Final Writing Piece (Non-Canon)

[Kyle]

This is my final writing piece from Writer's Craft, minus a little analysis piece I had to do. I did pretty well on it and my teacher really liked, as she called him, "the faceless monster." I did this story both as a writing piece and because I thought it was a good way to tell her his name through a story. Hope you all like it!

I can’t believe I’m afraid of a cat. I stand here looking across the room at the small black cat that sits on the floor in front of me. Most people would think it silly for such a successful man as myself to be afraid of what is obviously a perfectly innocent and harmless animal. They would think that there is no reason for anyone to be afraid of a cat, nonetheless a small black one with a little white spot on his forehead. They would be wrong.
It all started just under three days ago. I had eaten a leisurely breakfast of bacon, waffles and coffee and was just leaving for work. I opened the front door and almost stepped on a small black pile of fur that was curled up in the center of the doorway. I bent down to examine it and found it to be a small cat. The little animal shivered as it looked up at me and meowed pitifully. It had large green eyes that were practically begging me to help it in its plight. Poor little thing, I thought, but it got lucky coming here. I’m probably the only one on the block that would bother helping a little lost animal. Most of the people around here were born with silver spoons in their mouths. They probably wouldn’t even know how to care for a cat if they found one. I picked the cat up as gently as I could and carried it inside. I put it on the couch and left a blanket and a bowl of cream next to it in case it got cold or thirsty. I glanced at the clock and saw that I was late for work. I dashed out the door, grabbed my briefcase off the tile patio and ran down the brick path that led through the garden to the driveway. I ran to the side of the blue Jaguar and threw myself inside. I put the car into reverse and sped off down the driveway and down the street.
The whole time I was at work I couldn’t help thinking about the cat. I hoped it was okay, but there was no way I could check without leaving my office. It wasn’t difficult for my assistant Walter to notice. Walter was a tall, lean man of obviously English descent. He always dressed smartly and wore his hair slicked back; he seemed like a man who would be more suited to butlering for a noble family in some English castle.
“Are you alright sir? You seem awfully distracted. Were you up all night working again? I’ve told you that you can’t work so hard. You’re going to make yourself sick and we need you here at the company, especially with such a big product about to be released.”
“I was just thinking. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Are you sure? If you’re not feeling well then you might want to try seeing a doctor, you know, just in case.”
“I told you I’m fine, it’s just, well…”
“Yes?”
”I found this cat on my doorstep today and didn’t seem well, I was just worrying about if it’s okay.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. Cats, out of all domestic animals, are the most accustomed to taking care of themselves. I’m sure your furry friend will be just fine when you return to your home tonight. Now, if I may be so bold, we do have work to do.”
We went back to the progress reports, stock market news and the other things that keep you occupied when you run a company, especially one as big as Medcorp. I found my mind wander back to the cat occasionally but talking to Walter seemed to put me at ease for the most part. After an exhausting day of work I said goodbye to Walter and headed home.
When I reached home I walked quickly down the garden path towards the front door. I opened it and hurried inside only to find the cat sleeping on the couch where I had left it. It had snuggled itself into the blanket and I saw that the bowl was completely empty. As I picked up the bowl the cats green eyes opened and it look up at me.
“Meow,” said the cat.
“Hello little friend, I hope you’re feeling better.” It didn’t seem strange in the least to be talking to the cat, I knew many people who talked to their pets and when I was a boy I had been no exception. The cat jumped from the couch and began nuzzling my leg and purring. “Well, aren’t we friendly? I may just decide to keep you. But first we need to find you a name…” I looked at the cat and saw the white spot on his head again. I was quite tired and Spot was the first name that jumped to mind. “How about Spot?” I asked the cat.
“Meow,” the cat replied. My tired mind took this as a positive response and I decided that from this day forward the cat would be called Spot.
“Well Spot, would you like to watch some television?” As if he understood exactly what I meant the newly christened Spot jumped up on the couch again and lay down facing the large television that stood along one wall of the room. What an intelligent cat. I thought. We sat there together watching television until I fell asleep.
When I woke the next morning I didn’t see Spot anywhere. I looked all around the room and noticed that the TV was turned off. That’s strange, I thought, must not remember turning it off. As I stood up I heard a loud clatter from the kitchen. I walked in to see Spot with his head inside a tin of chocolates. The cabinet that the tin usually resided in was open and the lid was lying on the counter. I ran to stop Spot from eating any more, just in time to see him swallow the last one. I was worried, as the chocolates in the tin must have weighed almost as much as Spot and I knew that some domestic animals have a severe allergy to chocolate. I immediately grabbed Spot and ran to the car to take him to the vet. Spot spent most of the trip looking out the window, almost seeming to take notice of various landmarks. I took him into the vet’s office and after a ten-minute wait in the lobby, where Spot eyed the other animals and pets curiously, I took him into the examination room. After lifting Spot onto the shining steel operating table the vet began to look him over.
“You say he ate a whole tin of chocolate?” The vet looked at me with a curious eye as he carefully squeezed Spot’s chest and then turned to look down his throat. Spot just stood there patiently.
“Yes, why? Is he going to be okay?” I had already grown an attachment to the little animal, and it didn’t seem fair that he would be taken from me only a day after meeting him.
“He’ll be fine, but I don’t see any evidence of him eating any chocolate at all, much less a whole tin.”
“Are you sure?” I knew I had seen him eat it, so I thought it was strange that a trained veterinarian couldn’t notice it.
“Look for yourself, there’s no chocolate around his mouth and his stomach isn’t bloated at all, in fact it feels quite empty.”
As I looked at Spot I could tell the vet was right. His face was completely clean and his stomach felt almost empty, as if he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. I thanked the vet for his time, paid him his fee, and then I headed home with Spot.
I drove up the long, brick driveway towards my house. The white two-story house sprawled out behind the foliage of the garden, its large front windows looked up at the sun placidly. Spot ran for the house’s front door as soon as I pulled the car door open and he sat on the doormat expectantly. I let him inside and decided to go to bed, since it was Saturday and I didn’t have to work. I woke a few hours later and decided to play with Spot. I found a reel of string and a bit of old black felt and made it into a cat toy. I’ll have to buy him some real toys later, I thought. As I played with Spot I realized that he seemed to be far stronger than an ordinary cat, often pulling the entire string out of my hands and dragging it under the couch behind him. After a few minutes of coaxing I would get him out, only to have the scene repeat a few moments later. Spot seemed to tire after ten or so repetitions and walked into the kitchen. He sat right in front of the fridge and turned back to me.
“Meow,” said Spot, looking up at me expectantly.
I opened the door and looked around to find something that I could feed a cat. The closest thing I saw to cat food was some chicken I bought for dinner. I decided that feeding Spot was more important than what I wanted and cooked it up for him. I put it down on the floor for him and he devoured the entire plate of chicken within seconds. I stood there staring for a few seconds while he licked the plate.
“Meow” Spot said, looking up at me as if asking if there was more.
“Well, you certainly are a hungry little critter, aren’t you?” I looked through the fridge to see if there was anything else to feed him. I gave him what I found but he was still hungry! Steak, hamburger patties, lunchmeats, everything I gave him disappeared in short order. The strangest thing was that no matter how much I fed him his stomach didn’t get any bigger and he didn’t seem any heavier. After feeding him almost all the meat I had in the fridge I decided he’d had enough. “Look you,” I said, “if I keep feeding you like this I’m going to run out of food for me. I think you’ve had enough.”
Spot looked up at me and narrowed his eyes a bit, as if he was angry with me. “Meow.” He sounded a little bit angry too, but then he lifted his tail and strode out of the room.
After making and eating a sandwich and salad I had a bath and then went to bed. As I was nodding off I felt Spot curl up at the foot of the bed. He was making a sound that must have been purring, but to my tired and stressed mind it sounded almost like he was chuckling very quietly to himself.

