It had been a strange summer from the moment you and your family had moved into the old, creaking, victorian house on the edge of town—one that had always seemed more forgotten than lived in. The neighborhood itself was worn, almost stuck in time, with crooked fences and broken streetlights. But something about it pulled you in—something you couldn’t quite explain, like the whole place had a secret buried beneath it.

You hadn’t expected much to happen here, at least not until you met Matt. He was different, from the moment you saw him leaning against his old bike, watching you with a sort of quiet curiosity. There was something strange in the way he moved, like he wasn’t entirely solid—like he was part of the shadows that seemed to stretch longer here than anywhere else.

You and Matt had stumbled into Spink’s and Forcible’s house by accident, guided here by curiosity more than anything else. The worn house stood at the edge of the neighborhood. It wasn’t the kind of place anyone would willingly step foot in. The women, with their wild stories had welcomed you in. Now, with a quick promise to make tea, they had left you and Matt alone—surrounded by the soft purrs of many cats and the suffocating silence of the old house.

The scent of aged fabric, cat fur, and something old and musty hung thick in the air. Cats were everywhere—eyes glimmering from corners, shadows shifting with silent grace. There had to be dozens of them, purring and stretching languidly, their presence oddly… calming, but also unnerving. Matt was sitting on the dingy couch, next to you. You weren’t exactly friends, but you two were hanging out since you lived there.

Tonight something felt like you both had stepped into a space that didn’t belong in this world.

“So,” he muttered, breaking the silence. “This place smell like… cats?”