The Last Cat

photo prompt by Alicia

No one knew what day the mural had been painted, and worse, no one remembered who had painted it.

Yet people came to see it every day.

Month after month, year after year, tourists arrived in Marmalade Hollow just to stand in front of the giant orange cat bursting through a brick wall. Children posed beside it. Couples took selfies. Artists sketched it. The mural had become the town’s most famous attraction.

In fact, it was the reason many people knew Marmalade Hollow existed at all.

For whoever had painted it, the town was grateful.

There was, however, one strange thing about the mural.

Not many people talked about it, and those who did were usually dismissed. The explanation was always the same.

Optical illusion.

Perspective.

Tricks of light.

The fact remained that every year the hole in the wall seemed a little larger.

Every year the cat appeared a little farther through.

First one paw.

Then two.

Then its shoulders.

The mayor called it weather damage.

The bricks were old, he explained. Rain, wind, and time could do funny things to masonry.

Whenever someone complained, workers were sent to repair the wall.

They patched cracks.

Replaced bricks.

Applied fresh mortar.

And every year, despite their efforts, the hole continued to grow.

Then, slowly, the animals began disappearing.

No one noticed at first.

Things happened. Pets ran away. Birds migrated. A squirrel failed to return to its nest. A stray dog wandered off in search of food.

At least, that was what people told themselves.

Then more disappeared.

Birds.

Squirrels.

Stray dogs.

Even the feral cats that prowled the alleys at night.

The disappearances continued for years before anyone realized they weren’t isolated incidents.

By then, people had begun disappearing too.

A tourist failed to return home.

A delivery driver vanished halfway through his route.

An elderly woman left her house one morning and was never seen again.

That was when the town demanded answers.

The mayor held a meeting in the community center and assured everyone there was nothing to fear.

The mural’s growth was still an optical illusion.

The widening hole was still weather damage.

And the missing people?

People moved all the time, he explained.

Sometimes they left without telling anyone.

Sometimes they started over somewhere else.

Sometimes they simply wanted to disappear.

The mayor smiled as he spoke.

Many people left the meeting unconvinced.

A few left angry.

One woman stood and pointed toward the mural visible through the community center windows.

“Then explain the cat.”

The mayor glanced at the mural and looked away so quickly that almost nobody noticed.

“There’s nothing to explain,” he said.

But for the first time, there was a tremor in his voice.

It just so happened that a scientific convention was being held a few cities over, so several of the townspeople pooled their money and made the trip.

The admission fee cost a pretty penny, but they agreed it would be worth it if they could convince someone to listen.

And talk to scientists they did.

Most of them laughed.

Some dismissed the story as exaggeration.

Others suggested the townspeople were seeing things that weren’t there.

By the end of the day, the group was ready to give up and head home.

Then they met Professor Kane Howell.

Unlike the others, Professor Howell didn’t laugh.

He listened.

He asked questions.

And when they finished describing the mural, the widening hole, and the disappearances, he sat quietly for a long moment.

Finally, he stood.

“I think I’d like to see this mural for myself.”

The following morning, Professor Kane Howell traveled back to Marmalade Hollow with the townspeople, determined to investigate the mystery firsthand.

Professor Howell spent the entire day studying the mural.

He photographed every inch of it from every angle imaginable. He measured the hole in the wall, sketched the cat repeatedly in a worn notebook, and filled page after page with observations.

As evening approached, he returned to his motel room carrying a camera full of photographs and a notebook packed with drawings.

Then he vanished.

For three days, no one heard from him.

The townspeople knocked on his motel door.

No answer.

His car remained parked outside.

The curtains stayed closed.

At first, they assumed he was simply working. After all, scientists were known for locking themselves away when they became obsessed with a problem.

By the second day, people began to worry.

By the third day, many feared the worst.

The disappearances had claimed birds, squirrels, stray dogs, and people.

Perhaps Professor Kane Howell had become the next victim.

Perhaps, they whispered, the mural had taken him too.

Just as the townspeople were beginning to lose hope of ever finding answers, the door to Room 12 finally opened.

When the townspeople finally saw Professor Howell, they could hardly believe their eyes.

He looked exhausted.

His clothes were wrinkled. His beard had grown in. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and he carried armfuls of photographs, sketches, and notes.

More troubling than his appearance, however, was the expression on his face.