I got up, dressed and made breakfast as I usually did. Spot played around inside my briefcase while I was eating and after telling him several times I had to finally shoo him out of it so I could close it and leave for work. About two hour after getting to work I realized I had, in a rare display of forgetfulness, left a binder filled with important papers at home. At that point I was in a meeting discussing the release of our new product and I had no time to go home to retrieve it. The meeting went the way these things usually do, after two hours of talk and debate nothing was really decided. As soon as it was over I rushed home to retrieve the binder. I drove as fast as I could and ran up the path to the front door. I thought I heard something large moving around inside and opened the door as quietly as I could. I crept into the front room to see Spot sitting on the floor, washing himself.
“Meow,” he said as he looked up at me.
I could’ve sworn I heard something... I looked down and froze. The folder I had left at home, the one with important data about our new product, was lying in the middle of the floor with all the pages removed and neatly laid out on the floor. I closed the door and locked it and then ran through the house, room to room, checking for an intruder. After my frenzied search I returned to the front room. I quickly grabbed the binder and ran to the phone. After a few rings Walter answered it.
“Yes sir?”
“Walter I think someone may have broken into my house and read the information on our new product.”
“Are you alright sir, should I call the authorities?”
“No, I need you to call an emergency meeting. We’ll have to move our release date ahead as much as possible.”
“Anything else sir?”
“Yes, I want you to move the prototype and any plans or documents about into the company vault.”
“I’ll see to it right away sir.”
“Thank you Walter.” I hung up the phone and looked around. If they’re willing to break into my house, whoever “they” are, it won’t be safe to keep the files here. But if I leave the house and don’t come back they may get suspicious. Just as I was thinking about what to do Spot walked up. He cocked his head and looked up at me, as if asking what was happening. “And I guess it won’t be safe for you here either, will it?”
“Meow,” Spot replied.

