Of Cats and Cosmic Horror

The air in her London flat tasted of ash and stale dreams, and Alice awoke feeling as dead as the paint on her peeling walls, yearning for anything to prove she was truly alive. She wasn’t looking for a secret society, or forgotten gods, or anything remotely sinister. She was just looking for a painting. More than that, she was looking for a spark, a flicker of inspiration to reignite the dwindling flame of her artistic spirit.

Her tiny Southwark flat, perpetually shadowed by the gleaming Shard, felt smaller and tighter each day, squeezing the life out of her art. Canvases remained stubbornly blank, and the scent of turpentine, usually a comfort, now felt like a heavy accusation. Being an art student in London was romantic, but the reality was often expensive suffocation. That morning, the suffocation was acute. The kitchen, usually a communal disaster zone, was a new level of appalling. Half-eaten cereal and forgotten pizza boxes claimed every inch of the counter.

‘Seriously, Mark?’ Alice muttered, hearing her flatmate snoring, oblivious. She had no space to work, nowhere clean or quiet to even sketch.

Her flatmates were tedious, wasteful, and perpetually messy, and she was so poor she often relied on microwave noodles to get by. Alice pinched a slice of cold, half-eaten pizza to tame the hungry growler in her stomach.

Despite her love for gothic novels and horror movies, Alice craved order, a clean and organised flat. Her chipped black nail polish and smudged, days-old eyeliner were testaments to her tight budget. She was bored, deeply and utterly bored, with the mundane grind of her existence, desperate for anything different. She just needed out. With her worn sketchbook and box-dye bleach blonde hair, she set out to wander, preferring London's forgotten corners. Perhaps today, something genuinely interesting might finally happen. She was no London tourist and Alice knew the beaten paths of London like the back of her tattooed hands. She needed something different … something that would kick her imagination into high gear and breath life back into the skinny and pale body of hers.

Her wandering took an unexpected turn when a sleek, coal-black cat, with eyes like chips of emerald, darted across her path and sauntered into a grim-looking doorway.

‘Oh, hello there,’ Alice murmured, holding out a plump blueberry from a little plastic baggie of snacks she had in her pocket.

The cat cautiously plucked the berry from her fingers, its gaze oddly intent. From the corner of Alice’s eye, she could’ve sworn she saw several other cats, but she blinked and lost them. Then, with a sudden, silent dart, the black cat vanished into the shadows within the shop. Alice, intrigued, followed without a second thought. It led her straight to a derelict antique shop, its grimy window a chaotic jumble. An icy shiver, deeper than the autumn air, pricked Alice’s skin. The shop wasn’t just calling; it tugged at something ancient inside her. The heavy, groaning door swallowed Alice whole into a pervasive gloom. The city’s distant hum vanished, replaced by a suffocating quiet, thick with the scent of mildew and a faint, coppery tang.

‘Hello?’ Alice said, her voice thin.

No response.

She drifted deeper.

On a low, shadowed shelf, something gleamed, catching a slither of light. It was a small amulet forged from a dark alloy. Its form was an unsettling oval, perfectly smooth save for its singular feature: an eye. This was no human eye, but something utterly alien, its iris a swirling vortex of dark blues and greens, radiating strange, intricate markings that seemed to shift. As her fingers closed around it, a jolt, visceral and profound, shot through her arm—a shard of ice plunging into her core. A whisper, cold and dry as millennia-old bone, scraped against the edge of her hearing. It spoke of abyssal darkness, of something primordial stirring, of irreversible, cataclysmic change. Alice gasped, but her hand closed around the amulet with an almost greedy possessiveness she didn’t recognise. Her impoverished student instincts, overriding the shivers.

The shopkeeper, a gaunt figure with flint-like eyes, emerged. Alice, feeling a strange, dark thrill, slipped it into her pocket, hoping he hadn’t seen.

‘Find something of interest, miss?’ His voice was a dry rasp. Alice mumbled something about just looking, her heart hammering, and hurried out.

The profound cold clinging to her intensified. The city outside felt subtly altered, its mundane sounds echoing with a profound, nameless dread. She turned a corner, then another, the amulet in her pocket growing strangely warm, then vibrating with an insistent pull. Her feet, seemingly of their own accord, carried her down an alley she had never seen before, twisting impossibly. The familiar brick walls gave way to craggy stone. She heard it then: a low, resonant rumbling from beneath the earth itself. The alley spat her out into a wide, overgrown courtyard.

