King of the Cats

© 2004 Joan Silsby
All rights reserved.

After a long while, the heavy, carved door creaked open. The little girl who squinted up at Nora from the darkness of the foyer had a tangled topknot of black hair framing her grubby face. She wore a frilly red dress, crumpled and stained like she'd played and slept in it for several months.

"Guten abend," said Nora with an uncertain smile.

The girl didn't smile back. "Tag."

"Bitte, ich suche..."

"Haben sie Amerikaner?" the kid interrupted her.

"Ja," Nora said, then thought: God—am I doing that badly already? "Ich bin—"

"I speak English."

"Terrific!" Nora laughed. She always felt ridiculously thankful whenever an Austrian spared her from struggling along in her broken German. She did fine with the language tapes, but every time she confronted a native, she got flustered and tongue-tied and forgot everything she'd practiced. "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth," replied the girl.

"I'm Nora."

"What do you want?" Elizabeth sounded curious, rather than unfriendly; her English was only faintly accented.

"I'd like to speak to your parents, if they're around."

"Oh, they're dead," said the girl. "They've been dead for years and years."

"I ... oh..." Nora wasn't sure if the girl was playing around with her or not.

Elizabeth stepped back and pushed the door fully open. "Come on in."

"I'm not sure if I should."

"Don't be dumb. You came all the way from town. And you're lucky you came now. I can't open the door before sundown, you know."

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm a vampire."

"Oh, I see," Nora said very earnestly. "Well, then I'd better not come in at all."

Elizabeth looked annoyed. "You don't believe me. Nobody ever believes me. But, that's all right. Come in and sit down."

"Thank you." Smiling, Nora followed her hostess into the shadowy front hall, and then to an equally shabby, dark parlor. "So... what happened to your parents, Elizabeth?"

"Not what you're thinking. I'd never do that. They died of shame. I've been on my own for centuries."

Nora found this entirely plausible. The parlor of the dilapidated estate smelled of mildew and dust and cats. Everywhere Nora looked, she saw a cat. Three of them lay intertwined on the rug in front of the dead hearth. Another two crouched under a large wing chair. Elizabeth jumped up into it, which didn't disturb the cats in the slightest. At least a dozen more of them perched on the heavily-carved furniture crammed into the dark-paneled room. A fat orange tabby had draped itself like an antimacassar over the back of the parlor's only other chair, which Nora sat down in. A Siamese under the end table regarded her unblinkingly. In the gloom of the hallway beyond the parlor, Nora was certain she could see the gleam of eyes, the deeper dark of furry bodies in the shadows. She didn't have a phobia about cats, but so many of them made her a little nervous. She found it all too easy to believe this child had been raised by them.

Elizabeth fussily fluffed the skirt of her dress, causing the heaps of yellowing petticoats underneath it to puff up around her. She resembled an upside-down flower, with her white-stockinged legs sticking out of a froth of decaying lace like stamen; her dirty face and cyclone of black hair poking out the top.

For all that, she was a very pretty little girl.

"Tell me," said Nora, "how did you become a vampire?"

"The usual way," replied Elizabeth. "But, over the years, I've drunk too much blood. You have to be careful. It's like any deal you make with the Devil."

"You mean it always goes wrong?"

"Exactly. I wanted eternal youth—and now look at me. I used to be a married woman."

Nora laughed.

"I know you don't believe me," Elizabeth snapped, "but you don't have to make fun."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun. I promise. It's just that I've never heard of a vampire who aged backward. I thought they stayed the same age forever."

"There are lots of things you've never heard."

"I'll bet you're right," Nora replied, and she meant it. "After all, I've never met a real vampire before. All the stories could be wrong."

Elizabeth seemed mollified by her sincerity.

"I could tell you the rest. If you want."

"I'd like that. But, first could you tell me if there's an adult here that I can speak with?"

"Why don't you want to talk to me?"

"I do—" Nora began.

"No, you don't. You're a liar."

"I'm not. It's only that I wanted to take photographs of the cemetery on the grounds —"

"Go ahead. I don't care."

" —and I wanted to get permission."

