Blue House, Black Cat

It was perfect. Light blue with a charming 80s interior. Just enough rooms for what she needed.

Jenna stepped outside with her morning coffee the day after she moved in, ready to enjoy the view of the hills, when a soft chirp came from near her feet. A small black cat was lounging there like it had lived there its whole life.

“Did someone leave you here?” Jenna asked, bending down to pet it.

The cat leaned into her hand, purring.

“No collar, huh? Let’s get you some food.”

She stepped back inside, leaving only the screen door shut behind her. At the pantry, she realized it was completely bare. She hadn’t even thought about groceries yesterday.

After a moment, she grabbed a dusty can of tuna and turned to head back out. She froze.

A loud thud came from the basement.

The cat bolted off the porch and disappeared into the neighbor’s yard.

Her heart jumped. She hadn’t moved anything into the basement yet. It was supposed to be empty. And she definitely hadn’t changed the locks.

A wave of anxiety rolled in, tugging old memories to the surface.

Part of why she moved after her divorce was because she’d had a stalker in Portland—or thought she did. The police never found anyone connected to the strange noises or late-night calls, and they couldn’t investigate a feeling.

Her husband never believed her. He wasn’t home when she heard things. He blamed the fridge, the wind, the age of the house. But she knew it wasn’t just creaking wood.

He called it paranoia, and it pushed them apart. She was constantly on edge. He grew frustrated, then distant. Started staying out late. Then stopped coming home for days. That’s when she noticed some of his things were gone.

A month later, she found divorce papers on the doorstep.

No one could’ve followed me this quickly, she told herself. Still, she decided to leave the house just in case.

She grabbed her keys from the counter, listened for another sound—nothing—then locked the door and headed into town.

She climbed into her Honda Civic and checked the rearview mirror before starting the engine. It was only a 15-minute drive to the town center, but it took nearly the whole ride for her heart to settle.

As downtown San Luis Obispo came into view, she exhaled. People walked up and down the sidewalks. Stores were open. Life was happening.

First stop was the pet store on the corner. The thought of the little black cat waiting on her porch brought a small sense of calm. She picked up food, a couple bowls, and a few toys. The cashier was friendly, and chatting helped ease her nerves.

Next was a coffee shop. She ordered a latte even though her doctor had told her to cut back on caffeine during what they called her “episodes.” But coffee grounded her. It was a ritual. She sat by the window, watching strangers pass by, trying not to think about the noise in the basement.

Maybe it was just a pipe. Or the floorboards. Don’t let your imagination win again.

After finishing her drink, she wandered through town. She stopped in a bookstore and bought a few novels and a gardening book. Her new backyard seemed like a good place to start something.

Then the grocery store. She filled her cart with basics, wine, and popcorn. Comfort items. This time, she was going to build a life she liked. Even still, she kept glancing over her shoulder.

Back in her driveway, she turned down the music. The little black cat was on the porch, just where she left it. She smiled.

Inside, she opened one of the toys and set up a cozy spot on the porch. The cat, now clearly hers, purred loudly and started eating.

Feeling steadier, Jenna grabbed a flashlight and made her way to the basement. Her heart pounded as she stepped down, the light cutting through the musty air.

The basement was empty. Just dust, cobwebs, and the smell of old wood. She scanned the space slowly.

Then she noticed it. A small, old door in the far wall. It was cracked open. The darkness behind it didn’t reflect the light—it swallowed it.

“It’s probably nothing,” she muttered.

She stepped toward it, opened the door, and shined her flashlight inside.

A hidden room. Old furniture. Stacked boxes. And on the far wall, a large mirror covered in dust.

Then—crash.

Something behind her.

Jenna gasped and dropped the flashlight. It rolled across the floor, beam landing on the mirror.

She saw herself. Eyes wide. Breath held.

And just behind her reflection—another figure.

She spun around. Nothing. She turned back. Gone.

Heart racing, she grabbed the flashlight, slammed the hidden door, and sprinted up the stairs. She locked the basement and pressed her back against the door, chest heaving.

It’s just the stress. The move. The memories. You’re okay.

Still, she made a plan. Tomorrow she’d change the locks and install a security system. Tonight, she needed normal. She unpacked groceries, played with the cat—now named Shilo—and tried to forget the mirror.

Later, curled on the couch with a book, Shilo nestled at her side, Jenna told herself she’d find peace here. She wanted to believe it. San Luis Obispo was her fresh start.

But as her eyes drifted closed, the image from the mirror crept back into her thoughts. Not the glass—but what had been inside it.

She told herself no one was watching. That she was safe.

Months passed without another scare. She settled in. She even moved a few boxes into the basement, as long as Shilo came with her.

The house creaked sometimes, but all houses do.

One morning, she rushed out to run errands. First stop—Target. She needed cameras and a motion sensor or two. She wasn’t going to feel safe until they were installed.

She left the store with her arms full, fumbling with her keys. They dropped and scattered across the asphalt.

As she crouched to grab them, a pair of brown leather shoes stepped into view.

Her eyes traveled up. Jeans. A tucked-in button-up. The man smiled down at her.

“Sorry about that,” he said, crouching to help. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She smiled tightly. “Thanks. It’s been a day.”

He handed her the last key. “I’m Paul. Just noticed I hadn’t seen you around before. Thought I’d say hi.”

Her grip tightened on the bag. “Oh. I’m new in town.”

“Well, welcome. I live over near Reservoir Canyon. Great place to start fresh.”

Her blood ran cold.

“I didn’t say anything about starting over,” she said quietly.

Paul chuckled. “Nobody moves here unless they are. Just a guess.”

She gave a nod and turned to open her door.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said.

“Yeah. Maybe.” She shut the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat, locking the door as soon as it closed.

As she pulled out of the lot, something twisted in her gut. He looked... familiar. But she couldn’t place it.

Then she remembered. The same thing had happened when she moved to Portland.

Outside a Fred Meyer.

Groceries in her arms.

A man in jeans and a tucked-in shirt.

Smiling.