A New Orleans Stormy Evening
It was late afternoon in New Orleans’ French Quarter. The sky was bruised, thick with black clouds, and thunder rolled like a warning from heaven.
Inside an old colonial townhouse on Bourbon Street, five men sat in a dimly lit study: Dr. Ethan Sanyal, Mr. Prabodh Sen, Mr. Dutta, Mr. Ramsyam, and Mr. Chaudhury.
They gathered there every evening—reading, debating, and sharing tales that swung between science and superstition. That evening, as the storm roared outside, someone brought up the subject of horror stories—Edgar Allan Poe, Agatha Christie, and the mysteries that blurred reality and madness.
When Mr. Sen mentioned Poe’s “The Black Cat,” Dr. Sanyal went pale. His cigarette trembled between his fingers. He stared into the smoke like he could see his sins forming in it.
The Confession Begins
Ramsyam broke the silence.
“What’s wrong, Doctor? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Dr. Sanyal gave a dry, trembling laugh.
“Ghost? No, my friend. I am the ghost.”
Everyone fell quiet.
He leaned forward, voice low, haunted.
“For ten years, I’ve lived under the weight of something unspeakable. I can’t forgive myself. I tried to forget, but it follows me—like a shadow that breathes.”
Outside, the rain started pounding harder. The men urged him to continue. He did.
The Black Cat and the Night of Blood
“It was November,” Dr. Sanyal said, “a freezing night. I was driving home from my clinic in my old black Jeep Wrangler after a few too many drinks.”
A flash of lightning revealed a shape on the road—a black cat.
He slammed the brakes, but too late. The car jolted to a stop.
The cat lay motionless. He picked it up, shaking, and drove it to a nearby animal hospital. After hours of treatment, the vet said the cat would live. “You’ve got a good heart, Doc,” the vet smiled.
But that night began the curse.
The Bond That Turned Bitter
The cat recovered and stayed with him. He named it Shadow.
Shadow followed him everywhere—slept beside him, sat by his chair while he read, and waited outside the clinic door every day. People began calling the doctor “the man with the black cat.”
But soon, things changed.
Shadow began avoiding him. It wouldn’t sleep beside him. It hissed when he came close. No reason. No illness. Just hatred.
Then one night—May 25th—it all went wrong.
The Night of the Crime
Dr. Sanyal came home drunk. He kicked open the door, shouting curses at no one in particular. His reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger—eyes bloodshot, mouth twisted.
He saw the cat sleeping on his bed.
In that haze of rage and whiskey, something dark took over him. Shadow bit his wrist when he grabbed it by the neck.
He screamed—and that was enough.
He stabbed it. Once. Twice. The cat twitched and went still.
Blood soaked the carpet.
When he realized what he’d done, he shoved the body in a burlap sack. His hands shook as he drove into the woods. He dug a shallow grave under a dying oak tree.
As he turned to leave, a voice shouted his name.
It was the vet.
The Second Murder
The vet had recognized the doctor’s Jeep and followed. When he saw the blood and the sack, his eyes filled with horror. “You monster!” he yelled and punched the doctor to the ground.
Dr. Sanyal snapped.
Drunk, furious, and terrified—he drew a knife and struck the vet in the throat.
The man fell without a sound.
Two bodies. One grave.
He buried them both. The storm hid his screams.
The Return of Shadow
Months passed. The guilt ate him alive. He stopped seeing patients, stopped eating, stopped living.
Then one night, while reading alone, he heard a soft scratch on the windowpane.
He turned. Two glowing green eyes stared back at him from the darkness.
Shadow.
Every night, the same thing—the scratching, the eyes, the low growl.
He thought he was losing his mind. Until one night… he acted.
The Final Mistake
It was December 1st. He saw the same two green eyes again—in his bedroom this time.
He grabbed a knife and swung with all his strength.
Then he turned on the light.
It wasn’t the cat.
It was his wife.
She lay on the floor, blood spreading like a red halo around her head.
The window behind her creaked open. Outside, a tall man in a white coat stood still—watching. The vet.
And beside him… Shadow.
Alive. Staring. Waiting.
Then both vanished into the night.
The Endless Punishment
Dr. Sanyal stopped talking. The others sat frozen. The rain had quieted, but the air felt colder.
Someone whispered, “And now?”
He looked toward the window. “Now?” he said softly. “Now I see her. I see him. And I see it—every night.”
He pointed to the corner.
The others turned—and saw a black cat, glistening wet, staring with those same glowing eyes.
And then, just like smoke, it disappeared.
Outside, thunder cracked once more.
The Moral of the Long Story
Every sin waits for its hour.
Sometimes, it doesn’t knock on your door—it scratches at your window.
