Misha Solkonikov, flickr
I found a motel on St. Pete run by a friendly German couple. Earlier that day upon my arrival to town, I had deposited the money from my late husband’s life insurance policy with no fanfare.
At check in I wore the black of a widow. I was very quiet, subdued, some might even say I seemed to be appropriately mourning.
The police had questioned me a few days ago after my husband died but only to rule me out as a suspect. They made note of my alibi.
There would have been only the one motive, though a considerable one—the sizable life insurance policy.
After the questioning, I had to survive the duties—the mourning wife, funeral director, hostess—and I was surprised I had it in me to be so methodical, cold, and unfeeling. All I had to remember was my husband’s iron grip on my arm, the bruising, the years of indignities, and I was a woman of steel. Before I left town I paid my private executioner, my white knight.
My first sunset at the beach—how good the warm breeze felt on my cheek felt as I followed the path between the dunes! How gorgeous the setting sun on my back; how delicious the knowledge of the money tucked away in my account!
Along the path to the shore, there was a little brick hut. Beside it was a small concrete outcropping where five smooth black cats lounged.
What did they know? I thought to myself, amused. Very little.
On the beach as the sun fell I must have drifted asleep.
I woke up in the darkness to mewling and purring beside me. The cats, I thought.
One had pressed its lips to mine. I couldn’t move. It had taken all my breath, its yellow eyes penetrating the dark.
I woke, gasping for air. It had been a nightmare.
I sighed in relief and returned to my room. The next day, a group of black cats waited for me outside my door, seemingly the selfsame cats of the previous day. I could barely pass to get breakfast.
I was not able to stay at St. Pete without the cats following me. More and more of them streamed toward me everywhere I went. It made me feel conspicuous and self-conscious. And of course, people stared.
I moved to another beach further north. I stayed inside my hotel room there but found the creatures clustered near the door, insistent, crying all night. They followed me when I went to the grocery or to town, crowding me, harassing, mewling, hissing.
It’s been months now and I’m half crazed. To be honest, I hope to die.
Within A Forest Dark 