"I just said you could go. I don't care about your stupid pictures anyway. Why would you want to take pictures of some old graves?"

"They're interesting. Historically."

Elizabeth shrugged.

"And the estate is only an hour's hike from Vienna. I can't believe—"

"I'm miles from everywhere. I'm so bored I could scream." She leaned forward, wrapping both arms around her stomach. "I do sometimes. At night. I run around the house and I scream and scream. Then I run around in the woods and I hunt wild animals and I kill them and I eat them raw."

Nora stared at the girl, startled and amused by this incredibly morbid declaration. She lowered her head and cleared her throat into her fist to hide her smile. Her little hostess looked to be about eight years old. Nora thought probably that the girl's guardians—whether feline or human—didn't do anything to discourage their charge's vivid imagination.

"People from the village don't come up here anymore," Elizabeth added. "They're scared. I bet they told you not to come up here."

"I didn't stop in the village."

"You're stupid, then." Elizabeth sighed and picked at a stray loop of thread on the arm of the chair. She managed to free it from the fabric and she began to pull a long string loose.

"You're going to unravel that." Nora pointed out.

"I don't care."

Nora debated getting up and leaving—walking around the tumbledown pile of an estate to the cemetery and taking a few pictures, permission be damned. But if she were discovered at it, she couldn't very well say she was acting under the authority of a eight-year-old in dress-up clothes. The estate was private property, and she'd be in trouble. She switched tactics.

"Why don't you tell me the rest of your story?" she asked. "You said you would."

Elizabeth draped the end of the string over the arm of the chair and wiggled it, trying to entice the two cats underneath her chair. They ignored her.

"I used to be a Hungarian countess," she said in a tone of utter boredom, as if this was a tiresome tale she recited to everyone. "Way back in the Middle Ages."

She paused. Nora stayed attentively silent.

Elizabeth sighed, but she looked at Nora with a glint in her golden-brown eyes as if, in spite of herself, she was a little bit flattered. She went on: "I had a rich husband and famous friends. I was beautiful and much, much smarter than every man around me. None of the nobles could even read or write, but I could speak four languages. Plus, I knew all about the black arts. I raised dead people out of their graves, and I did spells. They called me The Blood Countess of Carpathia, because I drank their blood."

"Like Count Dracula?"

"The man who wrote Dracula got his inspiration from me," Elizabeth said haughtily. "I'm Countess Elizabeth Bathory."

"Oh, I see."

"All the blood kept me young and beautiful. I killed over six hundred women, and I took baths in their blood."

"Six hundred!" Nora said. "That's impressive. You never got caught?"

"Oh, I did get caught. Only because I got sloppy, though. I tossed the bodies of four noblewomen over the wall of my castle. That's when the tribunal came to get me. They burned all of my servants at the stake, and then they walled me up inside a room of my own castle to die."

"But, you escaped."

"Yes. I had a cat—"

Nora laughed. "You have a lot more than one."

Elizabeth scowled. "No, at that time, I only had one." She thumped the arms of her chair with her fists. "You're not even listening to me!"

"I'm sorry," Nora said. "You're right. Please continue."

"Fine. Anyway, I had a cat, and his name was Samkin. And I was the girl in that story, 'The King of the Cats.' You've heard all about that story, I expect. Everybody's heard that one."

She paused. Nora gave her a look of polite confusion.

"No?" Elizabeth said.

"No."

"I can't believe how stupid you are."

"That's not very nice."

"So? I told you that you could leave."

"I'd like to hear the story."

"Suit yourself." Elizabeth jumped down from the chair and stepped over to the coffee table, upon which sat a silver bowl full of apples. She took one. "You want one?"

"No, thank you," Nora said.

Elizabeth picked up a knife lying beside the bowl.

"Do you want me to do that for you?" Nora asked.

"No," Elizabeth replied in a tone of deepest scorn.

She walked back to her chair, hiked herself up, and then began to peel the apple. With the knife, she began to deftly unwind the peel in one long strip. Nora watched her, fascinated by such unlikely skill in a pair of child's hands.

