
Less than an hour later, Hannah entered her apartment with Sibella poking her head out of the backpack.
Once inside, Sibella jumped out of the backpack, causing Hannah’s two cats, Stripe and Mayo, to nuzzle Sibella as if they’d always known each other.
Hannah's amazement at the cats’ greeting turned into dread when she heard banging at her door. It could only be one person – Mr. Jones. Hannah determined to get rid of him as soon as possible.
Hannah opened the door, seeing Mr. Jones on the other side.
“I saw that cat,” Mr. Jones said. “It’s head was peeking out.”
“You know I have cats,” Hannah said.
“This one’s new,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” Hannah said. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“A black cat - you don’t have a cat like that,” Mr. Jones said. “You can’t have cats in that apartment anymore. I’ve just decided. Get rid of them.”
“You can’t do that!” Hannah said. “You said I could have cats in this apartment! It's part of the lease!”
“Leases can be changed. In fact, I want you out by the end of the month, or I’m moving forward with eviction proceedings,” Mr. Jones said. “I don’t need a deadbeat like you and that blue-haired freak you called your roommate. I can rent it out to others who can pay their full rent. You got ten days to move out.”
“That’s not fair!” Hannah said. “You can’t do that!”
“I can do what I want,” Mr. Jones said. “I’m giving you a 10-day notice. I don’t want any of your kind here anyway. What are you going to do? Get a lawyer? You can’t even afford the full rent.”
“I have nowhere to go!” Hannah said. “You can’t do this!”
Tears welled up in her eyes on the brink of spilling over as Mr. Jones’ voice droned in the background.
Hannah had no money, no friends, and no place to go. Abandoned by her family and her roommate, Hannah always felt the butt of jokes because of her lazy eye she couldn’t afford to fix.
But now Mr. Jones had betrayed his assurances. More importantly, he was right. She didn’t have any money to hire a lawyer to fight him.
Her future flashed before her. She’d be out on the street and be forced to give up her beloved cats, who’d be adopted out to strangers if they were lucky or euthanized if they were not. She’d witnessed that heart-wrenching scene so many times at animal control.
Hannah thought of all of this as she focused her anger entirely on Mr. Jones. What she said next, she said in a rage that she no longer could control.
“I wish you’d fall down those stairs and break your neck!” Hannah said.
Mr. Jones smirked at her, laughing, but then his face fell. He began walking backward toward the stairwell.
“What’s happening!” he said. “My legs! What’s wrong with my legs!”
Hannah followed Mr. Jones out into the hall as he backed up step after step toward the stairwell with Sibella now at her feet.
“What did you do?” Mr. Jones said. “Stop it. Whatever it is. I won’t evict you. I was kidding. You can have as many cats as you want.”
Mr. Jones got to the top of the stairs and leaned forward for a few moments.
“Please,” he said. “Help me, Hannah!”
But all Hannah could do was glare at the man who’d caused her such pain. Hannah heard the crashing of his body against the marble and the breaking of his bones.
Hannah ran to the top of the stairs, peering down at the twisted mass that was now Mr. Jones.
“Help me, please! Mr. Jones yelled. “Someone help me!”
In the dimly lit hallway, Sibella brushed up against Hannah, sounding like a soft whisper of fur against the fabric.
“Oh, you’re right,” Hannah said to Sibella. “I’ve forgotten something.”
Hannah turned back to Mr. Jones who clung to life at the bottom of the stairs.
“I wish you’d fall down those stairs and break your neck!” Hannah said again but added two more words. “And die.”
With that, the twisted lump of flesh, broken on the stair landing that was Mr. Jones, fell silent.
Thank you for joining us at Doorway to Darkness. Horror stories by Casey Burrin. Narrated by the Night Creeper. Please follow or subscribe on your podcast app of choice.
Until next time, stay alive, if you can.