“If you pay close attention during nightfall, you might spot a man with a cat on his shoulder trudging through the snowy streets, the rattling of bones and dry knocking signaling his arrival. If you’re lucky, you might even see the cat’s bright yellow eyes, glowing green in the dark and creating a tall, ghostly silhouette. And if you're unlucky, a harrowing cry will reveal that the monster has seen you, and if it ever catches you... So, if you stay outside past the curfew, the shadow man will feed you to his cat, and you’ll end up as nothing but bones in the snow!”
This was the most famous old wives’ tale in the village. Grandfathers and single mothers alike, they would share this story to their kids, their grandkids, their younger siblings, even their pets. The mayor had suggested a curfew on the younger citizens after several sightings of wild animals. At first, it was a wave of harmless critters emerging from the nearby woods. However, as time went on, larger and more dangerous creatures started stalking the village outskirts. With the kids being at risk, the villagers decided to self-impose this curfew until the danger had passed.
Even still, the tale of the shadow man scared the children more than any real beast, to the point they would claim they could escape from a bear, but not from him. Some were even bold enough to attempt to prove themselves, only to be caught and reprimanded by their guardians.
Following an afternoon of foraging for dry branches, the man reached the bridge to the village. On his shoulder covered by his heavy coat rested his cat, the black fur on its back coated with snow. After pulling out a couple of acorns, he picked two and tossed them below the bridge, to pay the toll. He was a superstitious person, to the point he did everything he could, no matter how ridiculous, to make up for the fact that he had a black cat as a pet. He would knock on a piece of wood before feeding it. He would drop a penny in a special spot near the woods and pick it back up every morning. He would cross his fingers before building his campfires. He fashioned a horseshoe out of deer bones, and since he didn’t have a door to put it over, he would wear it as a necklace. And of course, he always carried a rabbit’s foot.
His nights consisted of trekking through the village, looking for something he didn’t have to kill to eat. The cat would lead him to the trash bins with leftovers and they would share any loot they found. Whenever he would rummage through the garbage, some naughty kids would peek at him through the windows and wish him away. Some would attempt to throw a blunt object at him, but the cat’s nightmarish gaze would stop them in their tracks, and the legend would reignite fear in their young hearts and send them back under their bedsheets.
Once dinner was over, the man would scout the village outskirts for wildlife. He knew they’d been getting closer, and being the man he was, he thought it all his fault. Whether it was his daily hunting in the woods or his racket at midnight, he suspected the bigger beasts were looking for the food he was taking from them. After making his rounds near the fences, he would sit below the bridge near the frozen water, cross his fingers, build a campfire, knock on wood, and rid his cat of the snow on its fur.
That night was particularly cold. While staring into the fire, reminiscing about the life he had led up to that point, the cat snuggled inside his coat and purred onto his chest. He felt warm again, and a single tear fell toward a faint smile as he fell asleep.
He woke up to the chilling sounds of hissing. In a panic, he stood up and hit his head on the stone bricks of the underside of the bridge, leaving him lightheaded for a second. After recovering his senses, he spotted the cat near the bonfire, the fur on its back puffing straight upward as it glared and hissed at something.
On the other side of the frozen stream, standing tall, its sight fixated on them, was a large gray wolf. The man quickly grabbed a lit branch and waved it around, shouting and extending his arms. The beast moved its body to the side and pretended to ignore him for a moment, then scurried away disappearing into the trees.
Having calmed down, he grabbed his rabbit’s foot, and instructed the cat to sit on his shoulder again. It was dawn. He thanked the sun for saving him, kissed his bone horseshoe and picked up his penny. A wolf was bad news. He knew it would come back eventually, not on its own. He had to warn the villagers.
The men and women who’d wake up at sunrise witnessed him walk to the fountain in the marketplace and start babbling about a beast, a devil, ready to return with an army of demons to devour their loved ones, to tear them until they were nothing but bones in the snow. They ignored him. They covered their children’s ears as they strutted by. Some teenagers threw snowballs at him. Finally, a guard decided to walk up to the man and kindly ask him to leave. He tried to get him to listen, but the guard dismissed his mumbled words. He said the curfew was good enough, and the citizens were safe. He offered him a piece of bread and requested he left.
That day’s hunt was unsuccessful. He could only find squirrel bones and rotten corpses. Bad sign. He tightly grasped his rabbit’s foot and returned to the village.
By that time, the kids had left the school and were playing around. Their parents would yell at them if they strayed too far, and yell even louder when the man was close by. However, there was one kid that, without the supervision or permission of her guardian, who was busy, had come out to play. Instead of making snowballs, running with the other children or singing Christmas carols with the nuns, she would follow the man and his pet.
