Let's Not Meet Again

Not A Cat Lover ...

This is a story about something that happened to me and a friend a long time back and genuinely creeped me out. For context, I am a girl. My friend, Jenna, and I were in Elementary school at the time, living in a Canadian small town, the sort of place that is great for a visit--wonderful hiking and camping--but not really a great place to live as a kid. The town was small, but very spread out, very wooded, only somewhat well lit around the town center, and had little to do if you were young. Living in such a place, you learn to make your own fun, and to keep your eyes open.

Jenna and I attended the same school and were, at the time, best friends; so, we fully planned to spend Halloween together, watching scary movies and eating junk food at her place; I was always fascinated by it as she lived in a trailer park in an older area of the town. Every wall was decorated in 80s hippy fashion: beaded curtains, black light velvet posters, and tie-dye. Like my family, hers were out a lot; so it was just us and their dozen or so cats.

Most of these cats were half feral, passing in and out as they chose, but were friendly and social, curling up on our laps and rubbing their heads against us for attention. We would pet them as we watched movies and chatted. Eventually, our conversation turned to some of the stranger town residents and visitors. It wasn't unusual for more dysfunctional people to settle in our town, liking the isolation and the relative cheapness of living there. Most were harmless, but a few were more dangerous.

We were a few movies in and it was late when we realized that one of Jenna's cats was missing. This was strange as the cats always came in at night. Her home wasn't in a nice area of town and, between the raccoons, occasional cougars, bears, and more sadistic town residents, pets were known to disappear. It was black outside and I started to get a disquieted feeling, but mostly chalked it up to the conversation, movies we had been watching, and the fact that it was after dark on Halloween. We laughed at each other for being afraid and went to look for Jenna's missing cat.

Like many mobile homes, hers had two doors, a wood one, and an outer screen of mesh and glass. At first we stood behind the screen, calling for the cat for 5 or so minutes, nearly giving up. Just as we were about to discuss what to do next, we heard a meow coming from the side of her home, out of our sight, in the dark. We called a few more minutes, and heard the cat meowing, but it didn't come to the door as usual.

This wasn't completely unusual as the cats could occasionally be aloof, so we decided to go out and get it to bring it in for the night. Halloween is a bad time to leave animals out. The moment we stepped out of the door, I had a bad feeling. It's a cliche, I know, and I felt stupid and paranoid at the time, but the hairs on the back of my neck raised up and I broke out into goosebumps. The meowing was coming from an area that was completely unlit and had no visibility at all. Still, I knew there was nothing back there to stop the cat from coming to us and had to wonder why it was crying like that.

Jenna had taken a few steps ahead of me but I grabbed her arm and insisted that we go back for a flashlight before heading out there. She gave me a funny look, but must have seen how uncomfortable I felt, so we headed back in. It took us a while to find a flashlight, maybe 15 minutes, but the cat was meowing the entire time, sounding anxious. We were both worried and had just stepped off of the stairs to her door, rounding the corner into the dark when the cat suddenly started screaming.

I have never heard an animal make a noise like that before and panicked. We both jumped before wordlessly flicking on our flashlight and swinging it towards the noise. Not 15 feet in front of us we had illuminated a large, bulky male figure dressed fully in black, with his face partly covered by a black hood. He was crouched down and holding Jenna's cat on the ground, belly up, with a splayed hand. The light glinted off of something in his other hand and my stomach bottomed out as I realized he had a knife.

He looked up in that moment and we all froze in pure shock. He started to straighten up, releasing the cat and moving towards us. The cat shot past us and, as we later learned, into the mobile home. The man looked at us, and slowly raised his knife hand. We screamed bloody murder and bolted back around the side, up the stairs, and through the door, locking and chaining it behind us. The rest of the night was spent wide awake in Jenna's room, huddled, shivering under the covers on her bed with her room door shut and a chair wedged under the doorknob.

We never told anyone and, despite others living close enough to have heard the cat howl, and our screams, no one ever asked questions. It was that type of place. After that, we always spent Halloween at my place or in large groups with other friends. I can't say if I ever encountered that man again as I never got a clear look at him, but I hope not. Given that this is just one of many unfortunate events while growing up, I always shake my head when people comment about the idyllic nature of small town life.