Time had passed so slowly. So… So… slowly. Perhaps it was the harsh winter that deterred stragglers from even attempting to pass through his property… or maybe his reputation had outdone itself. Certainly, with those strange cultish felines somewhere nearby - Spooks had never made his way over to their “territory” before, despite his observation of the few that came by - he had expected more of their runaways or deserters… Now this… this was just boring. His claws ached, yearning to feel something other than the flesh of measly prey. His mouth salivated at the idea of his first victim of the season. Feeling the superiority and twisted sense of excitement that came with scaring them out of their skin. It sent an anticipatory shiver down his spine. Sure, the warm weather returning had reignited Spooks from what he could only consider a sort of hibernation, but still produced nothing in the way of victims. So, like all well-adjusted cats, Spooks migrated from the inside of his home to the outside garden. Catching rays, catching prey, sleepless nights spent patrolling his property. To no avail. It was starting to piss him off. Days rolled into nights, into days, into nights, sleepless… on edge.
At least, that was until the scent of blood caught his attention one afternoon. Perched high up in the now-blooming tree, Spooks found himself locked in like a vampire as his body instinctively crouched low, belly brushing against the bark of the thick branch. His bored afternoon lounging was far from his mind now, eyes trained in the area which he believed - no, he knew - this strange, bleeding stranger was coming from. And… Was he..? Spooks flexed his ears, almost in amused disbelief. This cat was… singing? Something… something… skull? The last lyric was the most legible as the stranger finally came into view, wandering in from the forest. A quiet hiss slipped through his teeth as he watched, eyes narrowed as the feline shifted into the shadows of the branches. For a moment, Spooks could have sworn he locked eyes with this bloody… thing. The creature looked like it had lost nearly every ounce of blood deciding to dye their pelt the newest spring color.
Ugh. Dammit. DAMMIT!
His gaze filled with bitterness, expression crinkled and pulled back in frustration. He couldn’t scare a half-dead damn cat! Ugh. This one was leaving his front yard soaked in its foul blood, trailing like a snail to fresh fruit - slime and all. The fruit being his house. Wait- NO! NO NO NO! DO NOT GO INSIDE! Spooks nearly wanted to scream, his breath quickening in anger. After months of reorganizing the house, it was all to his liking. Every inch in place. In order. But, no matter how much Spooks wanted to jump down and rip the single thread of life from this pipsqueak's throat… he was mesmerized by his song. The sudden shift of tone and off-key screeching sent a sudden shiver down his spine. He could hear the panic. It elated him. And, despite his previous whining, now Spooks was intrigued in this little performance he was getting. As he watched the stranger struggle to pull themself through the opening, Spooks quickly paced to the edge of the branch, taking a graceful hop onto the roof. From the roof, he squeezed his way through an old, rotting window frame leading to the upstairs landing. Once on the landing, he crouched low again - eyes unblinking, intently trained as he stalked around to a crumbling staircase for a better look.
The sopping thud that sounded from the other's body hitting the floor caused Spooks frown to twitch upwards slightly. If he had not been trying to stay out of sight, he would have let himself be wracked by cruel laughter. For now, he would keep that stern, calm demeanor about him. The rasping rang in his ears. Each. Word. So. Enthralling. What in the hells was this little cat talking about? Dismembering their brother? Ha. A poor kit like this didn’t stand a chance - not when they went around looking like they’d been run through a badger’s den. Wonder what the other cat looks like… Though, intense blue eyes steeled and his head tilted to the side in feigned apathy as he watched them claw their way across his pristine floor. That one hurt. Spooks could feel it in his heart, piercing like ice. If that kid lived… oh, he would pay for it. In fact… Spooks needed the kid to live. How could he uphold himself as a paragon of reason if he let some dying hooligan come in and rip up his home? There was no punishment in death.
“Hmm..” Spooks hummed softly in thought, pushing away from the banister as he wandered around the landing, rubbing his pelt up along long, thick cobwebs. They were abundant in the house. He could spare a few. They hung from his pelt, blown by a soft breeze filtering through the rotting house. Slowly, he picked his way down the stairs. Must really look like a ghost now. And it finally looked like the scrap was giving into sleep as he watched their head slip back slowly, though the sudden jolt made him stop dead in his tracks. Still kicking? Huh. That was a bit impressive.
“…because I need to make him bleed, and taste his blood, wear… his skin… see Mama… cry…” And down they went!
“You ruined my floor…” Spooks tutted as he approached, an unsympathetic gaze resting on his pathetic frame. Watching their eyes flutter shut, he reached a paw over, cradling the young cats head with a single paw as he attempted to lift it, only to let it slump back down,
“Finally dead?” His voice was dangerously low, taunting his already injured prey. Blood-scent was thick, soaking on his tongue and burning in his throat - an unsteady breath shuttering from his chest. And, with a full impression that the small cat was now lost to the reaper's sleep, Spooks dipped his head down, licking the clotted crimson liquid from his fur like a vampire, gaining his strength through consumption… It burned strong on his tongue, the coppery-sweet taste sending him into a full body shiver. He recoiled back. This was real. It had been too long. Too long since Spooks had been able to taste the blood of another - typically it was only when he was attacking. It wasn’t often that someone offered themselves up like a lamb to the slaughter… But…
“You can’t die yet…” He teased, his tone deep and sing-songy, as if to make fun of Kamiko’s previous caterwauling. Suffice to say, there was a method to his madness. And Spooks went to work, grooming the clumped blood from the young cat’s pelt to try and pin down where the excessive bleeding was coming from. Each move was precise and swift, tangling a wad of cobwebs into the worst of areas. Aside from that dreadful, clearly busted, eye - he wasn’t a miracle worker - it seemed like nothing major had been hit. One large clump went right over top of the eye. Spooks didn’t want to look at that ugly thing right now. And well, at the very least, the cobwebs were slowing the flow, and most of the smaller lacerations looked to be drying up. Sucking in a tense breath, the loner backed away slightly - admiring his shoddy work. If the kid lived through the night, he would be pleasantly surprised. And if not… well… Spooks could always toss him out back for the foxes to feast on. And… into the shadows he went, perching himself atop an old wooden dresser.
Unmoving… Unseen… Watching and waiting…