Моника Шонесси - The Tell-Tail Heart

Mr. Abbott waddled across the street and slipped into a darkened alley that smelled of manure. I followed him at top speed, no longer caring if he saw me. I had already bungled that part of the hunt. Once inside the brick enclosure, I skidded to a halt, avoiding a two-wheeled gig harnessed to a dappled mare. But this overcorrection sent me sideways into a wooden crate. The box clattered against the cobblestones, drawing Mr. Abbott's attention.

He turned, reins in hand. Our gaze met.

In a flash, he assumed the driver's seat and cracked his whip, sending the mare into a gallop—straight in my direction. "H'ya!" he shouted to the horse. "H'ya!"

The scoundrel intended to kill me.

Unable to flee, I crouched, quivering in terror at the chop of horseshoes and rattle of wheels. The mare's hooves struck the ground around me, avoiding my limbs and body. My tail, however, did not have the same luck. The wheel nicked the tip of it, torturing my nerves. But I dared not flinch. When the gig glided over me, it brought a rush of air that nearly froze my heart. A whisker length to the left or right, and I would've been dog meat. When the rumble of horse and cart faded, I rose and checked myself for injury. Thank the Great Cat Above, only my tail had been harmed. I smoothed it with my tongue, detecting a sprain, then dashed from the alley to catch my would-be murderer.

To my relief, he slowed the horse to a trot after a few blocks. But after ziggety-zagging through half of Philadelphia—the unfamiliar half, I might add—my lungs grew tired. Blasted paunch. I'd retained the instincts of a gutter cat, but not the physique. I sat back on my haunches and panted as my blue-eyed mouse escaped farther south. Tonight's errand had been a foolish one. Instead of keeping Sissy warm, I'd been gallivanting about, trying to get myself killed. And what made me think Mr. Abbott had more than one glass eye in the first place? Desperation, I supposed. It thrilled me to see Eddie writing again, and this fervor had led to my own miscalculations.

I looked across the street to a large cemetery. If Sissy caught a fatal chill because I hadn't been home to keep her warm, I would never forgive myself. I shivered, thinking it equally unwise for me to expire. So I fluffed my undercoat, trapping heat from my skin, and set off in the direction of perceived west. The sun set over the Schuylkill River—an immutable fact—and if I could find it, the water would lead me home before dawn. But I grew disoriented by the structures towering above the horizon, some eight or nine stories tall, and began to question my course. I'd lived many places in the city: the waterfront, the old house on Schuylkill Seventh, and the boardinghouse between moves. But each neighborhood could have been an island, for I never strayed more than a few blocks from their center. I paused to reflect. Somewhere in this labyrinth, I recalled a park and across from it, a pale stone building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Except I needed more than an understanding of landmarks to guide me home; I needed Eddie.

For a time, I followed the wind, hoping it would carry the scent of the bakery next to Shakey House or the stench of the prison. But the local fishmonger and tobacconist shop obliterated all other smells. So I tried to remember the turns I'd taken on my wild gig chase. Left, right, right, left…and then? I trembled with the next gust of wind. If I didn't find Coates Street soon, I'd be forced to take shelter or risk freezing to death, granting Mr. Abbott his wish after all.

When I neared the corner, the park and stone building I'd recalled loomed in the distance. What luck! With renewed confidence, I forged on, passing another cluster of shops and homes until a menacing growl froze me to the sidewalk. I glanced over my right shoulder. The sound had come from a nearby basement entrance. Someone had forgotten to shut both doors, giving passersby a glimpse into the unsettling abyss. For an instant, I wondered if I'd stumbled onto the Dark One's lair.

Before I could escape, three gutter cats sprang—quick as demons—from the underworld and onto the sidewalk. The largest of them, a tom the color of fire, approached me with a slow and cautious gait. Scars marked his face, the cruelest of which intersected his lower lip, permanently exposing his left eyetooth. "You're trespassing, Tortie," he said, referring to my markings. "And we kill trespassers for sport around Logan Square."

"I'm not trespassing," I said. I lowered my tail. The bones at the tip still throbbed, but I didn't dare show pain or weakness. "I've misplaced my home, that's all."

"Misplaced your home?" he said. "Fancy that. I misplaced mine the day I was born. But then, I ain't been looking too hard for it."

The other two cats, a grey tabby and a mottled Manx, yowled with laughter.

"Listen, please," I said. "I have a home and a companion and—"

"Companion? You mean owner ," the tabby said. The molly flicked the tip of her tail, clearly amused. "Hear that, Claw?" she said to the lead tom. "Wretched little thing is someone's property."

My claws scraped the sidewalk as they unsheathed. "It's not like that. Eddie and I have an evolved and symbiotic relationship that transcends—"

"Hah! Listen to the tortie talk," said the Manx. No, not a Manx. His tail had been cut off three inches above the root. My own appendage felt better already. "What a sharp tongue she has." He nudged past the tabby and joined Claw. "Can't wait to rip it from her mouth."

"Me, first, Stub," the tabby said to him.

"You went first last time, Ash," Stub said. "Remember the three-legged fella we took down near the tack shop?"

I flattened my ears and spat in warning. "If you think my tongue is sharp, try my teeth and claws." When they didn't back down, I struck the first blow, raking their leader across the side of the face and catching the scar near his mouth. This upset his balance, but Ash and Stub wasted no time in retaliating. The she-devil clamped down on my neck while her assistant held me and snarled in my ear. I turned and wrestled from their grip, but Claw clobbered me. He bowled me over with a strong jab that sent me into the street.

The cobblestones battered my ribs as I bounced along their surface. With my last remaining strength, I let out a screech and dashed toward the park a block away. The three demons followed me into the landscaped garden, matching my fence leaps and underbrush dives to the measure. My lungs caught fire as I raced through the bare trees, scattering leaves in my wake, but I could not outrun them. Swifter than wind, Claw outpaced me and flanked my right, Stub, my left. A seasoned hunter myself, I knew if I didn't break away, Ash would overtake me while the other two closed off my passage. And in my fatigued state, the three of them would end me with little effort. Then I pictured Eddie's face, sad and pale and ponderous, and wondered if he would weep for me the way he soon would for Sissy.

No, I would not put him through that hell.

With a final surge, I shot a tail-length ahead and ran into a pair of trousered tree trunks with a head-ringing crash. The human—definitely not a tree—scooped me up and rescued me from my pursuers. "What we got here?" I recognized him at once from Shakey House.

Plague of Mystery

Claw, Stub, and Ash scrambled to a stop against the man's dirty working boots. Not only had the country gent stopped the fisticuffs between Mr. Uppity and Mr. Abbott in the tavern, he'd helped me out of a predicament as well. The demon cats hesitated, as if they might rebel against my liberator, but they scattered with a wave of his cap. Before the three retreated into the underbrush, Claw offered a final warning: "Without the human's help, you would've been mine. Until next time, Tortie."