It was the look of a man carrying a secret he wished he had never discovered.

Without speaking to anyone, Professor Howell marched directly to City Hall and demanded an audience with the mayor.

At first, he was refused.

The mayor was busy, his assistant explained.

Professor Howell did not leave.

“I assure you,” he said, gripping a stack of photographs, “this is far more important than whatever he is doing.”

Something in his voice must have convinced them.

A few minutes later, he was admitted to the mayor’s office.

The mayor glanced up from his desk.

“What is it?” he barked. “I’m a busy man. What tomfoolery have you brought me today, Professor?”

Professor Howell swallowed.

Then he spoke.

“It’s not a cat.”

The mayor laughed.

His assistant laughed.

Professor Howell did not.

Slowly, he spread photographs across the mayor’s desk. Sketches followed. Measurements. Notes. Observations collected over three sleepless days.

Finally, he placed a single enlarged photograph in front of them.

The laughter stopped.

The image showed one of the mural’s enormous eyes.

Inside the pupil, hidden in the darkness, was something else.

Something with teeth.

Hundreds of teeth.

The mayor stared at the photograph.

Neither man spoke.

Professor Howell broke the silence.

“The creature is still coming through.”

The mayor forced a nervous chuckle.

“You mean the cat?”

Professor Howell’s face drained of color.

“No.”

He pointed toward the darkness visible beyond the torn opening in the wall.

Then he pointed to the photograph.

“The cat isn’t coming through the wall.”

The room fell silent.

Professor Howell swallowed.

“The cat is what it’s using to come through.”

The mayor’s face went pale.

For the first time since Professor Howell had entered the room, there was no trace of confidence left in him.

“What do we do?” he asked. “How do we prepare? Do we know what it is? How do we get rid of it?”

His eyes drifted to the photograph.

“And why a cat?”

Professor Howell managed a weary smile.

“That’s actually the easiest question to answer.”

The mayor and his assistant stared at him.

The professor folded his hands.

“It chose a cat because people run toward cats, not away from them.”

Neither man spoke.

Professor Howell continued.

“People see a stray cat and want to help it. They see a frightened cat and want to rescue it. They see a wounded cat and want to take it home.”

He pointed toward the mural outside.

“Even people who don’t particularly like cats usually don’t wish them harm.”

The mayor swallowed.

The professor’s expression darkened.

“Whatever this thing is, it has been studying us.”

A chill settled over the room.

“It learned what we trust.”

The mayor looked back at the photograph.

The giant orange cat suddenly seemed far less friendly than it had a few moments earlier.

Professor Howell sighed.

“It doesn’t want us to run.”

His finger touched the image of the mural.

“It wants us to welcome it.”

The mayor stared at the photograph.

Then he looked toward the window, toward the mural that had made Marmalade Hollow famous.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“It wants us to welcome it.”

Professor Howell nodded.

The mayor’s face lost what little color remained.

“And then what?” he asked. “It comes through the wall and what? Eats us all?”

For a moment, Professor Howell said nothing.

He wished he could offer another answer.

A better answer.

But science had taught him many things over the years, and one of them was that the truth did not care about comfort.

With sadness in his eyes, he met the mayor’s gaze.

“Yes.”

The room fell silent.

The mayor sank slowly into his chair.

His assistant looked as though he might be sick.

Outside the window, the giant orange cat smiled its painted smile.

For the first time, neither man found it charming.

Professor Howell gathered his photographs.

“Whatever is behind that wall has been feeding for years.”

The mayor looked up.

“The animals.”

Professor Howell nodded.

“The animals first.”

A terrible realization spread across the mayor’s face.

“And now the people.”

Again, the professor nodded.

Neither man spoke.

Outside, tourists continued taking photographs of the mural.

Children laughed.

Parents smiled.

And beyond the painted cat’s enormous eyes, something waited patiently in the darkness.

The mayor looked up from the photograph.

Fear quickly gave way to anger.

“All right, Professor,” he snapped. “You’ve spent days studying this thing. You’ve taken photographs. Filled notebooks. Marched into my office with this absurd story.”

He slammed a hand down on the desk.

“Now tell me what you plan to do about it.”

Professor Howell stared at him.

For a moment, he was too stunned to respond.

Not because he hadn’t considered the question.

He had.

For three sleepless nights, he had considered little else.

What startled him was the expectation in the mayor’s voice.

