Felix

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Ashley Louise
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Felix

Post by Ashley Louise »

This is a short story I wrote some time ago and was published in a magazine. I've been meaning to flesh it out, add on and edit it a bit but haven't had the time until now, so I would love to get some constructive criticism from fellow readers and writers before I plunge back into this story and work on it further. Thanks in advance!




FELIX
by Ashley Louise

Cats have such boring lives, don't they? They sleep, eat, use their box and sleep some more. Sure, sometimes they play, but mostly they don't. Felix, my short-hair orange tabby is fat and all around useless, but he is good company. He doesn't talk back or complain about my annoying habits as long as his food bowl stays full. He simply mills around all day, flicking his tail from time to time doing nothing. I adopted him a couple of months ago from the shelter, no known owner. The poor thing was found wandering the street, but now he has everything he could ever want. What I wouldn't give to be a cat.
I'm Ali Henderson, I, much like my Felix, sleep, eat, use the toilet and sleep some more but unfortunately I have to work. I get up every morning, drive through New York City traffic (stupid, I know, but I had a car when I moved here, I figure I should use it), trudge my way through work, and return home. I'm a junior journalist at a small time newspaper, given all the work and none of the glory. Rinse and repeat, even my days off I usually spend doing some sort of work and they're all the same. Until that day. The day that changed my entire life.
As I came home from work I started unlocking my apartment door when I stopped, hearing something inside, a "tick, tick, tick," sound. It was repetitively annoying and my instinct was to burst in yelling but knowing it might be a dangerous intruder I slowed my roll. Reaching into my purse I grabbed a hold of my pepper spray, a gift given to me for Christmas by a friend. Well, Maurice, today is the day it might finally come in handy, today on this hot day in August. The ticking sound grows louder, but yet not closer. Firmly grasping my only form of weapon, I turn my key as quietly as possible, turning the door handle and I see... Nothing. I begin to search the entire apartment and find nothing but myself in the mirror and Felix on the bed. I notice my balcony door open, realizing the sound must have come from outside or a pigeon, New York is full of them.
Later that night as I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the days troubles, I hear that very same ticking sound. As I'm wondering if I've left the balcony door open again, the light shuts off. Screaming, I slip, grasping for the shower curtain which comes down with me only serving to mildly break my fall. Feeling warmth on my face, I assume it to be water until the light suddenly flicks back on, proving the wetness to be blood. After driving myself to the emergency room and explaining my embarrassing story, the nurse laughs, reminding me it is New York after all and sometimes the power goes out. "But, why did the water stay on?" I think, unwilling to say it out loud. She finishes patching me up, no stitches needed and no concussion, and sends me on my way with a prescription and a chuckle.
I slide into bed, drowsy, and drift with no incident, awaking the next morning to the screeching sound of my alarm clock pulsing through my aching head. I force myself out of bed, deciding I may as well go into work. What else do I have to do? I dress myself, avoiding the shower for the time being, and slip out onto the balcony to have my morning cigarette. As I do so, I find 4 dead pigeons that seemed to have flown into my glass door, breaking their poor necks in the process. I reel back in horror, rushing to the phone to call the maintenance man in the building to help dispose of them properly. While I wait for him, 20 long minutes of feeling nauseous, I sit on my bed, nursing a cup of tea. He arrives, looking bored and as if I've disturbed some great task of his, likely another losing round of solitaire on his failing computer. Saying nothing, I point to the balcony and before long he storms back in.
"Is this some kind of joke?" He half shouts.
"What are you talking about? I explained on the phone! The poor b-" I shout back in defense, believing he thinks the scene is too gruesome.
"There are no damn birds, did you just want to play a prank? Wanted a good laugh? I have gout, you know, it hurts to have come all the way up here!"
My brain stops hearing the rest of his tangent at the words "there are no damn birds" and I push passed him to see for myself. Low and behold, the 4 dead, or maybe they were really alive, pigeons are gone. But certainly I saw their little necks twisted, their bodies stiff?
"Sir, I, I, I don't know where they went-" I tremble out.
