Black Button
"I mean, don't you agree that it's weird?"
Mrs. Malkin lay face-down, following our steps with a disdainful gaze like the subject of a dusty-framed portrait. The fact that her second-story living room window hung practically within arm's reach of the sidewalk made the whole thing even creepier. She was right beside us, just separated by a pane of glass and a pittance of space.
I did my best to look at Des and not at the old woman. "Are you really asking me that? It's weird! It's so weird. Did you see when we were out yesterday that she was licking the carpet? Like, just over and over again?"
"What…?"
"Yeah, I didn't say anything 'cause we were talking about something else." A pause took over my words. "She needs some serious help."
Des and I slowed at the corner, waiting for the crossing signal to favor us and our flight from the crazy woman's house. At least we weren't stopped right in front of her house. That wouldn't be quite as weird as she was, but it would be a bit rude.
I went on. "I'm pretty sure she was super normal when we moved in. I mean, neither of us have talked to her much anyway, right? But she went to neighborhood gatherings and stuff before. She waved at the kids sometimes when I took them to the bus stop and she happened to be out. Surely nobody would have sold the house to her if they knew she was —"
"Wait, look at her," Des interrupted me.
"You kidding me? Don't stare."
"No, look!" A sigh accompanied my surrender. Something about the insistence in her plea. "She's not moving. Was she moving before? It…"
"I don't know."
"She's not even breathing! I...I think. Maybe we should go check on her!"
It would have had to take more convincing than that to get me to knock on such a strange woman's door like that. Hi, are you alright? I was looking in your window and noticed you were being, you know, just a tiny little bit completely out of your mind. Des convinces me on most things, though, so this was no challenge for her. We were on Mrs. Malkin's steps and knocking before the light changed.
"It's unlocked. I'm just gonna poke my head inside."
"Des, don't do — oh."
We crept into the house, Des' "Hello? It's Ryan and Des from next door!" projected into its dark interior. The only response was a set of tiny clicking footsteps on the floor and an equally tiny meow.
Des was the one that was creeped out enough to start this whole thing, so it escaped me why she would bend down to pet the cat. "Hey there, Button," she cooed, fingers stretching the cat's inky face into an anguished-looking expression. "Could you take us to the lady of the house? Can you, girl?"
Neither of us have much experience with cats, but I have enough to know they don't take orders. We'd seen Button before at some sort of neighborhood party a while back, but surely that wasn't enough get-to-know-you time to have the animal meow again and obediently trot up the stairs to where we had seen Mrs. Malkin just a few minutes before.
"We, uh...we just want to check that you're alright," I called up. Des led the charge, of course, and we soon found the woman, still, on the carpeted floor.
"Mrs…" I began to say, ignoring Button's protesting vocalizations. That was when Des gasped, a perplexed and horrified noise.
The woman sat up, looked at us, looked away again, and began to eat from Button's food dish.