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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/3_Magpies on 2025-08-28 16:18:23+00:00.

It wasn’t always this way.

When I adopted Gerald as a kitten, he acclimated to my little one-bedroom duplex right away. Not a trace of timidity. He’s about one year old now, a sleek orange tabby with white paws who gets into more trouble than I can manage. I’ve caught him climbing curtains, knocking over glasses of water, and sending embarrassing keyboard-smash messages to my coworkers by napping on my open laptop. Normal, well-adjusted cat behavior.

This week, he started to avoid me.

I first noticed it at mealtimes.

When I filled his dish on Monday morning, I was met with an empty kitchen. Gerald is usually a demanding little fellow, yowling and circling my legs all the way to the kitchen. I figured maybe he was still napping somewhere else in the house. When I checked later that evening, the bowl was empty. But once again, he did not come running when I refilled the dish.

So this became our routine: I just scooped his portion, gave the bowl a shake to rattle the pellets around, and made myself scarce. It wasn’t until I left the room that he would creep out of hiding and begin eating. I was glad to know he wasn’t starving, at least, but I can’t say I wasn’t a little hurt.

Next, I noticed how he acted around me.

Before things changed, he would make himself at home on my lap every time I sat down to do some computer work or watch TV, rubbing his cheek against my face. It was almost irritating how affectionate that cat was. I miss it now.

Starting that fateful Monday, whenever I’d enter a room, Gerald acted like some foreign threat had just entered the house. Fur spiked, back arched, he would creep away at an angle, so as to keep me in his sight.

Once, I tried to coax him out of his sudden terror with a handful of treats. As soon as I got within a foot of him, a low growl rose in his throat. He bolted into the next room, where I found him perched at the top of his cat tree, just out of my reach. He stayed up there for the rest of the night. I only heard him bumping around the house again once I’d gone to bed.

I work as a university professor, so I’m usually gone for most of the day. If I know I’ll be staying late to finish some grading or hold office hours, I’ll often call up my sister (who I’ll refer to as Laura) to ask if she or one of my nephews can drive over to check on Gerald. He’s still an adolescent and full of energy. I worry about him getting bored and stir-crazy when he’s alone for too long.

On Tuesday, I had back-to-back meetings after class, followed by a mountain of essays to grade. It was going to be a long day, so I called up Laura in the morning.

She agreed without hesitation. “Don’t stay too late tonight,” she added. “You need to rest more, Cam.”

She was probably right. I hadn’t been sleeping well recently. I had been suffering from vivid nightmares and sleep paralysis. At some point almost every night, a horrible compressing sensation would start in my chest and crawl up my throat. I’d wake up gasping for air. At the time, I chalked it up to a recent breakup and the stress of preparing my students for exam season.

I was about to hang up when I remembered how strange Gerald had been acting.

“By the way, Gerald’s been kinda skittish recently,” I added as I locked up the house and got into my car. “Don’t be offended if he doesn’t come out right away. Anyway, spare key’s in the usual place. Let yourself in.”

I thanked her again and headed to work.

Later that evening, just as I was leaving my last meeting, I noticed a new voicemail. It was from Laura. She sounded chipper as always, but I could tell she was choosing her words very carefully. I know my sister. Something was off.

“Hey Cammie. Just calling to say that the kitty’s doing fine! The boys and I stopped by after school to play with him. He’s such a joy! I wanted to ask something. Did you happen to stop by the house before your meetings today? We saw someone leaving out the backdoor as we were pulling up, but your car wasn’t in the driveway. It’s probably nothing but I thought I’d ask. Have a good night!”

I felt a pang of anxiety in my chest. I hadn’t been home since the morning.

It could have been a delivery driver, but I wasn’t expecting any packages. Maybe she’d seen my neighbor leaving their side of the duplex and mistaken it for mine? Laura hadn’t mentioned anything being amiss inside, so it couldn’t have been a burglar. I tried to convince myself of this, but the tension didn’t leave my shoulders as I finished out the day and drove home.

When I pulled into my driveway, all the lights were on inside. The kids probably forgot to turn them off when they left, I thought. I was still on edge.