Before her loomed an ancient gothic castle, silhouetted against a bruised, ominous sky. Its spires clawed at the clouds, its windows like hollow eyes, and the surrounding air thrummed with that same unsettling rumble. A single, enormous oaken door stood ajar, revealing a sliver of unholy light within.

‘Where the f—,’

BOOM.

A rumble.

A shift of gears—the inner workings of something archaic at work.

Alice hesitated, a primal part of her screaming to run. But the amulet throbbed, urging her forward. Stepping across the threshold, she found herself in a vast, cold hall, illuminated by flickering torches. Shadows danced. And there, arranged in a chilling semicircle, stood a gathering of cloaked figures, utterly silent. Then, from their midst, a low, guttural chant began: ‘Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn…’ Just as the chant reached a terrifying crescendo, echoing off the walls, the central figure raised a hand.

Silence descended, broken only by Alice’s frantic heartbeat.

Slowly, as one, the hooded figures turned, their obscured faces directed squarely at her. The central figure’s dry, vibrating voice spoke. ‘She has arrived. The Eye has delivered its vessel.’

Another figure whispered, ‘The innocent, by design. A willing step across the threshold.’

A third rumbled, ‘The blood is ready. The sacrifice is complete in its willing surrender.’ The words hung cold and heavy, sealing her fate. She heard the words, but they didn’t register. Her alarm bells were shouting. LEAVE … RUN!

Alice felt an invisible net tighten. She spun, desperate, clawing at the thick oak door, but it was solid. ‘No!’ she shrieked. She flung herself towards an archway, but an invisible wall shimmered, slamming her back.

‘Now, now, girl,’ one figure purred. ‘It’s only your head we need.’ From the cloaked figures, a low, collective hum began. Their gnarled hands emerged, outstretched, emitting a faint, violet glow that stretched like ethereal tendrils towards her.

Alice stumbled back. ‘Let me go!’ she screamed, kicking out wildly. She yanked at the amulet, but it felt heavy. The violet light intensified, wrapping around her, pressing down with immense, invisible weight. Her limbs grew sluggish, defiance fading. She thrashed, a wild, cornered animal, but the ancient magic crushed her. Her vision blurred. The torchlight spun. The rumbling beneath the castle intensified, a monstrous heartbeat. Alice sagged, her struggles growing weaker.

The figures advanced towards a raised stone altar, slick and dark. The lead figure, with a sharp blade, cut across his own palm. Dark, viscous blood welled, dripping into a grotesque stone basin. Others followed, until the basin overflowed. Then, with another guttural chant, the blood in the basin stirred, coalescing, thickening, then impossibly rose. It formed a miniature, swirling whirlwind, a crimson tornado that shrieked silently upwards, radiating sickening heat. As the blood-vortex tore the air, a patch of absolute blackness blossomed on the ceiling, swallowing the torch flames.

From within this void, a single, vast eye pushed through, then another, until a cluster of bulbous, multifaceted eyes peered down, glowing with ancient, malevolent intelligence. Within that inky void, the stars and swirling colours of an impossible cosmos swam. And then, as the first, colossal eye focused on Alice, the central figure dragged back its hood. Alice gasped in sickening recognition. It was the shop owner. His gaunt face, etched with triumphant, malicious glee, was unmistakable. He smiled, revealing sharper teeth.

‘Did you really think to simply take it, girl?’ His voice thrummed with mocking satisfaction. ‘The Eye does not let itself be stolen. It chooses. It called you. It led you. And your foolish, thieving hands were merely the final, vital step in its journey to us.’ He gestured with his bloodied hand. ‘You’re quite the fool, aren’t you? So predictable. Your “innocence” wasn’t about being pure, but about being utterly unsuspecting. And the fact you pocketed it? Oh, that was the most exquisite confirmation. The perfect sign that you truly belonged to the Eye’s pull.’

‘Yes. Naughty, naugh—’

‘Shut up, Willard,’ the shop owner said. As he spoke, the blackness above continued its grotesque birth. A thick, slimy tentacle descended, followed by another, slowly, deliberately, probing the air, dripping dark ichor.

The raw, alien horror seized her. ‘This… this isn’t real,’ Alice choked, but the violet bonds burned. The pain was sharp, undeniable, screaming the truth: this was no dream. Her blood, indeed, was ready. And her fight, she realised with a sickening lurch, had finally run out. ‘HELP!’

But just as despair threatened to swallow her, a streak of black fur launched itself. The black cat Alice had fed the blueberries to, with emerald eyes, landed with startling force directly on the shop owner’s face. It was a furious, clawing assault. The shop owner shrieked in agony as the cat’s sharp claws raked across his eyes. The surprise was absolute. And the cat was not alone. From every corner, shadows detached themselves, coalescing into dozens of other sleek, dark forms. A veritable army of cats, their eyes gleaming, swarmed the robed figures. They climbed, clawed, bit. A cacophony of yelps erupted, cultists clawing desperately at their own eyes.

