Pretzel

fiction | horror

Photo by Kido Dong on Unsplash

A dissonant chord rips me from sleep.

I freeze, bolt upright with my hand over my throat, and listen for the source.

meeoww

I fall back onto my pillow and exhale over my blind panic.

“Fucking cat,” I spit at the ceiling.

Garrett’s cat. Pretzel. Fucking pain in my ass.

I haven’t slept through the night once since I moved in.

“He’s just restless,” Garrett says. “He’ll settle down once he gets to know you.”

I don’t know how long it takes a stupid cat to get to know a person. But it’s been months. And I’m about fed up with this night walker bullshit.

Pretzel prances mockingly down the length of the piano, hitting as many keys as possible, and then dismounts silently. I press my fingers into my eyelids and wait for it.

MEEOOWW

I growl through gritted teeth and sit up again. I reach for my phone on the bedtable, the sound of Pretzel scratching at something plastic in the kitchen grating violently against my frayed nerves.

My phone wakes up and blinds me as I squint to foc…