I crept up to the door slowly, listening for activity on the other side. I didn’t hear anything at all. The quiet did nothing to comfort me. Usually Gerald would hear the rumble of my car and rush to the door or window to greet me on my way in.

I was reaching for my keys when I heard it: a rattling.

Good, I thought at first, Gerald is eating something. But it was too purposeful to be a cat pushing pellets around. It was gentle, precise. A light shake, shake followed by silence. Then it would repeat.

Someone was rattling my cat’s food dish.

As quietly as I could manage, I put my keys down and crept over to the kitchen window. The curtains obscured most of my view, but through the sliver in between I could see a person standing there on the tiles, mostly turned away.

As I suspected, they were hunched forward, holding out the metal cat dish and gently shaking it to as to coax the cat out of hiding. Gerald was huddled in the corner of the kitchen, frozen in place.

The stranger was barefoot, with long, matted hair that hung down their back in tangled clumps.

Then I noticed what they were wearing. They had on nondescript grey sweatpants, the kind I only wear when I have nowhere else to be. At first glance, their shirt was just a plain purple tee, but reading the bold white text on the back, my stomach dropped.

It was my last name. That was my game shirt from last year’s staff kickball tournament.

The stranger in my kitchen was wearing my clothes. I sank down beneath the windowsill and dialed 911. I ran back to my car, locking myself inside as I waited for the operator to pick up.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the woman on the line answered.

“There’s someone in my house,” I whispered, my throat closing up. Looking back, I should’ve thought to drive away at that point. But the truth is, I was more terrified for Gerald than myself. My cat was stuck in there with whoever was inside, and I had no idea what their intentions were.

“M’am, can you speak up?”

I managed to get my breathing under control.

“There’s a stranger in my house,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Someone broke in.”

I stayed on the line for a few more minutes to give my address. As the responder took down my information, I felt a sickening sense of guilt.

Gerald was still in there. I couldn’t leave without him.

Against all better judgement, I left my vehicle. I took a rusty shovel from the yard and approached the door, climbing the steps as silently as I could.

I needed the element of surprise.

Steeling myself, I kicked the door in, brandishing the shovel in front of me.

The intruder did not flinch. They stood up straight, swaying unsteadily, and turned towards me.

I couldn’t help but think that they moved like a baby deer, legs wobbling, each step as slow and measured as if it was their first. As they twisted their head in my direction, I finally caught sight of their face.

I saw me.

I don’t know how else to say it. The stranger wore my face. The same nose, same dark brows and thin lips. Even the small port wine stain on her—or my—left cheek. The woman’s eyes were wider and shinier than mine, though, holding a blank inscrutable expression I have only seen on prey animals or very young infants.

For a split moment I think I felt something like pity for this wretched creature. She looked so lost, and yet so viscerally, evolutionarily wrong.

She opened her mouth as she saw me. She made a noise, something between a cry and a shout, a half-formed word meant for me. As she wailed, black bile dribbled down her chin.

Then, all at once, she lurched towards me, hand outstretched, and grabbed my face.

I felt searing pain as her long, unkempt nails dug into the skin of my cheek, puncturing it and dragging.

I don’t know what came over me then—perhaps some long-dormant survival instinct or panic response. All I can remember thinking is that this thing was not human, and that it needed to get as far away from me as possible.

I slammed the shovel into her chest with a sickening crack, yelling nonsense the way one yells at a bear to spook it from a campsite.

Black bile splattered against my face and neck and the kitchen floor as I shoved her back. She wrestled with me, howling, trying to tear the shovel away.

As she struggled, I could see an animalistic sort of fear well up within her glassy eyes.

Then, as soon as she’d entered my life, the woman who wore my face turned and scampered from my home like a spurned animal, leaving the door swinging wide.

I stumbled outside just in time to watch her clamber over the chainlink fence, disappearing into the dark.

After I was sure she had gone, I went inside to check on Gerald. He appeared unharmed, washing his paw casually as if nothing had happened at all. That is, until I got too close. He still doesn’t trust me. I can tell. …

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