As though he had arrived carrying a solution instead of a warning.

Slowly, the professor removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes.

“Mayor,” he said quietly, “I’m a scientist.”

The mayor folded his arms.

“And?”

“I study things.”

The professor gestured toward the photographs spread across the desk.

“I observe them. Measure them. Analyze them. I write papers about them.”

The mayor’s expression hardened.

Professor Howell sighed.

“What I do not do is battle interdimensional creatures hiding behind giant cats.”

The assistant let out a nervous laugh.

The mayor did not.

“So you’re telling me we’re doomed?”

Professor Howell considered the question.

Outside the office window, tourists continued to gather around the mural.

Children pointed at the giant orange cat.

Cameras flashed.

The professor watched them for a moment.

Then he looked back at the mayor.

“No,” he said.

The mayor leaned forward.

“No?”

Professor Howell shook his head.

“I’m telling you that before we can stop it...”

His eyes drifted toward the mural.

“...we first have to understand exactly what it is.”

For the first time since entering the office, the professor looked genuinely frightened.

“And I’m not sure I want to know the answer.”

Professor Howell looked at the mayor for a long moment.

“Mayor, if you’re willing to permit it, I’d like to call in two colleagues.”

The mayor frowned.

“More scientists?”

Professor Howell nodded.

“Two of the best.”

“And what exactly will this cost me?”

The professor considered the question.

“Two motel rooms and one meal.”

The mayor blinked.

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

The mayor leaned back in his chair.

“You want me to give three strangers free rooms and free food?”

Professor Howell remained silent.

The mayor snorted.

“What else do you want? A chauffeur-driven limousine?”

The professor slowly gathered his photographs and sketches from the desk.

His expression remained calm, though something in his eyes seemed to dim.

“If that’s too much to ask,” he said quietly, “I understand.”

The mayor waved a dismissive hand.

Professor Howell tucked the final photograph beneath his arm.

Then he turned toward the door.

“Have a good day, Mayor.”

The mayor smirked.

“And good luck.”

Professor Howell paused with his hand on the doorknob.

For a moment, he seemed about to say something.

Instead, he simply nodded.

“Good luck to you as well.”

Then he left.

The office fell silent.

The mayor’s assistant shifted uneasily.

“Sir?”

“What?”

The assistant glanced toward the closed door.

“If he really knows how to stop it...”

The mayor rolled his eyes.

“It’s a mural.”

The assistant swallowed.

“Then why did you look scared when he showed you the photograph?”

The mayor had no answer for that.

Outside, Professor Kane Howell stepped onto the sidewalk.

He pulled a small notebook from his pocket.

Inside were two names.

Two colleagues.

Two people he trusted with his life.

For the first time in three days, he allowed himself a small smile.

One way or another, the creature behind the wall was about to meet something it had not planned for.

By the time Professor Howell returned to the motel, the desk clerk was waiting for him.

“Professor?”

Howell stopped.

“The mayor called.”

That got his attention.

The clerk smiled.

“Rooms Twelve and Thirteen are yours. No charge.”

Professor Howell nodded.

“And the meal?”

The clerk pulled out a notepad.

“The mayor said to let us know what the three of you would like and we’ll see that it’s delivered.”

For the first time that day, Professor Howell smiled.

“Thank you.”

The clerk returned the smile.

“Looks like the mayor came around.”

Professor Howell glanced toward the window where, in the distance, he could just make out the top of the mural.

“Oh, I knew he would.”

The clerk raised an eyebrow.

“You did?”

Professor Howell nodded.

“People wear all sorts of armor.”

Without another word, he picked up his notes and started toward his room.

The clerk watched him go.

As he reached the door to Room Twelve, Professor Howell paused.

Behind the mayor’s bluster.

Behind the sarcasm.

Behind the dismissive jokes and angry demands.

There had been fear.

Real fear.

The kind of fear that arrives when a person finally understands the danger is real.

Professor Howell unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Yes.

He had known the mayor would come through.

Because beneath all that armor, the man was terrified.

Once inside his room, Professor Howell spread his research across the small motel desk.

Photographs.

Sketches.

Measurements.

Pages of notes covered in observations and questions.

For nearly an hour he reviewed everything one final time before reaching for the telephone.

The first call went to Professor Jack Shepherd.

The second to Professor Hunter Collier.

