Catscratch

But tonight, the scratching was relentless. It wasn’t just annoying. It was inviting . A rasping whisper between the scrapes: “Leo… Leo… let me out.”

It was three in the morning when the scratching started. Catscratch

And then, from the dark, two yellow eyes opened. Not Scratch’s eyes. These were larger, wider, set too far apart. They rose from the bottom step—not walking, but unfolding , a shape that bent where nothing should bend. But tonight, the scratching was relentless

He pressed his ear to the cold wood. The voice was soft, dry, like paper being torn. It was not Scratch’s voice. Scratch had no voice. Scratch only had claws. from the dark