Black Cat by Sandy Marshall

Hi Everyone,

Halloween is almost upon us, and I'm blogging about cats, specifically black cats. 

Did you know that a black cat crossing your path by moonlight means death in an epidemic?  This is an Irish superstition.  Dread of cats, especially black cats, first arose in Europe in the Middle Ages, particularly in England. 

One popular tale from British feline lore illustrates the thinking of the day.  In Lincolnshire in the 1560s, a father and his son were frightened one moonless night when a small creature darted across their path into a crawl space.  They hurled rocks into the opening, and then saw an injured black cat scurry out and limp into the home of a woman suspected of being a witch.  The next day, the father and son encountered the woman on the street.  Her face was bruised, her arm bandaged, and she walked with a limp.  From then on in Lincolnshire, all black cats were suspected of being witches in night disguise.

The notion of witches transforming themselves into black cats in order to prowl streets unobserved became a central belief in America during the Salem witch hunts.  Even though many societies tried to drive cats into extinction and France even burned thousands of black cats because they believed they were a witch by day and a black cat by night. 

There are others who believe a black cat brings good fortune.  On the Yorkshire coast of Britain, wives of fishermen believe their men will return safely if a black cat is kept in the house.  Some believe a black cat in the audience on opening night portends a successful play. 

Personally, I love black cats and all cats as well as other animals.  We have two cats, two little girls, and one is black.  Our wonderful long-haired black male cat, who died in February, was a masculine fellow, and I could imagine him being a man.  Grin!

Are you afraid of black cats?  Leave a comment answering this question, and you'll have a chance to win either a print or digital download of Addiction.  Below is a blurb.

Ring. Ring.

Her heart pounded frantically. Jolene pushed her covers off and jumped out of bed, her gaze on the clock. Four o’clock in the morning. She had a caller. Horror pulsed through her veins, and then she grabbed her purse.

It can’t possibly be him.

Come on, Jolene, answer it.

Her hands shaking, she dug in her purse pulling out the cell phone and flipping it open. “Hello.” He’d blocked the caller ID.

“What took you so long, Jolene?” a muffled voice asked.

She tightened her grip on the cell. No. How did he get this number?

“Come on, speak to me. I know you’re there,” the whisperer said in a low raspy voice. “Don’t make me come in there.”

“What do you want?” He knew where she was. How could he? “How did you get this number?” she demanded, rubbing her palm on the pale floral bed cover. Was he outside? She wanted to hang up, but that never worked. He’d call all night then.

“Jolene, I’m disappointed in you. You were around too many people tonight for me to get to you.”

She rose and walked to the window, feeling cold in spite of her olive green cotton pajamas. If only he’d talk in a normal tone, she might recognize the voice. “Why are you harassing me?” she asked, sliding the light green curtain aside so she could peek out. There weren’t any new cars parked on the street, but he could’ve parked anywhere and be outside the house.

“I thought we were friends. Don’t you like it when I tell you all the things I’m going to do to you?” He cackled loud and long.

His maniacal laughter sent shivers up her body, and she wrapped her free arm around her waist. Did she know this person? Surely, she didn’t know anyone like this except for Les. That guy was just downright crazy. Quiet.

She held her breath and listened. Was he still there? No sound. He must’ve hung up. Softly, she started to close her cell.

“Don’t hang up on me, Jolene.”

Startled, the phone slipped out of her grasp, but she scrambled to catch it. The darn thing hit the thick beige carpeted floor. Down on her knees, she grabbed the cell, putting it to her ear.

“Hello.” The buzzing told her she’d lost him. What would he do now? Call her back. She stared at the phone, her shoulders hunched, and the tendons in her neck tightening.

After a few moments, she rose, went to her bed and climbed in pulling the covers around her. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but she didn’t want to wake her sister or call her brother to talk to him. This was her problem to take care of. She would call the police later this morning and make a report.

Ring. Ring.

Jolene grabbed the phone; she knew it was him again. She’d made him mad by hanging up on him even though it had happened accidentally. Without saying anything, she listened, hoping it wasn’t him.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

The loud click told her he was finally gone. Her hand shook so badly she could hardly reach the oak end table to lay her cell on it. She’d never sleep the rest of the night. She had to figure out who this person could be.

The only person she knew this crazy was Les, but she didn’t know how he could’ve gotten her numbers. She’d never met him before tonight.

Pulling the covers over her head, she burrowed deeper into the bed. She’d always been afraid of the boogie man, and now he was really after her.

There isn't a black cat in my story of Addiction, but I hope the excerpt is sufficiently scary for Halloween night.  Wink!

Sandy

http://www.skaymarshall.com/

http://eirelander-publishing.com/