Picking up his pace, he searched through the garbage cans quickly, as to avoid the girl. It was no use searching deeper anyway, as the bins were mostly empty, and the cat refused to get off its owner’s shoulder. Eventually he reached the outskirts, and the kid was still tracing him. He turned around and yelled at her, which only startled her momentarily, making her cover her face with her mittens.
With a gesture, she moved her thick oversized scarf aside and pointed at a location. The man turned around and saw one of the wooden cabins spread over the village’s edges. Without him noticing, the girl walked right past him and entered through the front door.
The ordeal left him disappointed in himself for scaring a child and getting in her way. He was just about to leave for the bridge when the cat jumped off his shoulder and ran towards the cabin. Shouting at it to come back, the man stumbled through the snowy path and followed it. Before he could catch up to it, the door opened once more.
The cat was sitting on the porch, staring at her. Confused, the man squinted to see better, and witnessed the girl feeding him a piece of chicken. She then gestured him to go to her, and while his judgement told him to stay away, his gut was begging for sustenance. Crossing his fingers, he continued forward.
As soon as he got closer, he reprimanded the girl for letting a black cat get near her. He lectured her on good luck charms and implored her to knock on the door. The girl quietly responded by slowly tapping the planks below the Christmas wreath. Then she extended her other hand, in which rested a plate of chicken being offered to the man.
Trembling, he gladly obliged and slowly savored the meal, tears running down his face. The kid handed him the entire plate and told him to eat it all. Once he was done, she showed him a wishbone.
The man, giggling with excitement, grabbed one end, overjoyed. This joy didn’t last long. He felt a deafening crack whiz past his head and into one of the cabin’s logs, sending out splinters everywhere.
The little girl sprinted away from the cabin, shouting something, but the man could only hear a loud ringing. His eyesight blurry, he tumbled to the side but managed to maintain balance. The ringing faded, the blurriness dissipated, and he saw the girl next to a tall man holding a rifle. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he knew his intentions. So, he knocked on the porch floor, the cat hopped on his shoulder, and they silently trudged away into the woods.
That night, everyone in the village was celebrating something. He remembered times when he used to celebrate with his peers. He recalled the mirror breaking. He smelled the blood again. The man and is cat were under the bridge, wet and cold. He couldn’t find any dry branches. He forgot to pay the acorn toll. He didn’t cross his fingers before building the bonfire. He forgot to knock on wood before his cat snuggled inside his coat. He had dropped his penny and his rabbit’s foot. He was too scared to go near the people, lest they shot him again, lest they shunned him again.
He didn’t know he had fallen asleep. All he knew was that he was surrounded. His cat wasn’t growling or hissing, only whimpering. To their left, a wolf. To their right, another one. Before them, the one they met before. And they were all showing their fangs.
The man tried to plan a way to somehow let his cat escape. He knew it wasn’t possible. He imagined himself throwing the bone horseshoe away, maybe distract one of them, and then wrap the cat in his coat and toss him as far as possible. He knew he would take too long to get out, and the other wolves would jump on him quickly.
Hugging his chest, feeling the purrs of his companion, hearing the mirror breaking, smelling the blood, he stood up. Fear, determination, both at once. He breathed in.
He grabbed his bone necklace and broke it in half. The snapping sound put the wolves on high alert. The one on his right pounced directly at him and bit into his arm. With a painful yell, he stabbed the beast near the eye several times, loosening its grip.
Taking off the coat still in the wolf’s jaws, running as fast as he could, his other arm firmly holding his cat, he attempted to escape. While the first was dealing with its injuries, the rest chased them. He ran toward the village, not a single soul in sight. He figured he could throw his cat toward the houses, and it would climb to safety in the roofs. Imagining the wishbone, imagining he had won, this was all he wished for.
He stared at his cat while running, and it stared at him. It jumped on his shoulders and looked straight ahead, its bright yellow eyes glowing green in the dark.
The man tripped and landed face-first on the freezing floor sheeted in snow. One of the wolves got to his boot, its fangs buried deep in it. The momentum made the cat fly forwards, landing near a wooden fence. The remaining wolf went after it. But the cat didn’t run off. It turned around, its fur stood straight up, and a hiss turned into a growl.
The man watched, crying in pain and sorrow, as the wolf pounced on his companion. He saw the mirror break. He smelled the blood again. He closed his eyes. Then, he heard a deafening crack whiz past his head.
When he woke up, he couldn’t stop crying. But not from the pain in his arm, not from the pain in his foot, but from the pain of being alive, not being able to move, not being able to know if the cat had escaped.
Eventually, a shadow cast over him. It was that of the tall man with the rifle, flaunting a boot with a wolf’s fang stuck on it, urging him to get up. With his help, he managed to sit up and with his blurry vision he spotted the inside of a cabin and a little girl with a big scarf, hugging a black cat with bright yellow eyes.