Muffins Needs His Food

Viv presses her forehead against the glass and stares at the erratic darkness rushing past on the other side. Usually, people on the subway subconsciously become hyper aware of the space inside the train; nobody wants to have their purse snatched out the door right after it shuts or have some weirdo perving on you when you're just trying to hold onto the grab rail. Places like these are unsettling, even if you've been riding the subway for years. It's mostly because they are vast and bland and emotionless. Humans are emotional creatures. When something or someone lacks that, it tends to discompose. And, they have horrible lighting. Have you ever looked across the platform at someone and noticed how terrifyingly the light casts shadows across their face? Well, it's almost worse inside the train, that's why Viv likes to keep her eyes on her hands, or the wall, or on the windows. She likes to imagine there might be a veil, one that disguises itself as the crusty, concrete subway tunnel walls surrounding them. She has to take the train across the entire city, and with that much time on one's hands, what else do you expect one to get off to? Viv likes to create the creatures that might be on the other side of the wall in her mind, and then she bores her eyes past the reflections on the glass and tries to see her characters out there. She tries to see past the veil.

Right now, Viv is not trying very hard. She has had a long day, and her stop is coming up soon. There aren't many people on the train today, no thieves or perverts or creatures.

When the subway rumbles to a stop in front of the platform, Viv shoots a glance towards the black slit between the train and the tunnel wall as she steps out. She hurries home, because she missed the 7:00, settled for the 7:16, and now she's late to feed her cat. Viv lives in a small apartment on the very top floor of an old, rotting, brick building outside Manhattan. It's perks are a kitchen the size of a mudroom, a teeny standing shower with an uncomfortably large drain, a crunchy, vomit green carpet, a small balcony that might just fall off the face of the building one day, and epilepsy-triggering light fixtures. And Viv is sure the $319 cat tree she certainly shouldn't have bought for her dear Muffins is more comfortable than her own mattress.

Usually, Viv is extremely punctual when it comes to feeding her cat. Muffins is a moody, inconsiderate, selfish orange cat who often takes a liking to scratching up his owner's available valuables. When Viv is away at work, he yowls so loud the neighbors' news of a dying baby- or other creative descriptions -gets back to the landlord. No, it's not separation anxiety.

Now, Viv quite literally tumbles into her apartment in an irrational rush to nourish Muffins. She burns her knee on the wicker doormat. Then, with a pained inhale and a hiss through her teeth, she realizes there is an odd scent in the air. Steam is wafting from a pot on the stove, the sliding glass door to the balcony is wide open, and her cat is snoring quietly, resting on the top bed of his expensive cat tree. The stove hasn't been turned on for weeks, the glass door has remained locked for the entire three years that Viv has lived there, and Muffins is always awake and waiting for her.

"You know, it's not very prudent to hide your spare on the top of your door frame."

Viv jumps, screams, and throws nothing in the direction from which the voice came. She stares at her once empty/now empty hand in alarm and turns to escape. But her hand slips off the doorknob multiple times before a very tall man lurks out of her bedroom. She furrows her brows; it feels as though she recognizes him, but from where?

The figure is dressed in all black, his clothes practically scraps. His eyes are sunken and his hair (also black), is ratty and hangs in front of his face. He looks like some twisted Tim Burton character. Some parts of his skin are smooth and glossy and other parts are wrinkled and disgustingly saggy.

The man steps into view, and makes a face as though he forgot something. "Oh my! My mistake, no, no, no, it goes like this..." The man switches off the light, and now only the faint outside light sets a dim, dark glow over everything. He steps back into Viv's bedroom and proceeds to creep his fingers around the corner, slowly and eerily. His fingernails are long, discolored, and chopped sharp.

Vivian Brown has no idea what to think of this, and when the man pokes his head out with a sinister giggle- much like that of a child's -she suddenly comes to the conclusion that she should probably call the police. With her terrified eyes glued to her bedroom threshold as the man pokes his head in and out, like a game of peek-a-boo, and reaches into her back pocket. She hides it in her sleeve and boop beep boop, dials for help. But the volume on her phone is all the way up and questionably enough, it's also on speaker. Brrrrriiinnnnnng! The line rings. The man steps out again, his expression filled with hurt.

"What are you doing?" He takes two long strides towards her, and Viv screeches, dropping the phone and shoving herself against the wall. Without even bending over, he stretches his arm to the floor, curls his claws around the phone, and hangs up on 911. They never even answered anyway.

"Why, I'm not here to hurt you! I'm here to help. You see, I am here to feed your cat for you." The man says, his voice cracking like glass. He reaches out and grabs Viv's arm and drags her into the bedroom. She starts to hyperventilate, whimpering and wiggling away, but the man's grip is rock solid.

The lights are still off, and while Viv trips and stumbles, the man's walk is steady, like he is gliding. Her voice is glued inside her, like a live blob; thrashing and sticking to the inside of her throat. Finally, Muffins opens a lazy eye and watches Viv being dragged away.

Her room is not her room anymore. There isn't any furniture left whatsoever- where could it have gone? -and the walls are bare... oh dear, it seems just too clean. The man gruffly swings her onto the floor in front of him and shuts the door softly. His long limbs hang close to his sides, and he reminds her of a haunted castle tower, looming over her. He turns his head slowly and stares at her out of one eye, like a deranged parrot.

"You shouldn't have missed the seven o'clock." The man draws out his words into gravelly slurs. He draws a shining object from behind him and twirls it threateningly in between his fingers. A knife.

Viv cannot move; she feels like spiked chains have wrapped around her lungs and heart and body, holding her in place. Her heart is rattling against them, pounding and aching, yet squeezing tighter and tighter. How could this be? The veil isn't supposed to let anybody through...

Her skin shakes against her muscles and bones as the man lunges at her, and it suddenly seems as though things have started to move slower than they were before. The man's hair and face and clothes stretch behind him as if something is holding them in place, but he still comes closer. His skin melts away and around her and all over the room, like a piece of paper dissolving in water.

A metal-against-metal screech echoes in Viv's ears, and she turns her head to see two huge, blinding orbs speeding towards her, through the windows and into her room and into her head. Is she drowning, or being stabbed, or being smashed, or being chained? Everything happens so rapidly and so slowly she simply can't tell until an ice-cold hand wraps around her insides and squeezes as hard as it possibly can. She bursts.

-

Muffins waits patiently. He can smell something tasty. He doesn't know who this strange, large being is in place of that other woman who seems to live here, but there is a meaty scent. And frankly, that's all that matters. He hasn't smelled meat in a while, only cold, wet, smashed-together tuna. The being scoops chunks out of the silver bowl on the hot surface and plops them on a plate. Muffins licks his chops and glares; he is very hangry. Then he smells a bit of the woman, but never mind that, because now the being is setting the plate down in front of him.

Muffins the cat chomps on the tasty meat, slurping up all the excess juice and chewing all the fat. This is more food than usual, but it is tasty. All that a cat could want.