Open Door
I didn’t know the house. The voices were unfamiliar, the laughter didn’t include me. One of those gatherings where you pretend to understand why you’re even there.
And then someone left the back door open.
It led to a dark yard, with dry soil and twisted branches. That crack was all the rats needed. They came in—white rats, almost glowing. Some dimmer than others, as if they hadn’t fully taken shape. They crossed in silence, unhurried, as if they already knew the way. The girls screamed. I would have screamed too, but the shock caught in my throat.
That’s when my cat appeared. And he wasn’t alone. Other cats followed, of all sizes and colors, moving with that quiet determination of those who know exactly what to do. They lunged at the rats without hesitation.
The rats screeched, the cats pounced, and everything moved wildly, yet with a strange harmony. As if it had all been choreographed.
I just watched.
The rats fled.
The cats ruled.
The door stayed open.
Then I noticed some rats weren’t being chased. They floated. They were more translucent, almost mist. One of them stopped right in front of me.
It didn’t run. It didn’t shiver. It just stared at me.
And that’s when I knew.
That one hadn’t come from outside.