After coaxing Spot into the car and packing up the papers I left for the vet. The drive was short and uneventful. After a few minutes of looking out the window Spot seemed to realize where we were going and lay down. When we reached the vet I carried Spot in and walked over to the tall, red headed woman behind the reception desk.
“Can I help you sir?”
“Yes, I was wondering if I could leave my cat here for a few days.”
“You can, the fee is ten dollars a day. Is there anything wrong with the cat you want doctor Hutchins to look at?”
“No, it’s just not safe for him at the house right now.” The woman’s eyebrow rose sharply. “I’m getting the place fumigated, and you know what those fumes can do to pets.”
“Oh, I see. Just sign these forms and I’ll take him into the cages in the back.”
I quickly signed the forms and handed them to the secretary when she came back. Then I left the office calmly. I switched to a run as soon as I got outside and threw myself into the car. I sped back to the office and deposited the papers into the vault. I was pleased to see that Walter had already had everything else stored moved there. Just to make sure everything was safe I walked over to give special orders to the security guard.
“Michael?”
“Yes sir.” He saluted me as I approached.
“I want you to make sure that no-one but me opens this vault until I say otherwise, do you understand?”
“Absolutely sir, I won’t let you down.” He saluted again.
I looked at the man closely; he was over six feet tall and built like a football player. His response to my order reminded me that he used to be a United States Marine. I knew nothing would get past him. “No, I’m sure you won’t.” I said. Content that everything was safe, I headed home to wait for tomorrow.

I pulled into the driveway and walked, wearily, to the door. I opened the door and headed into the darkened house. I closed the door and flicked on the light switch, only to see Spot sitting on the floor looking up at me angrily. I stood and stared. The phone rang. Spot looked over at the phone and I went to answer it. I heard the vet’s panicked voice on the other end.
“I’m afraid that your cat is gone! The cage was torn open like some kind of wild animal got to it, are you there? Hello?”
I hung the phone up and stared down at Spot.

[Kyle]

