The Cleansing

The Cleansing

It was unseasonably warm for a November night in the small town of Misty Hill. The town lay in the center of the hollow, surrounded by the rolling foothills of the Ozarks Mountains in Missouri. Lucy shrugged her sweater off and grumbled about the weird warm air. It was only 5:30 and already pitch dark.

“I want to wear my winter clothes,” she whined as she pushed the door to her insurance office closed.

Lucy was the last to leave, as usual. All her useless employees left early. They always left early, leaving her to do the lock up. And the cleanup. Useless people.

“I’m going to fire every single one of them tomorrow. Jesus, it’s warm,” she said to no one.

She replayed the day in her head. Her useless secretary was pregnant. Always sick, always doctor’s appointments. Her useless agents badgered her daily, needing her help, wanting her input on things they should be able to figure out on their own. Useless. Lucy huffed and wiped a bead of perspiration off her forehead.

The street was deserted and quiet, only a few dimly lit shop lights cast shadows on the oaks and elms lining the sidewalks. Lucy tied the sweater around her waist and slung her purse over her shoulder.

“I’m going to have to turn the goddam AC on in the car. It’s November, for chrissake.”

She fumbled for her key and chirped the lock. The lights came on, illuminating the street. Not a single car. Lucy pulled her car door open and slid into the seat, one leg still extended out. She jumped when something brushed against her leg. Something soft, not unpleasant, and emitting a loud purring sound.

“Well, look at you, pretty kitty.”

Lucy reached down to pet the coal black cat with emerald, shining eyes. The cat wound itself around her leg like a boa constrictor choking its prey.

“Whoa, cat. Let go of me. I’ve gotta go home.”

She unwound the cat from her leg and slammed the door, narrowly missing the black tale. The cat stopped purring. Lucy jammed her foot on the break and pressed the ignition button. Nothing. She pressed it again and again. Sweat began to roll down her face as her frustration grew. It was only a three-block walk to get home, but Lucy’s three-inch heels and extra-long jeans would not make it easy. This day was the worst. She shoved the door open and slammed it shut again. Wrapped up in her misery, she had completely forgotten about the black cat.

When she clicked the lock on the door, it seemed to echo down the block, like a branch dropping in a canyon. Lucy stood up and murmured expletives, spewing her disgust.

“The damn lock works, why won’t the damn car start,” she growled.

Then she became aware of the pressure on her leg again.

“You again,” she groaned, reaching down to shove the cat away. The purring began again. It was like an electric current that she could feel rumbling through her body.

“I’m going home, cat. You should do the same.” Lucy started walking, tripping over the cat’s long tail.

“Go on. Get going.” She tried to shoo the cat away.

The cat darted in front of her and stopped, staring at her with penetrating eyes. It was like she was beckoning her. Lucy looked around, suddenly aware that all the lights on the street were off. Only the moonlight provided illumination. The cat emitted a long, low rumble and advanced on Lucy, again wrapping itself around her leg, then releasing and running in front of her again.

Confused, Lucy took a step toward the cat, who darted several more steps ahead and stopped, meowing loudly, almost a growl. Lucy tried to turn her phone flashlight on. Her phone, just like the streetlights and office lights, and her car, was dead. Panic seeped into her chest and her head began to pound. She couldn’t take her eyes off the cat.

A continuous growl echoed through the hollow. The cat kept slinking forward, arching its back, meowing, growling, hissing. The moon lit a path. Lucy followed the cat as though the cat was magnetic and held her in its power. She followed, incapable of doing anything else. Her ears were ringing. Was the cat…was the cat talking to her?

Follow, follow, follow

Wobbling in her heels, Lucy wrenched them off her feet and tossed them to the side of the road.

Follow, follow, follow

The cat’s magnetic hold pulled her along. She wasn’t in Misty Hill anymore. The moon was a spotlight on the edge of a lake surrounded by graceful trees bending in homage to the cat.

Rhythmic purring reverberated from tree to tree, but the water was still as glass and just as clear. At the water’s edge, the cat released its hold on Lucy, and she felt herself exhale, vibrating with…

With what? Excitement? Fear?

She stood, mesmerized by the moon shadow beckoning to her from the water. The cat’s growl was now the only sound she could hear. Lucy glanced back. Its tale was swishing soundlessly.

Lucy’s attention was drawn back to the water, a wave now inching its way toward her stockinged feet. Within moments, she stood in water past her knees, soaking her long jeans and weighing her down. The cat was speaking to her again. She was immobile.

Look down, look down, look down

The cat’s magnetic pull drew Lucy’s head back toward the land where the cat stared at her, eyes glittering. The purring stopped and there was silence.

Lucy heard it again.

Look down, look down, look down

A force shoved Lucy’s face down within inches of the water. Her reflection grimaced at her and slowly dispersed over the lake with each wave. She was horrified by the face looking back at her. It was a distorted, grotesque image. Tears began to drip from Lucy’s eyes creating an even more twisted version of herself with every ripple of wave.

A sudden opening in the water pulled her under. Lucy gasped and thrashed as she fought to keep her nose and mouth above the water. The magnetic pull was too strong for her. She went deeper and deeper and deeper. The clear water was suddenly dark with something draining from Lucy’s body. Was it her life force? Her blood? Her lungs burned and her memory whirled like a tornado.

Hateful words bashed her head as they cleared her body and muddied the water. Spoiled and nasty thoughts bubbled out of her hands and feet, producing something that resembled putrid sludge, the kind seen in the backwater of a stale swamp. Her lungs burned and the tornado of memories twirled her around and around the black, dank water.

All her senses were shutting down. Her body went limp, and Lucy began to float back up to the top of the water, face up, arms and legs graceful wings, fluttering, guiding her up, up, up. With every flutter, the water cleared. By the time her face broke the water, Lucy’s body was glowing and with her first breath of blessed air, the lake lit up like a million suns beaming from below.

It’s a new day, new day, new day

She was cleansed. Her lungs filled with fresh, beautiful air and she was standing, completely dry, staring at the black cat. She had an uncontrollable urge to laugh. The woods surrounding the lake were fading into a lovely watercolor being washed away by cleansing rain.

Lucy was back on the street. Lights were shining and people were milling around, ready for their days to be over.

“Have a good evening, Lucy,” her colleague called from across the street.

“I, ahhh, thank you. Thank you and you have a good evening, too.”

She smiled and felt warmth flood her body. Not the heat of an unseasonably warm November day, but the warmth of love; of empathy; of confidence. A crisp autumn breeze had replaced the sticky heat from earlier.

Lucy heard purring and looked down to see the cat preening luxuriously. Then it yawned, arched its back, and padded down the street, tail swishing, satisfied with a job well done.