‘My eyes, my beautiful eyes!’ Willard screamed.

As the figures writhed, their violet magic flickered, momentarily faltering. The immense, invisible weight pinning Alice suddenly loosened. She stumbled forward, breaking free, just as something cold, slimy, and disgustingly viscous slapped against the floor where her head had been moments before. A thick, greyish-green ooze dripped from a vast, probing tentacle that retreated back into the blackness, missing her by inches. Alice stared at the dark, glistening trail. This was no dream. And she was, miraculously, terrifyingly, free.

The blackness above them, however, continued to swell and tear, a yawning chasm in the very fabric of the castle ceiling. More monstrous shapes pressed against the void, pushing, straining to emerge. The low rumbling intensified into a deafening roar. Suddenly, the black cat, the one from the alley, leapt onto a fallen brazier near Alice, its fur bristling, its emerald eyes blazing with eerie intelligence. It opened its mouth, and to Alice’s utter shock, a voice – crisp, ancient, and perfectly articulate – flowed out.

‘Smash it!’ the cat hissed, its gaze fixed on her pocket. Its tail flicked, pointing at the source of the throbbing. ‘The amulet, Alice! The Eye you carry! It is the conduit, the lock, and the key! It must be broken! It is the only way to stop this cosmic beast from tearing through!’

Alice, clutching the amulet, stared, her mind reeling. She looked at the amulet, then at the thick, slimy tentacle that now lashed out from the ceiling, snapping at her head. Desperate, she lunged, trying to smash the amulet against the thrashing tentacle. But the dark alloy merely bounced off the rubbery flesh, utterly ineffective. The tentacle, as if annoyed, coiled around her midsection with terrifying speed, yanking her roughly off the ground.

‘AAAGH!’ Alice screamed, hauled upwards towards the gaping maw of blackness, where the impossible stars and colours swam, closer now, promised oblivion.

The amulet, slick with sweat and terror, slipped from her grasp. It fell, tumbling, a dark speck against the flickering torchlight. With a sickening CRACK, it hit the stone floor near the altar, shattering into a dozen fractured pieces. A sound like the tearing of reality itself, a gargantuan, cosmic anguish, erupted from the blackness above. A soul-shredding wail that shook the very foundations of her being. The monstrous form retreated, the colossal eyes flickering and dimming, the tentacles thrashing wildly as they slowly, painfully, receded back into the swirling void.

The blackness shrank, convulsing violently. The tentacle that held Alice, now limp, released its grip. She plunged downwards, expecting a bone-jarring impact, but landed with a soft, squelching thud in a thick, cool substance. The substance submerged her, and she gasped for breath as the putrid smell of decay and salt filled her nostrils. It was the same greenish-grey ooze, cushioning her fall, covering her entirely. Before she could panic, the black cat landed on her chest, its emerald eyes urgent. With frantic, determined movements, it began to claw and bat at the goo from her mouth and eyes, scraping away the thick, viscous substance so Alice could finally gasp a proper, shuddering breath. The air, despite the lingering stench of alien horror, had never felt so sweet. She was alive.

‘Y-You can talk,’ Alice said, lifting herself up.

‘Of course I can talk. We’ve been looking for someone like you for centuries,’ the cat said, leaping off Alice. ‘If only we got here in time before they started. You were too quick.’

‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’

‘What? And have you run away screaming before we got the chance to stop all this?’ The black cat then licked its paws.

Alice blinked and found she couldn’t respond. She would’ve run away if a cat talked to her.

‘Up you get. Got to make sure you get home safe.’ The black cat sprung to attention. ‘Want no more cultists finishing the job.’

With that, Alice got up and followed the cat through alleys and around sharp-bricked corners that led back to the bustling London town Alice knew oh, too well. The black cat knew exactly where to go and took Alice back to her flat.

‘That’s it … Back to normal?’ Alice said.

The cat nodded.

‘How—How can anyone just go back to normal after all that? Yes, I’m talking to a cat, piss off.’

The black smirked and swiped at Alice’s shoe.

Alice knelt down. ‘Will I see you again? What’s your name?’

The cat rubbed itself against Alice’s cheek, close enough to her ear to whisper, ‘Yes, I’m afraid you will, Alice. There’s plenty of madness yet to come. Better find a hat to hide, and oh, the name’s Cheshire.’