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“Please… my cat. Don’t let her starve.”
I nodded quickly.
The paramedics gently pulled her hand away from mine and rushed her into the ambulance. Within minutes, they were gone, leaving only the spinning red lights reflecting off the houses and the echo of sirens fading into the distance.
And there I stood, barefoot on the sidewalk, staring at Mrs.
Halloway’s front door. The door that had been locked tight for over two decades was hanging open like an invitation.
I’ll never forget walking through that doorway.
As I stepped inside, the smell of dust and damp wood hit me. It felt like I had just opened a trunk that had been sealed away for years.
Her cat, a skinny orange tabby with white paws, came running toward me immediately, meowing so loudly it echoed through the empty hallway.
She was clearly starving.
I followed the cat into the kitchen, my bare feet sticking slightly to the linoleum floor. The room was cramped and cluttered with unopened mail stacked everywhere, but it was functional. I found cat food in the pantry and filled up her water bowl from the sink.
Fed the cat, locked the door behind me, and returned home to bed. But curiosity kept tugging at me, pulling me deeper into the house.
The living room was covered in white sheets, like something out of a ghost story. Everything was draped and hidden.
Curious, I decided to pull back one of the sheets.
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