Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“Help!”

“Quit shouting!” one of the cats snaps. “Pull yourself together. Get up here.”

The cat's voice goes directly inside Smoker's head. He jumps up obediently, only to flop back down into the trash. He jumps again. Same result. On the third try he manages to find purchase on the bin's curving edge, pull himself up, and sit down uneasily, doing his best to prevent either his front paws or his bottom from slipping.

“Shameful,” the cat nearest to him hisses. The other one flows fluidly down the front side of the bin and darts into the bushes. There is some commotion there. Smoker leans over the edge, trying to see what's going on, and nearly falls.

“Is he trying to catch something? Someone?”

“Of course he is, you stupid human,” the cat who remained with him replies. “Your shadow. You weren't planning to die a cat, were you? Especially seeing as you make such a lousy one.”

I do not, Smoker thinks, offended, and remembers his reflection in the dark glasses. I'm a nice kitty.

The gray one snorts. Then suddenly shoots up, spreading his paws awkwardly, and plunges down. Come on, hurry up! his thoughts reach up to Smoker. Jump here, you goof!

Smoker glances down and sees the cats splayed on the ground, kneading it with their paws. They are tearing up a small patch of shadow, unaccountably darker than their own shadows.

“Jump!” they shout in unison, so loud that Smoker's almost swept off the edge of the bin. “Jump into the shadow!”

He paces uneasily on the narrow strip of metal, not daring to make the jump that looks suicidal. The cats growl menacingly. It's only the thought of what they would do to him if he doesn't do as they say that makes Smoker jump. He yowls and tumbles down, aiming for the stretched dark spot of the shadow. The hard landing on all four paws knocks the breath out of him. Everything goes black.

Smoker opens his eyes. He is inside the stuffy tent. The blinking colorful lights are almost blinding. The flap is half-open, and his motionless legs stretch out through it. Smoker's head is propped up by Tabaqui's distended backpack. He feels sick. He moans, and Tabaqui and Noble, both holding the cards, turn their heads to look at him.

“I was a cat,” he whispers, his lips barely moving.

“That's nice,” Tabaqui says. “Now get some sleep.”

Squib, Solomon, and Don pursue Red, illuminating their way with flashlights. Solomon is sweating and out of breath. Red, glancing cautiously about, knocks at Ralph's door. The door is locked and there seems to be no one inside. Red crouches down and freezes. The three hunters stop to discuss the situation. Red listens to the emptiness of the room behind the door and gnaws at his fingernails, paralyzed with terror.

Elephant is asleep back in the Nesting, sucking his thumb. He dreams of the strange phosphorescent violet, like a small blue flame. He found it by accident on the Crossroads windowsill.

Ralph opens the door to the counselors' hallway, illuminating the doleful eyes blinking in the sudden light.

“What are you doing here? Why aren't you in bed?”

Tubby tries to crawl past him, into the opened door. Ralph intercepts him and picks him up.

“No, you're coming with me.”

He starts descending the steps. Tubby twitches and grunts in his arms.

“Quiet,” Ralph says. “None of this nonsense. I'm going to have a word with your minders.”

Solomon switches off the flashlight, looks at Squib, and nods at the door of the teachers' bathroom.

Red is trapped inside, between the sinks and the urinals, slipping on the wet tiles. He has nowhere to run. There are only stalls here, and they are unlikely to have locks. He tries one door, then another... Then he's blinded by bright light. He doesn't see who's behind it, but he doesn't have to. He knows. The light is getting closer.

Butterfly, on the seat in the sixth stall from the door, listens to the sounds. He was just about to flush, but then decided not to. He snuffs out the burner and sits there in the dark. He's afraid that he’ll be betrayed by the smell.

Smoker and Tabaqui crawl out of Vulture's tent. Vulture himself follows them and assists Smoker with climbing into his wheelchair. Smoker is too weak to refuse his help.

“Good luck,” Vulture says. “Do not get lost in the dark.”

“Lost? Us?” Jackal says indignantly.

Bird waves them good-bye and dives back inside the tent. Smoker has only one thing on his mind—get back to the dorm as soon as possible.

“I was a cat,” he whispers, steering his wheelchair in the wake of Tabaqui's flashlight. “Nice kitty ...”

“Look, it's time you got unstuck from that,” Jackal sighs. “So you were, so what? You're obviously not a cat anymore.”

There's a bloodcurdling scream. Tabaqui drops the flashlight.

Red closes his eyes, shrinking away from the light hitting his face. Then flips open the knife. One thing he regrets is that he didn't think to put the green shades on. But then again, who knew? He forces himself to face the flashlights. A dark bulk hurtles at him. Red jumps away and thrusts with the knife at random. Someone grabs his arm. A razor slash burns his cheek. The next one opens a gash on his collarbone. Red shrieks. Two hands jerk his head back. He breaks free, kicking out with his feet but meeting only emptiness. He manages to shield his neck, and the razor splits open his hand. Red sinks his teeth into one of the hands holding him, wiggles out of his jacket, and flops down. The flashlight beams dance on the floor. He crawls inside the nearest stall, slams the door shut, and gropes for the latch. To his surprise, he finds it and manages to fasten the door before it starts shaking under the assault from the other side. He takes a step backward and trips over a leg. Someone is lying there, between the commode and the wall separating the stalls. Red yelps.

The prostrate figure raises its head.

“Stop screaming.”

Red lowers himself down on the seat, shaking. His blood appears black in the light that trickles through the door.

Blind sits up.

“It's still night, isn't it?”

“It is,” Red says, sniffling. “They're killing me. Three against one!”

As if in confirmation of his words, the door flies off the hinges. Blind rises unsteadily to meet Squib and Solomon. In the next stall the water rushes down noisily.

“Damn!” Squib says, taking a step back. “There's someone else over there! And here is Blind!”

“Where did Red get to, then?” Solomon says, shining the flashlight in from over Squib's shoulder.

“He's here too. What do we do now?”

The flashlight carriers pause. Red slides down on the floor and presses against the wall, trailing blood.

Don, on the lookout, emits a piercing whistle, warning of the coming danger.

“Run!”

Solomon grabs Squib's sleeve. They turn around and run into Ralph coming in the door.

Ralph is hampered by the flashlight, so he only manages to grab Squib. With a wave of the razor, Squib escapes. Ralph swears, picks up the flashlight that fell on the floor, and sweeps the beam around. The broken stall door. The tiles stained with blood.

First came the screams. Then, from out of nowhere, R One appeared with Tubby in his arms, put him down on the floor, told them to hold on to him, and ran back. Now Tabaqui and Smoker guard Tubby, who drones quietly, drools, and constantly attempts to crawl away.

“Something's happened,” Tabaqui whispers. “We need to investigate. What did you think you were doing? Have you lost your mind?” He pinches Tubby and turns to Smoker. “Listen. We’re going to put him on top of you and you're going to drive ahead with him. But you’ll have to hold him tight, or he’ll fall.”