The two finest colleagues he knew.

The three had worked together many times over the years, solving problems that most people would have considered impossible.

Neither man laughed when Howell explained what he had discovered.

Neither questioned his conclusions.

Both agreed to come immediately.

After hanging up the phone, Professor Howell finally allowed himself to relax.

Slightly.

His colleagues would arrive by morning.

For the first time since studying the mural, he felt as though he was no longer carrying the burden alone.

He glanced at the clock.

Then at the shower.

Then at the stack of research waiting on the desk.

The research would still be there afterward.

The shower won.

Twenty minutes later, feeling somewhat more human, Professor Howell put on a clean shirt and headed for the motel restaurant.

The mayor had offered a free meal.

But Howell had only requested one meal for the three professors.

He knew that once Shepherd and Collier arrived, they would likely spend hours locked away in the motel room developing a plan.

The meal was for them.

This one he could buy himself.

After all, if the fate of Marmalade Hollow depended on three professors, the least one of them could do was pay for his own dinner.

The following morning, Professor Howell was waiting in the motel parking lot when a silver sedan pulled in.

The driver’s door opened first.

Professor Jack Shepherd stepped out.

Like always, he looked as though he had just walked out of a university brochure.

His dark hair was cut short and neat. He was clean-shaven, well dressed, and carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who rarely wasted words.

The passenger door opened a moment later.

Professor Hunter Collier emerged.

He was Shepherd’s complete opposite.

His blonde hair was longer and slightly shaggy, as though a comb and he had reached a mutual understanding years ago and agreed to avoid each other whenever possible.

His shirt was untucked.

His jacket was wrinkled.

He carried two cups of coffee and a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like donuts.

“Morning, Kane,” Shepherd said.

“Morning.”

Collier handed Howell one of the coffees.

“You sounded terrible on the phone.”

“I felt terrible.”

“Good,” Collier replied. “I’d be worried if you sounded cheerful while investigating a giant cat crawling through reality.”

Shepherd sighed.

“You couldn’t wait five minutes before making jokes?”

“Nope.”

The three professors stood together for a moment.

Then Howell pointed toward the center of town.

The mural was visible even from there.

Collier’s smile slowly faded.

Shepherd’s expression hardened.

Neither spoke.

Neither laughed.

And for the first time since arriving in Marmalade Hollow, Professor Kane Howell felt a little less alone.

Before returning to the motel, the three professors decided to visit the mural.

None of them spoke much on the walk there.

There was little point.

Each man wanted to see it with his own eyes before discussing theories.

The giant orange cat greeted them with the same cheerful expression it always wore.

Tourists posed for photographs.

Children laughed.

A young couple stood nearby taking selfies.

To everyone else, it looked perfectly harmless.

Professor Howell stopped walking.

His stomach tightened.

There was a change.

A small one.

But a change nonetheless.

He had spent three days studying the mural. He knew every crack in the bricks and every line of paint.

The hole was larger.

Not much larger.

But larger.

“Do you see it?” he asked quietly.

Professor Shepherd nodded immediately.

Professor Collier’s smile vanished.

“I see it.”

The three men stood silently for several moments.

Watching.

Studying.

Measuring.

Then Collier pointed toward one of the cat’s eyes.

“I don’t remember that shadow being there.”

Howell didn’t either.

Shepherd took several photographs.

“Neither do I.”

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then Shepherd lowered his camera.

“It’s speeding up.”

The words hung in the air.

Howell had reached the same conclusion.

Whatever was happening behind the wall, it was no longer content to wait.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The other two nodded.

There was nothing more to learn standing on the sidewalk.

The answers would come from research, discussion, and planning.

An hour later the three professors were gathered inside Motel Room Twelve.

Photographs covered the desk.

Sketches covered the bed.

Measurements, calculations, and observations were spread across every available surface.

Outside, Marmalade Hollow continued as normal.

Inside, three professors began discussing the same question.

Not what the creature was.

Not why it had come.

But how to stop it.

Before it finished coming through.

Four days passed.

Then a fifth.

No one saw the professors.

No one heard from them.

The only signs of life came from behind the motel room door.

Occasionally voices could be heard arguing.

Sometimes there were loud thumps.

At least once, someone swore they heard glass shatter.

Meals were delivered regularly, and the trays always returned empty, so the townspeople knew the professors were alive.