So here I stand, looking down at a cat that is supposed to be at the vet.
“I’m not that easy to get rid off.” Says Spot.
I blink. I must be imagining things, Walter warned me I shouldn’t work so hard. “This can’t be real.”
“It’s real,” Spot snaps, “I can talk just as well as you can and I have several important things to tell you.”
“I can’t believe this,” I stammer, “Spot you can-”
“My name isn’t Spot.” He seems to be getting more and more incensed as he speaks.
“Then what do I call you?”
“You can call me The Shifter.” He smiles at that, if cats can smile.
“Why should I call you The-”
My question is cut off as he grows and changes, within a few seconds of warping, twisting and stretching the cat I knew as Spot is replaced by a black humanoid figure. I begin to scream but one of The Shifter’s arms shoots forwards and his fingers close around my mouth like a vice.
“I’m going to let go of you for a minute, and if you make any noise louder than normal speech I’m going to crush your head like an overripe melon, do you understand?”
I nod.
The Shifter lets go of my face and his arm retracts. I get a clear look at him for the first time. He stands about eight feet tall and his skin is black as coal. His skin also seems to be solid, like armor, and a black featureless plate covers where his face would be. My horrified reflection is eclipsed by two glowing red eyes that flash into existence behind his faceplate. A line splits the faceplate and opens into a mouth filled with razor sharp, shark-like teeth. I fall to the ground from the shock of this horrible transformation. From my new vantage point I see that his legs have an extra joint and he stands in a hunched posture, like some huge predatory nightmare. As he looks down at me he extends out his black fingers into curved, metal claws that glint coolly.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“In normal circumstances yes, and oh what a horrible death it would be. But I owe you a great deal, even more than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t think I appeared on your doorstep by accident do you? I chose you for one very specific reason.”
A creeping suspicion began to rise in my mind.
“What do you think it is?” The Shifter seemed to be enjoying this.
“You want to steal the prototype and documents and sell them yourself. But who are you working for?”
He brushes my question aside and grins wider.
“Typical human, you fail to see the big picture. This device you’ve created, what did you call it again?”
“The DNAnalyzer.”
“Right the DNAnalyzer. This device was created to study the genetics of diseases and viruses and create special ‘hunter cells’ to combat them, correct?”
“Yes, so what?”
“You really don’t realize it do you? You have just given me everything I need to reclaim the Earth for my kind.”
“There are more like you?” I tremble just thinking about the idea.
“Oh yes ,many many more, hiding in every level of your pathetic human society. We blend in perfectly, as you can attest to.”
“And how do you plan to ‘retake the Earth’ with a medical device?”
“I would watch that mocking tone human, if you want to live to hear the explanation.”
I gulp.
“Us shapeshifters are different from you humans, right down to the genetic level. You have created a device that can tell the difference between shapeshifter cells and human cells and create a cell that will target only the human ones. You’ve just handed me the end of the human race on a silver platter, that is what I owe you for.”
The realization of what he means sinks into me and fills my very soul with fear. I realize that he’s right. He’s going to use my device to wipe out the entire human race!
“And why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I want you to know. When you hear the news that a new plague has appeared that is unstoppable and it seeping into your very bones, I want you to know that you have made all this possible.”
He hauls me to my feet and drags a chair in from the kitchen. He pushes his hand into his stomach and pulls out a length of chain. He slams me into the chair and ties the chains around my body, bending the last links around each other so I can’t untie them. I’m so overcome by fear and guilt that I don’t even try to fight back. The shifter puts the chair in front of the television and turns it onto the news channel.
“Enjoy the show,” he says as he changes back into Spot and jumps up onto the windowsill. He squeezes out through the barely open window and disappears from my view.

I sit there in the chair, helpless and gripped by despair. Then suddenly, a realization strikes me. Everything The Shifter wants is in the vault and he won’t have the codes to open it. Then my orders to Michael play back through my head. There’s no way The Shifter could fool Michael into opening the vault and I doubt he could beat him in a fight. I breathed a sigh of relief.

After a few hours I spent sitting, contemplating how long it would be until someone came along to free me from these chains I looked over and saw a picture of myself on the television.

“Urgent news bulletin” says the news announcer. “Today the president of the well known company Medcorp has done the unthinkable. He has stolen everything relating to the companies newest product, including blueprints and the actual prototype and killed head of security Michael Tyler. He then set fire to the building, killing and injuring several employees and destroying countless years of research. He remains at large. We now go to some of the chilling footage of the attack.”

As I watch I see myself order Michael to open the vault. He gathers up everything inside and places it in a briefcase, which he hands to what appears to be me. Michael salutes and turns away and I see the me on screen raise a pistol and shoot Michael twice in the back of the head. As his body hits the ground the figure that I know to be The Shifter turns and waves to the security camera.

My blood runs cold. What have I done?