"They didn't go anywhere because they didn't exist! Don't call again unless you have a real issue or I'll report you to the housing board!" He storms out, slamming my door loudly behind him. I sink to the floor, peering back outside, seeing no signs that the birds were ever truly there. Thinking the hospital must have been wrong about the concussion, I call out of work and slide back into bed, deciding to rest for the day.
I awake to a half lit room, sun sinking low behind all of the tall buildings. I notice the throbbing in my head has dulled and the fall and mysterious pigeons all seem like a foggy bad dream after an excellent nap and a much needed sick day. I remember my prescription from the night before, realizing I should go fill it for this distracting dull throb and trot out to the kitchen counter where I left it. Not finding it, or any paperwork from last night, I begin searching everywhere. I search my purse, the entire apartment, even my car and can't find any of it anywhere. Fearing I imagined that too, like the birds, I call the emergency room. Thankfully, they confirm I was there, but when I ask about the prescription, saying I must have lost it on the way home (though I was pretty positive I left it on the counter top), they place me on hold to speak to the doctor.
After what seems like forever, "Ma'am? Your prescription was dropped off at the 24 hour CVS around the corner from here last night hours after you were discharged. Either you hit your head harder than we thought or you're simply looking for a fix-" I hang up the phone quickly before she can continue. I plop hard on the couch, jarring my sore head, trying hard to remember the last 24 hours of my life. I remember driving straight home last night, did I go to the pharmacy in my sleep? I've never done anything like that before. Did I lose it on the way home and someone else took it? No, I'm certain I placed it on the counter, but I was also certain 4 dead birds laid on my balcony this morning. I tell myself it's all just a result of the fall and hit to my head, but realize it started before that. The sound when I arrived home from work, the lights shutting off before my fall, then the fall, the birds and now this? It's just all too weird. I decide to call the pharmacy, asking them who dropped the prescription off. My terror grows as the voice on the other line tells me, "no one, it was just on the counter when I came back in from the back room. It's here if you want it." I forget the prescription, embarrassed and unwilling to retrieve it at this point.
"Rest, I just need more rest," I ensure the balcony door is shut and locked, checking the front door as well before slinking back to bed with my tail between my legs, whistling for Felix as I do. He immediately jumps up into the bed with me, snuggling in by my feet and we both drift off to a peaceful sleep.
I awake in the very early morning hours to the sound of my alarm clock going off, the clock blazes 4:31AM. I smack it, shutting it off quickly, knowing the time it's regularly set for is 6:00AM. I shake it off, settling back into bed, looking up at my ceiling. Just as I'm about to close my eyes I hear the crash bang sound of thunder and lightning, and rain beginning to pour outside. I hear Felix yowling in the next room so I jump out of bed, finding my balcony door completely open, rain pouring inside along with bits of leaves billowing in. Gasping I slam the door shut, turning and locking it before racing around my apartment to turn on all the lights. Sure I shut and locked the door before bed, and even more sure my alarm never goes off until 6:00AM, I call the police.
As they arrive, I tell my story, starting with the sound I heard the other day coming in from work, finishing with tonight's events, leaving nothing out. Officer Patterson looks at his partner, shakes his head at him as he leaves my apartment, and sits down gently next to me.
"Ma'am, there is no sign of forced entry at either door. No one would be able to climb to your balcony anyway. My partner spoke to the maintenance man who explained there were no birds, and as for your light? The power sometimes does go out..."
"Then why did the water stay on!" I shout, interrupting him before he can tell me I'm crazy.
"You said it was only a second, right? You fell, you were hurt. It may have shut off and you didn't notice it." He places a large warm hand on my shoulder before saying into his radio, "It's all clear, nothing out of the ordinary here." He turns back to me, "Ali, get yourself looked at by the hospital again, you may have hit your head harder than you thought. There is no one here but you, I assure you of that."
I decide against saying anything further, seeing the officer out. I go into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich, noticing Felixs' food and water bowls are empty. I try to remember the last time I fed him, and realize it's been several days. I had the big editorial I needed to finish for work and then all of this. I've simply been so distracted. I kneel down, filling them up, and give him a small saucer of milk before whistling for him. He lazily trots in, looks at the food and me before greedily accepting my apology.