What they were doing inside that room, however, remained a mystery.

Rumors spread throughout Marmalade Hollow.

Some claimed the professors were building a machine.

Others believed they were preparing explosives.

A few whispered that the professors had gone mad.

As it turned out, none of them were entirely correct.

But they weren’t entirely wrong either.

Just before dusk on the fifth day, the door to Room Twelve finally opened.

Professors Howell, Shepherd, and Collier emerged carrying a large wooden crate between them.

The townspeople watched from a distance.

The professors looked exhausted.

Yet there was a confidence about them that had not been there before.

Word spread quickly.

By the time they reached the mural, a small crowd had gathered.

The three professors set the crate down and stood silently before the giant orange cat.

For a long moment, none of them spoke.

The crowd waited.

Finally, Professor Howell turned toward them.

“You all need to go home.”

Nobody moved.

Professor Shepherd stepped forward.

“We are serious.”

The crowd exchanged uncertain glances.

Professor Collier pointed toward the houses lining the street.

“Go home. Lock your doors. Stay inside.”

A nervous laugh came from somewhere in the crowd.

Someone asked why.

Professor Howell’s expression remained grim.

“Because whatever happens next, you do not want to witness it.”

The laughter stopped.

The crowd grew quiet.

One by one, people began to leave.

A few remained.

The professors repeated their warning.

Eventually, even the most stubborn residents drifted away.

Soon the street was empty.

The last of the sunlight faded behind the buildings.

The mural watched silently.

Professor Collier glanced at the darkening sky.

“Well,” he said, “this is either going to work...”

Professor Shepherd finished the sentence.

“...or we’re about to have a very bad evening.”

Professor Howell looked at the giant orange cat.

The painted smile seemed larger than he remembered.

Slowly, he rested a hand on the crate.

“Let’s find out.”

The three professors waited until darkness settled over Marmalade Hollow.

The street was empty.

The houses were quiet.

The moon climbed steadily into the sky.

At last, Professor Howell nodded.

“Now.”

Together, the three men opened the crate.

Inside was a mouse.

A very large mouse.

Professor Collier grinned.

“Let’s see if this works.”

The mouse was released.

For a moment it sat perfectly still.

Then it scampered toward the mural.

Nothing happened.

Then the giant orange cat moved.

The painted paw shifted.

The painted head turned.

And for the first time in living memory, the cat stepped completely out of the wall.

It was much bigger than the professors had expected.

The mouse never stood a chance.

The cat pounced.

And that was exactly what the professors had been counting on.

As the moon rose higher, Professor Howell tilted back his head.

A bark escaped his throat.

Then another.

Beside him, Shepherd and Collier did the same.

The barking became howling.

The howling became something else.

Bones shifted.

Muscles stretched.

The three professors grew larger and larger until three enormous dogs stood where the scientists had been moments before.

The cat froze.

For the first time, it looked frightened.

Too late.

The dogs charged.

The battle was fast and violent.

The creature fought.

The thing hiding behind the cat fought even harder.

But it had spent years studying humans.

It had never bothered studying dogs.

When it was over, nothing remained.

Not the cat.

Not the creature within it.

Not even a trace.

The three great dogs sat quietly beneath the moon for a moment before slowly changing back into men.

Professor Collier dusted off his jacket.

Professor Shepherd adjusted his glasses.

Professor Howell looked at the hole in the wall.

None of them smiled.

The danger was gone.

For now.

Together, they rebuilt the damaged bricks.

Then they carefully repainted the mural.

Just a mural.

Nothing more.

As dawn approached, the three professors stood staring at the repaired wall.

“Do you think there are more?” Collier asked quietly.

Professor Howell looked at the darkness beyond the opening.

The darkness looked back.

“I don’t know.”

“And we’re not checking,” Shepherd added.

The others nodded.

Some mysteries were better left unexplored.

The wall was sealed.

The town was safe.

And if another creature ever decided to come through

Well.

Professor Kane Howell knew exactly who to call.

The people of Marmalade Hollow never learned what really happened that night.

They simply noticed that the mural never changed again.

The hole never grew larger.

The disappearances stopped.

And life returned to normal.

Mostly.

Every now and then, on nights when the moon was full, someone would swear they heard distant barking outside the town limits.

Followed by three satisfied howls.

Just to let the darkness know they were still watching.