The Black Cat in the Attic

I remember hearing tales of the Black Cat all of my life growing up in the Appalachians. A superstitious town, with superstitious people situated between mountain Valleys, and seemingly disconnected from the modernized world.

The tale of the Black Cat was something born from nightmares and a local folklore legend I had heard of growing up. People here were fearful and would say a black cat crossing your path means you're marked for bad luck, tragedy would certainly follow.

Personally, I've always been an animal lover and have adored the beauty and allure of mysterious black cat. I know the myths surrounding them, comes from the tales of witches and how black cats among all other beautiful dark creatures were believed to be a witches familiars. However, I still find the allure and beauty of the black cat to be unrivaled by all other creatures personally. I simply adore them. I have owned a few black cats in my lifetime.

But that is not why I am writing this tale, I am writing as a warning. Be careful of the allure of the black cats, and other dark animals. Their allure is there for a reason, and it is not a friendly one.

One story I read in an old book somewhere was that a witch, transformed herself into a black cat and would enter the attics of peoples homes who felt sorry for the poor creature and fed it. She did this to snatch up the children, for her to drag into the deepest, darkest, depths to crunch and chew on their bones. The witch as the black cat would make her way into their hearts, and then into their homes. However, soon after tragedy followed the owners of the black cat. Debt, disease, income loss, miscarriages and divorces. Some would blame the cat, others would blame each other for inviting the beautiful creature into their home.

Many children have went missing in the Appalachian mountains and not many know why. Some refuse to talk about it, and the families often affected pack up and move away never giving the rest of any answers as to what happened.

But with time, just like the aging of an abandoned castle. This story was forgotten and so was the witch. But, in the Appalachians thousands of black cats run wild in the mountains. Some even are taken in as beautiful pets, and the superstitions and the witch have been forgotten.

All I can speak for is from my experience, living there and growing up in these hills. This place for as much beauty as it has, also has its secrets and allure much like the black cat. People are drawn to this place, for its beauty and its mystery.

I've lived in the Appalachians all my life in the same house, in the same hollow around all of the same people. A place where everyone knows everyone.

Ever since I was young I've always known to not go into the attic.

My other siblings know that too. My grandma warned us to stay out of the attic. One time, I asked my step dad about it. He told me that a witch lived in there and that I must never go into the attic.

I'm 28 years old today, and I'm still scared of that attic. Every time I've opened that door and looked inside. A darkness fills that room, there are no windows, no light. Just blackness leading far back into a place full of cobwebs and secrets. An uneasiness fills me every time I stay all night back home in my childhood home, and I am not a person that is easily afraid. But that attic is a place I'm curious about but have never entered.

Because, despite everything I've been told. No matter how much I rationalize it. Something isn't right with the attic. There is something or someone in that attic and I fear one day, that witch will make herself known in the form of a beautiful black cat. So we trust her, we follow her deeper into the opening that we've always been forbidden to go.

Except this time, she won't be forgotten. This time she will take one of us with her. The one who is brave enough to open the closet, and step inside shutting the door behind us.

Sometimes I swear she's in there waiting for me. Waiting for me to get close enough, so she can drag me back into the depths. Nightmares of her infect my dreams, and my siblings dreams. I hear her laughter sometimes in broad daylight, though I'm hundreds of miles away.

Someday, we will have to open that door. The thought of it feels me with dread, and I worry which one of us will the pay the price. I know she's waiting, lurking, and hiding in the shadows. Sometimes we hear noises, a ploy to lure us inside, but we never fall for it.

My brother and I are both terrified of the attic though we're both adults to this day.

If you decide to buy or rent an old house nestled in the Appalachians, I suggest you head the warnings or you too may encounter The Black Cat In The Attic.