Knowing I cannot sleep any longer, I dress myself and get ready for work. Beyond ready to just try to be and feel as normal as possible. I achieve my goal, for an entire week in fact. A whole week goes by without any incident whatsoever until the final straw. The one that broke the proverbial camels back. I came home from work, hearing that dreaded "tick, tick, tick," before entering the apartment. I burst in, not prepared to play games or give an intruder time to get away and hide, only to catch a whiff of a gross stench. I look around my apartment, eyes wide, seeing dead mice littering the floors and furniture, at least 10 of them. I stumble backwards, smacking into the wall and notice this time, the balcony door is closed however the word "die" is written in what I can only assume is mouse blood on the bottom portion of the glass door. I rush out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me and run down to the front desk. I demand they call the police, the maintenance man, anyone, all while screaming about dead mice and death threats.
The same officers as the previous week arrive, looking at me distrustfully as I explain the horrors I witnessed in my apartment. Officer Patterson tells me to wait while he takes a look, heading upstairs leaving his partner to babysit. Not 2 minutes later I hear through the radio, "You're not going to believe this, come up, bring the girl." Feeling vindicated, I rushed ahead. "Finally! Finally they see and someone will believe me!" I excitedly think, rushing up the stairs, flying down the corridor to my apartment, finding the door open and the office standing in it. I peer around him and collapse. The apartment is totally clean, devoid of any mice or threatening blood notes on the glass. I cry, and cry and cry until finally the officers leave me with a citation for improper use of the 911 service, an impending eviction letter from the building owner, and a referral for a psychiatric evaluation.
Well, this is my silly ghost story. My explanation of all the strange, unexplained things that have been happening to me. The reason I assume I either am truly being haunted, stalked by a very intelligent but strange criminal, or my mind is haunting itself. The reason I am entering into a mental hospital this morning, checking myself in and letting them throw away the key. I simply can't accept the fact that there is other, that there is something else out there, or someone out there trying to harm me. I would rather believe I am insane, which I, along with the hospital, entire apartment building and police force believe I am. As did Dr. Collins, who referred me to the hospital.
I'm going to tell you a secret. Can you keep it? Sure you can, because I'm writing this to absolutely no one. No one will ever find this, therefore no eyes will ever lay upon this, at least not human. The moral of this story is this, don't assume. I get that morals are supposed to be told, or rather learned, at the end of a story, and my story is far from over, but this one is too important to hold on to.
Ali stands from her desk, sighing loudly, disbelieving that her once boring life has now come to this. She looks to the counter where her packed bag awaits her "trip," as she told the few friends and family she has. She decides to go have a quick smoke on the balcony, her last, before finishing and stashing her story then leaving for the hospital. Noticing Felix has no food or water, she promises herself to feed him as soon as she comes back in. Sliding the door open, she begins to light up her cigarette when she hears it. "Tick, tick, tick," she jumps, looking back into the empty apartment and sees nothing. She lights the cigarette, pulling hard, trying to calm her nerves.
"This will all be over as soon as I get to Bellevue," she whispers out loud.
Turning back around, the sound gets louder, "tick, tick, tick," she turns again, only seeing Felix sitting inside the doorway looking up at her. Suddenly, he almost winks before his stubby legs quickly close the gap between them, pouncing at Ali's face, both of them tumbling backwards off of the balcony to the street below. Her body hits with a resounding crack, just barely audible over the city street. She lays face up, unseeing of the beautiful blue sky, body broken as trickles of blood pour from her now dead mouth. This will almost certainly be seen as a suicide, just like Felix's last owner, with her story that will read like a suicide note on her desk.
Felix gently dislodges himself from her and begins walking down the street, looking for his next home, flicking his tail to and fro, "tick, tick, tick."
Cats have such boring lives, don't they?


END
"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." - Kurt Vonnegut
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