Gary towered over the kitchen sink, scraping at a plate with a soaking wet rag. His eyes narrowed as his focus deepened – there was a knock at the door. He gently set the plate down into the sink, tossed the rag onto the counter, and darted toward the front of his home. For a moment, he stood idly, composing himself before the potential of human interaction. He threw open the door. Nobody was there. Gary breathed a sigh of relief, and he gazed down onto his doorstep. There was a book – a leather-bound book.

  He hoisted it up into his arms, and he pivoted back into his home, slamming the door shut behind him. The room fell silent. Gary stopped and stared down at the hardwood floor beneath him. There was a cat – his cat, Aggie. Gary smiled, and he continued into the living room, while Aggie scuffled between his legs. Smoke shut up from his fingertips. He stared down at his hands – they were burning. A sharp pain shot up through his wrist. The book fell to the ground with a resounding thud; Gary raced into the kitchen. Aggie leapt beneath the couch.

  The house fell silent and still, save for the frantic opening and closing of cabinet doors, echoing out from the kitchen and into the living room. One step at a time, Aggie crept out from beneath the couch, halting just beside the book. She peeked down at the cover. Her pupils widened. It read: El Infierno Godfrey. She grinned down at the cover for a moment – the sound of rummaging through the kitchen ceased. Aggie bolted around to face the other side of the book: she pressed her head against its spine, and she pushed with the greatest force that she could muster. The book inched along atop the hardwood. Eventually, Aggie relocated the book firmly beneath the couch. Not a moment later, Gary returned to the living room.

  He had, on his fingers, an excessive reel of bandaging. His eyes darted about the room before landing on Aggie.

  “Where’d the book go?”

  Aggie froze. She glared up toward Gary – and she let out a faint meow. Gary shrugged, scratched at the back of his head, and paced further into the living room, crashing onto the couch where he laid.

  “You know what? I think that shit was cursed. I’m glad it’s gone. What do you think, Aggie?”

  On cue, she leapt up onto the arm of the couch, and she glanced down at Gary.

  “I’m glad you agree!”

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  Days passed. Aggie became more demanding – she became insatiable. Every night, without fail, she would jump up onto his bed, and she would beg. Gary stopped getting any sort of consistent sleep. Every night – she appeared, he plopped out of bed, creeping down his narrow bedroom hall and into the kitchen. He fed her. She left – without fail.

  He began to shut his door at night. It was less than ideal, as Gary preferred the comfort of bearing witness to his surroundings. Without fail – Aggie made her way into his room. In the daytime, no matter where he checked, he could not find her. Those same nights, she reappeared, begging at the foot of his bed.

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  One night, Gary resolved to investigate his situation. It was late; Gary leaned against the counter of his cramped kitchen. The home was dimly lit – the neighborhood was silent. Through his kitchen window, Gary could make out nothing more than his front lawn. Beside him, a thin stream trickled down from his coffee maker into its pot. He yanked open the cupboard overhead, snatched out a thermos, and waited, glaring at the machine.

  With a filled thermos in hand, Gary wandered down his bedroom hall. He set the thermos down on a bedside table, eased the bedroom door shut, and settled himself into bed. Time crept by – Gary’s eyes darted about the room. There was nothing to be seen. He fumbled a remote from off the bedside table, and he turned on a television in the corner of his bedroom. Bright lights drenched the room – Gary’s vision took a moment to readjust. It was a soap opera. His eyes widened – Gary watched the show with unparalleled contentment. Hours flew by. Gary’s focus waned.

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  Thump. Gary flinched. Once more, he snatched the remote from beside him, and he paused his show. He leaned over the side of his bed, peering at the hardwood below. It was too dark to see anything. Thump. Gary grabbed his phone – he turned on its flashlight, and he leaned over the bed once more, casting a bright light on the hardwood. There was nothing there. The wind picked up. It seemed to lash at the side of his home. Gary glanced towards the television.

  There was something white – there was something above the TV, toward which Gary shone his light. It was a white cat – it was Aggie. She was perched on top of his television, staring down at him. She was motionless; she looked dead. Gary did not dare to look away. Thump. The sound was coming from beneath him – it was coming from beneath his bed. Hours came. Hours blended together. Gary remained still, watching Aggie. His mind grew numb. His vision was fuzzy, and a shrill ringing flooded his ears.

  He could feel his mind crashing back into its proper place. His heart pounded. The curtains were wide-open: beams of light flooded into his bedroom. The television was off, his phone remained on the table, and his thermos was untouched. Aggie laid at the edge of his bed. Gary glanced down at her: she was grooming herself.

  Eventually, she cocked her head around to face Gary, and she pranced up the length of the bed, curling up on top of him. Gary sat there for a moment – he was stunned. His gaze jolted about the room one last time, before settling down on the cat before him. He reached forth, and he scratched beneath her ear. Gary smiled. The cat purred. Eventually, he placed his hand against the other side of her head, and he scratched. Her fur was wet and knotted. In an instant, Gary yanked his hand away from her – as he did so, he felt a strip of paper stuck to her back.

  Thump. The sound came from beneath his bed. Gary brushed Aggie off of his lap, and he slid off the covers. In an instant, he jumped out of his bed, and he kneeled down, pressing his cheek against the ground. He gazed beneath the bed. His eyes took a moment to adjust. Sweat poured down his face – there was a cat. There was a white cat, curled up beside a book – a thick, leather-bound book. His eyes widened. Gary sprung back up, towering over the bed.

  Only the note remained. He leaned forward, and he grasped the slip of paper in his hand. It read: Thank you for letting me in ~ Your Man, Godfrey. Dumbfounded, Gary stared down at the paper. He gazed, awestruck, as the slip fell to the floor. Calmly, Gary paced out of his room. He threw open the door, not bothering to grab his shoes. The hall before him was dim, and not a sound was made throughout the home. He crept through the living room, and he cracked open the front door, scuttling out onto his doorstep.

  His car was nowhere to be found. There was not so much as a stir throughout all of the neighborhood. Gary continued down his driveway, and he sauntered down the sidewalk. He could hear his heartbeat – it echoed between his ears. His breathing grew shallow. Gary fell to his knees as he clutched his chest – he was no further than a block away from his house. His vision began to blur. Before him, he saw her – he saw Aggie.

  Gary jolted upright in his bed. He could feel his mind crashing back into its proper place. His heart pounded. At once, he hurtled himself out of bed and onto the floor. Aggie remained at the foot of the bed, curled up into a ball, not making a sound. Gary stumbled out of his room – he raced down the hall, and he grinded to a halt in the kitchen. In a frantic blur, Gary tossed open the refrigerator door – he sifted through jars, plates, and boxes, driving his arm further into the fridge. In an instant, he tore out a revolver, jolted around, and sprinted into the living room, where he jumped on top of the couch.

  His eyes darted about the room. There was nothing – he waited, grasping the revolver. The faint sound of creaking footsteps made their way down his bedroom hall. Gary took aim toward the source of the noise. The creaking drew nearer. Aggie peaked her head through the doorway; she smelled about the room before inching closer to the couch. His eyes began to water – Gary followed Aggie with the barrel of his gun.

  Aggie glanced up at Gary. Their gazes met, and a tear streamed down his cheek; his arms quivered. Click. Gary turned the safety on. He dropped the pistol at his feet as Aggie drew nearer. Without warning, he snatched the cat off of the ground and held her against his face, much to her discomfort.

  “I’m sorry,” Gary said, “I know it’s not you. It’s that guy… His name was – it was Godfrey.”