The Cat Beneath The Tree

The first thing that happened was the tree falling.

The tree had been standing in the corner of the living room for three weeks, exactly where it always stood, decorated with the same ornaments we had collected over the years. Glass balls, wooden snowflakes, little silver bells, and the ugly ceramic angel my mother had made when I was a kid. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it was ours, and every year I loved the way the lights made the room feel warmer during those cold December nights.

It was beautiful...

Until something knocked it over.

I was in the kitchen making coffee when I heard the crash. It was a violent, splintering crash followed by the sound of glass ornaments shattering on the hardwood floor.

“Shit!”

The tree was lying on its side, branches crushed beneath it, lights still glowing against the floor. Ornaments had rolled in every direction, some of them broken, their shards glittering among the pine needles.

And underneath the tree, something moved.

At first, I thought it was a mouse. Then I saw the paw.

Long, filthy claws covered in gray fur.

The paw twitched.

I froze.

My husband came running in behind me. “What happened?”

I pointed toward the tree.

He stared at it for a moment before his eyes followed mine to the paw sticking out from underneath the branches.

“What the hell is that?”

I didn't answer.

The thing slowly pulled itself out from underneath the tree.

It was a cat...

Or what had once been one.

Its fur was matted and wet, clumped together with something dark. Its body was impossibly thin, every rib visible beneath its skin. One ear was torn nearly in half, and there were patches where the fur was completely missing.

Then it looked at me and I saw that its eyes were wrong... They were a cloudy, milky white color. They were the eyes of a dead cat.

I took a step backward.

The cat looked directly at me, and it was then that I realized I knew that face.

“No.”

My husband looked at me. “What?”

The cat opened its mouth and its jaw made a soft clicking sound before it let out a raspy meow, only a little hoarser than the one I'd heard every morning for sixteen years until he'd passed away. The same meow that used to wake me when he wanted food. The same meow he made when he wanted me to follow him into another room. The same meow I had heard for the last time three months ago.

My husband whispered my name.

I couldn't move.

“That’s…” He didn't finish, because he didn't have to.

The cat belonged to us.

His name was Christmas.

We hadn't named him that because we were especially festive people. He had shown up on Christmas Eve sixteen years ago, a tiny gray kitten sitting beneath the porch and screaming his little head off while snow fell around him.

We brought him inside, and he never left... that is, until we buried him three months ago.

And now he was sitting in our living room on Christmas morning.

I started crying. I don't know why.

Maybe because some part of me wanted to believe it was really him or grief makes you stupid. Perhaps when you lose something you love badly enough, you'll accept almost anything if it means getting it back.

I crouched down.

“Christmas?”

His head tilted.

For a moment, he looked almost exactly like the cat I remembered, aside from the eyes. The same curious tilt of his head. The same way he watched me when I called his name.

Then he took one step toward me.

His back leg dragged behind him and something snapped beneath his paw.

I looked down.

It was a piece of broken ornament, but he didn't seem to notice as he took another step.

That's when I smelled him.

Rot. The heavy, wet smell of decay.

I gagged.

My husband grabbed my arm.

“Don't.”

Christmas stopped.

He stared at us, and then he smiled.

I know cats don't smile. I know that. But his mouth pulled backward, stretching his lips away from his teeth.

And there were too many of them.

Sharp little teeth crowded inside his mouth, more than any cat should have had.

My husband pulled me toward the kitchen.

Christmas followed... Slowly. His back leg still dragging and and his claws tapping against the hardwood floor.

Click.

Click.

Click.

“Where did he come from?” my husband whispered.

“I don't know.”

“How did he get inside?”

“I don't know.”

We backed into the kitchen, neither of us taking our eyes off him.

Christmas stopped in the doorway and sat down. He stared at me, then he looked toward the tree.

Something moved beneath the fallen branches.

My husband saw it too.

“What was that?”

I shook my head.

“Don't.”

Another movement came from beneath the tree. Then we heard a small scratching sound.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch.

The cat's ears flattened against his skull, and the fur along his spine rose as he backed toward us in the kitchen. He, too, suddenly looked afraid.

My husband grabbed the fireplace poker.

“What the hell is under there?”

The scratching stopped.

Silence filled the room.

I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen. I could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

Then even those sounds seemed to disappear.

Christmas began to hiss. Not at us, but at the tree.

The lights suddenly went out.

The room became dark except for the gray morning light coming through the windows.

Then something crawled out from beneath the tree.

A paw was visible, then another.

A tiny gray kitten pulled itself across the floor, its fur wet and its eyes were milky white.

I screamed.

Christmas lunged at the kitten and it screamed too. The two cats collided beneath the tree, and there was a sound like tearing fabric.

Then silence.

My husband stood frozen, fireplace poker raised in his hands.

I could hear my own breathing.

Christmas slowly crawled out from beneath the tree.

He was missing half his face, but he still looked at me and purred.

I backed away.

The kitten we'd already seen emerged behind him.

Then another.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Tiny gray bodies crawled through the branches and scattered ornaments.

All of them dead, and all of them staring at me. And still more, glowing eyes coming out from different areas of the house.

I couldn't breathe.

Then I understood why Christmas had come back. He hadn't returned because he missed us. He had come back to feast and brought his new family... and this time, we were meant to be the Christmas meal.