"Anyway," said Elizabeth, "my cat Samkin was sleeping on my lap one night, while I was doing embroidery. It was a warm night, so there wasn't a fire in the hearth." She paused in peeling the apple and looked up at Nora. "This was in my Hungarian castle. Not here."

"In the Middle Ages."

Elizabeth glared at her. "Yes."

"I'm just keeping track."

Elizabeth resettled herself in her chair with a huff, then continued. "All of a sudden, one of my serving maids ran into the room. She told me she had been walking through the cemetery to gather mushrooms. She saw a procession of cats walking through the grave stones. At the head of the procession, six cats carried a tiny coffin on their backs. On top of the coffin was a golden crown. One of the cats spoke. It said: 'We must tell Samkin that Old One-Ear is dead.'

"Samkin leapt off my lap. He cried: 'Then I am king of the cats!' He shot up the chimney and he was gone. I never saw him again."

"That really happened?" Nora asked.

"Of course. Everything I've told you is true. When I was walled up in my castle, I prayed to all the dark gods to help me. I prayed to Baphomet and Lilith and to every demon that I knew. But none of them would help me. So I said a prayer to the king of the cats." Elizabeth clasped her hands and looked up at the dark ceiling of the parlor. "I said: 'Samkin, oh Samkin, I was always kind to you. I fed you milk from my cup and fish from my plate and I let you lick all the bones. Every night you slept on my pillow, your head right beside mine. Please help me, and send ninety-nine of your faithful subjects to eat up everyone who has done me a grievous wrong.' And he did."

Nora glanced uneasily at the three cats asleep by the hearth, at the cats everywhere around her. Elizabeth finished peeling the apple, and the red strip of peel slid down the front of her dress and fell to the floor in a curly heap. One of the cats under her chair extended a soft black paw. Nora saw the flash of claws as the cat prodded the tangle of apple peel. The other cat yawned hugely, displaying needle-like fangs. Elizabeth then dropped the peeled apple on the carpet. It thumped and rolled away, catching the attention of several felines.

"Don't you want that?" Nora asked.

"I never eat fruit," Elizabeth said.

A calico kitten shot after the apple, pounced on it, and then promptly skittered away to lick its sticky paws.

"Do you like cats?" asked the girl.

"Yes, I do," Nora said. "Very much. I have a cat."

"What's its name?"

"Mittens."

"That's not a very good name."

"I thought it was."

"I suppose he has little white paws."

"Well," Nora replied, "yes. He does."

"Hmm," Elizabeth said. She hopped down from her chair again and came around the coffee table toward Nora. "Time to feed the cats."

"Can I help?" Nora asked.

"Of course."

Nora was about to stand up when Elizabeth sprang up into her lap. Startled but gratified at this sudden change of heart, Nora opened her arms to hug the child. From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of silver. She turned her head; in one swift stroke, Elizabeth slit her throat with the fruit knife.

Nora uttered a gurgling gasp of surprise and fell forward off her chair, colliding with the coffee table, her blood splattering the faded carpet. Elizabeth rolled off her lap and jumped to her feet, the front of her dress soaked with blood. Nora writhed on the carpet, trying to crawl toward the front door, leaving handprints of blood on the floor.

"Dinner time!" Elizabeth cried cheerfully.

The orange tabby sprang from the back of Nora's chair. The three cats dozing on the hearth were alert in an instant and leaping toward Nora. The other cats in the room followed immediately. From the darkness of the hall and the rooms beyond flowed a cascade of black and white and brown and grey, a slithering, pattering mewling deluge that swallowed Nora, who raised one hand feebly to shield herself as the cats swarmed over her, biting and clawing and squalling.

The countess dabbed at the blood on her dress, raised her fingers to her mouth—then stopped.

"No, no. You're too greedy, Elizabeth. You don't want the Devil to turn you into a little baby." She wiped her fingers on the unsoiled back of her skirt. Nora was probably dead already. That was all right. The countess was accustomed to talking to herself.

"You didn't believe me. Nobody ever believes me. But everything happened exactly the way I told you."

Back to top of page