"You guys, how do you think these boneless chicken wings are made?"
Alexey pointed at the chicken wings on the grill, which were perfectly crisp on the outside and tender on the inside. We were all full by now, and were just chatting idly.
Every week, having “Szaszłyki” (Polish-style barbecue) at Yuri’s place had become a routine for the four of us bachelors. Having moved to this small town, whether for work or study, we needed something to fill the void of loneliness—and our empty stomachs.
Sergey picked up a piece of almost disintegrated boneless chicken wing and chewed it. Usually, this kind of thing is better suited for soup. However, at the end of this barbecue feast, a bit of crispy chicken claw could still stir up what little appetite was left. Yuri, chewing away, said, “It must be done by some big machine, just like cracking walnuts—quick and clean.” He then picked up another wing, but this time, he didn’t rush to eat it; instead, he scrutinized it for a moment—he seemed to regret his previous answer as the cut on the chicken wing didn’t look like it was done by a machine.
“I heard that it’s done by old ladies using their teeth,” Yuri said calmly, almost causing Sergey to choke.
“That’s gross.”
“You think about it—how can hands or machines be faster than using your mouth?” Yuri added, unperturbed.
“Damn, doesn’t that mean we’re indirectly kissing old ladies?” Alexey swore as he tossed the chicken wing into his mouth. Such conversations had become routine; the four of us, sitting together with drinks, weren’t afraid to discuss anything, no matter how disgusting.
Before long, the sound of chewing on boneless chicken wings had become the starting signal for a “who can tell the grossest story” contest. Each of us eagerly shared the most repulsive experiences we had encountered (for the sake of not frightening readers, I won’t repeat them here).
As the contest drew to a close, each person had shared their most grotesque story, leaving the host Yuri as the only one who hadn’t contributed. He had remained quietly eating slightly charred potatoes.
That’s when I noticed that he hadn’t really eaten much of the meat.
“Yuri, why haven’t you shared a story? You’ve been here the longest.”
“I’m afraid you’ll throw up on my newly polished wooden floor,” Yuri said calmly as he nibbled on a grilled sweet pepper.
“Stop bragging.” Alexey was clearly goaded: “I can watch ‘The World’s Most Unsettling People’ without blinking. What can you possibly tell that’s worse?”
“Seeing it on TV is different from witnessing it firsthand.”
Yuri’s face suddenly took on a look of someone deeply unsettled.
“Come on, then spill it. What makes it so different!” Alexey, a bit tipsy, insisted on digging deeper.
Yuri, who seemed adept at building suspense, sipped his vodka and slowly scanned the three of us.
“This story might not be friendly to cat lovers.”
“I prefer dogs,” Alexey replied dismissively.
“I love my cat, but I enjoy hearing stories more,” Sergey said indifferently.
I love cats, especially their blend of tameness and primal ferocity. But a story is a story. I nodded silently.
Yuri, seeing the mood was right, began his tale.
“Have you ever heard of Maple Street?”
“I know it,” Alexey rubbed his temples. “It’s a bit out of the way. I pass by there occasionally.”
“Yeah, that’s where my story takes place. I lived there about five or six years ago, and I moved out after this incident.”
“Sounds real convincing,” Alexey said, clearly skeptical.
Yuri ignored him and continued:
“At that time, I hadn’t managed to sign a contract for a factory dorm, so I had to live there. Even though Maple Street was remote, the rent was quite expensive. Most residents were retired elderly people, so it was pretty quiet at night, which was actually quite nice.”
“I lived at number 17 or 19, can’t remember. Next door lived an elderly lady. I knew her and her husband quite well. They were very nice and welcoming, and I often went over for tea.”
“However, things took a turn for the worse. I had been living there for about three months when the old man passed away, reportedly due to complications from COVID-19. The couple had decided not to have children and had lived together for their entire lives, deeply in love. The old lady was devastated and nearly didn’t make it through. After she eventually recovered, her personality changed. She started crying all night, and the sound was deeply unsettling.”
“Most neighbors knew what was going on and didn’t say anything. We all endured it. I even started using earplugs to sleep. Although social workers occasionally visited and I would visit her from time to time, she would always talk about her late husband, crying as she spoke. I found it uncomfortable to stay around, so I visited her less frequently.”
“So did she go to a nursing home?” Sergey asked.
“No. She couldn’t bear to leave her home. She and her husband had lived there for over thirty years. Actually, a nursing home would have been better for her, saving her from constantly worrying.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Yuri sighed.
“Eventually, perhaps due to concern for her loneliness, someone gave her a calico cat. The old lady was overjoyed and managed to get two or three more cats from somewhere. Her house was soon filled with the sounds of meowing.”
“But as time went by, the neighbors started complaining. The calico cat was one thing, but the others, being feral, were quite disruptive at night. They would knock over vases or dishes, and when they were in heat, they’d make a racket. One time, the guy upstairs almost called the police.”
“Did people really call the police for noise?” Alexey asked curiously.
“Of course. Noise in residential areas can’t exceed 60 decibels from 11 PM to 8 AM.”
“Though, no one would actually call the police over noise, right?” Sergey interjected.
“Exactly. That night, the guy upstairs had just come back from a night shift and was already sleep-deprived. When the cats were making a mess, he nearly called the police. We had to convince him otherwise. The next day, we talked to the old lady. She was understanding and agreed to close her doors and windows at night and even draw the curtains. This way, the noise was minimized. For a few weeks, everything seemed calm. Sometimes, I’d still see the old lady’s shadow, probably sitting in her old rocking chair, watching the cats while listening to Program Trzeci Polskiego Radia. It seemed quite cozy.”
At this point, Yuri frowned, making it hard to tell if he was feeling nostalgic or suppressing other emotions.
“One day, I came back home later than usual. The old lady’s lights were on, but the curtains were drawn. I saw a shadow moving in the living room, so I thought it was the old lady rocking in her chair and didn’t think much of it.”
“A few days passed, and everything seemed normal. Every day, I could see the old lady’s shadow moving behind the curtains, back and forth.”
“On the fifth night, something felt off.”
“It was a bit hot, so I opened the window for some fresh air. Suddenly, I smelled a foul odor.”
“I was disgusted and was about to close the window when I heard a few cat meows and a strange noise, like the rocking chair creaking, which gave me chills.”
“That night was also garbage collection day, so I thought maybe someone had dumped some kitchen waste downstairs. Although unpleasant, I didn’t think much of it.”
“The next day, the smell was even stronger. The guy upstairs couldn’t take it anymore and banged on the old lady’s door several times. The only responses were cat meows and the creaking of the rocking chair.”
“He realized something was wrong and immediately called the police.”
“When the police arrived, they knocked on the door but received no response. They had to force the door open. As soon as the door was broken down, a terrible stench hit us, and a vague shadow rushed out of the house.”
Yuri took a sip of vodka, clearly needing to brace himself for the next part of the story.
“I was standing right there when the shadow darted past my legs, nearly giving me a heart attack. Later, I saw that it was the calico cat. It rushed out of the house and swiftly jumped over a nearby fence. Under the moonlight, I saw its appearance—emaciated, covered in blood and filth, I couldn’t tell if it was blood or something else. It had a furry bundle in its mouth.”
“The calico cat locked eyes with me for a few seconds, then leapt off the fence and disappeared into the night.”
“The police came out soon after, and they immediately cordoned off the area and told the onlookers to disperse. I noticed that several officers looked extremely pale, and a young female officer nearly threw up.”
“At that time, I had already guessed most of what had happened. I asked an older officer about what happened. Normally, in such cases, the police would say something like ‘nothing to see here, go home.’ But this time was different.”
“The officer, looking pale and unwilling to turn back to look at the house, told me, ‘If I tell you, you might never want to see a cat again.’
Later, I heard more details from the neighbors—some of it might have come from the police, and some might have been mere speculation. Everyone was well aware of what had happened, but some details in certain versions were even more horrifying.
For example, some said that the police found cat hair and feces in the old lady's stomach…
Others claimed that only one cat remained in the house…
Of course, the most chilling detail was the exact time of the old lady’s death.
One horrifying version suggested that she had been dead for four days. The moving shadow behind the curtain I saw those nights was actually the cats feeding on her.
An even more terrifying version was that the old lady was initially just in a coma, and she truly died late the next night… which meant she might have been conscious before then, enduring endless suffering.
But these rumors were not the most terrifying thing for me.
What truly gave me nightmares was that three-colored cat.
Later, I realized that what it carried in its mouth that night was not a fellow cat or a rat…
It was the old lady’s scalp.
Its gaze was entirely different from the previously lazy and docile cat.
I find it hard to describe that gaze. You might think I’m exaggerating, but I must tell you, my grandfather once hunted a cannibalistic brown bear in Magadan. I’ve seen the gaze of that beast, and it was exactly the same as that three-colored cat’s. It was a hollow, hungry gaze.
Perhaps, in its eyes, I was just another piece of moving meat.
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Actually, everyone had already guessed what was coming halfway through the story, but Yuri had a natural talent for storytelling that made us shiver involuntarily.
“This… this story is really…” Alexei stuttered. He clearly realized that this kind of horror story was not related to whether one liked cats or dogs, nor did it matter whether one could handle gore.
“Well, such things do happen,” Sergei said, taking a sip of vodka. “Pets, in extreme hunger, will naturally prioritize survival. We cannot judge animals by human moral standards. There have been instances of cannibalism in history.”
“Don’t spout philosophical nonsense,” Alexei interrupted, “I just want to know, if there was a cat on your lap right now, how would you feel?” He pointed to Sergei’s lap. Sergei shuddered involuntarily, and the fork in his hand fell to the floor.
“I think Sergei’s point is valid,” Yuri stood up and walked to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of chilled beer. “But since then, I’ve developed a phobia of cats. Now, even a glance at those funny cat videos online gives me nightmares.”
It’s not surprising. Anyone who has seen such a scene would probably be haunted by nightmares.
We chatted for a few more hours until other topics gradually dispelled the chill in our hearts, and then we all went home.
I walked past Oak Tree Lane.
I live right there.
I certainly know which house Yuri was talking about.
The front of the house is overgrown with weeds, and every time I come back at night, there’s a faint rustling in the bushes, and sometimes I see a pair of glowing green eyes.
I walked up to the door and knocked. A colorful shadow flashed in front of me.
It was the three-colored cat.
It always kept a distance that could either be aggressive or evasive.
I pulled out a small plastic bag from my pocket, inside was a white chicken foot—the last one I hadn’t had time to roast today.
I waved the meat in front of the three-colored cat, and it swiftly grabbed the chicken foot, chewing it with a sense of indifference and still wearing a fierce look.
No wonder its gaze and smell are different from other domestic or wild cats. It is always so fierce and captivating.
Next time, I will bring it something it likes even more.
As long as it listens to me.