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kitty, kitty, kitty… NOT!!!! THE
STATUARY CATS by Bart Stewart
“So beautiful to see so many
of our wonderful ladies of the area here today. Jill Rawlings of the
Carolina Traveler is here again today. Always so fine to see
you, Jill. And Millicent. Hi, Milli ... And to all of you touring the estate for the first
time, welcome. I grew up surrounded by masterpieces of
art, as well as just ... pieces of art. It was only in my late teens that I
began to take some interest in what my forebears have established here at Black
Pines. Since my teens were not so long ago, I hope you will forgive my
occasional lapse into ignorance about our collection. You see, I spent most of
my life out on our lake, fishing! It’s true. I have logged many years searching
for those little creatures, hidden just below the surface Oh well. I thought
before we got preoccupied with the art we might have some of this fine Cabernet
I picked up on the West Coast. We might as well, right?” Gentle, approving, feminine voices
filled the air around the finely dressed young man, as so often they did. Women
always greatly outnumbered men on the invitation list for these private
showings of his family’s formidable art collection. With fine wine being served
to this gathering of art writers in the main hall of his family estate, Teddy Harnes settled back in a throne-like overstuffed armchair
and steadily inhaled the bouquet from the glass he held to his nose. Aspiring
journalist Milli knelt by his side, gushing
platitudes. In his lavishly embroidered jacket, he
looked a bit like the 18th century dandy
who gazed out from the wall in a nearby oil painting. With his long wavy blonde
hair and dark mustache, he was reminiscent of a face on a playing card. The
Jack of Hearts come to life for a little wine tasting
with the local damsels. The year was 1967, and Teddy and his younger sibling Lisette would represent the highpoint of fashion for five
hundred miles in any direction. A massive television camera was wheeled in
to bring a glimpse of the Harnes art hoard to North
Carolina’s educational TV. It was not their first broadcast from the Black
Pines Estate, and familiarity meant the producer and cameraman needed very
little time to get the lighting just right. They knew they could count on the
academics and art gadflies to drift by and offer up interviews to fill out the
program. Ted remained seated, sizing up the
people in the scattered crowd around him. Some nominal rivals in the art
collecting world were present; those with the most unctuous smiles were the
most envious of his holdings. A few of his outside friends and clinging vines
from the local music scene had shown up. Some rich old clods he had to invite
sat on the settee. His sister Lisette was talking to
some strange mousey girl in a bargain store dress. Apart from that, he was
rankled to see that a guy he didn’t know was openly flirting with one of the
finer women in the room. Then there was the Rubenesque
Mrs. Eddens, with her pure white angora cat on a
leash. A family friend from the old days, she probably knew the art collection
as well as he and Lisette, but there was no way to
have an exhibition without the presence of her and kitty. She took a whopping
goblet of wine and drifted off on her own, not waiting for the official
tour. Ted spoke up, directing his voice to
the retreating form of Mrs. Eddens, “We certainly
won’t hold anyone to the guided tour! You are welcome to make your own way
around if you wish!” She neither broke her stride nor
acknowledged him in any way, which tickled Millicent intensely. As Mrs. Eddens disappeared down the hall, he went on, “You’ll see
brochures in every room. Just confine yourselves to the first and second floor
of this wing, please. I think the rest of it is locked off. Right, Liz?” His sister was still talking to that
frail young woman, the one who looked so uncomfortable and out of place. Lisette suddenly stepped away from her and said, “That’s
right, love. And if everyone will come this way, I will begin the guided tour
in the tapestry hall. Remember to be back here at two, when we’ll have a nice
lunch for you. Afterwards, I’ll open up the strong room, and we’ll view the Vermeers.” She gave an exaggerated wink to no one
in particular, which went over big with the assembled art fans. The unknown
waif came back, insisting on handing Lisette a large manilla envelope even as she was trying to assemble guests
for the tour. Finally Lisette took the package from
the awkward lady, and folded it so it would fit in her handbag. The whole
maneuver was just odd enough that it caught Ted’s notice. Newcomers took the guided tour. Old
friends of the Harnes family made their own way
around the two floors of grand galleries, laden with 18th
and 19th century oil paintings, colossal
tapestries, and ancient bronze and stone statuary. Eclectic was the word
for this sprawl. There was very little in the way of a central theme. Unkind
writers had called it an accumulation, not a collection at all. Antique musical
instruments with forgotten names were on display, and framed autographs of long
gone authors turned up among other unexpected items. Mrs. Eddens
was unconcerned about getting cat fur on her gown, or on anything else, and
carried her long-haired pet in her arms as she made her way up the grand
staircase to the second floor. She knew the layout well. She had known not only
the parents of Teddy and Lisette but also Miles Harnes, the grandfather, in his final days. It was Miles
who had established their vast fortune through currency trading and land
speculating after World War I. She paused at the top of the stairs and looked
across the hall to the sunlit room of French doors that had been his office. The door stood half open. Down the
hall the familiar galleries were spilling over with the voices of guests. She
peered inside the old office. No one there. This space
was not usually part of the art tour, she knew. Its artifacts were of more
sentimental than aesthetic value. These were the trophies and personal effects
of Miles Harnes, including souvenirs of his extensive
travels during the 19th century. There
should be some interesting items here, and some of no small value. Elaborately carved Maori canoe
paddles were crossed on the back wall. The massive stuffed head of a
broad-lipped white rhinoceros jutted out above them. One wall was mostly made
up of draped French doors. Mrs. Eddens stepped
inside, stroking her cat’s chin until he closed his eyes
and purred. Magnificent old Moroccan rugs covered
a marble tiled floor. There was an ornate oak desk, seemingly quite old, that
dominated the far end of the room. Display cases covered the walls on three
sides around the desk, their shelves crammed with curiosities. The items on display were pleasing to
the eye, but Mrs. Eddens had no idea what many of
them were supposed to be. The fading, typed labels placed in front of the
various objects were not always comprehensible. There were some odd juxtapositions here, too. A display of Japanese netsuke sat
next to what looked like old machine parts. The label said only, “Gearing from
the Morgana.” A leaf of incunabulum sat in its
frame. Proclamations from governments of certain defunct nations were waiting
to be read. The silver plated skull of an infant had a label written by hand,
in ideographs she had never seen before. She passed along, left to right, and
came to where the glass door of a case was standing partially open. She raised
her left index finger, touched her long red fingernail onto the glass, and
pushed it closed. Its magnetic catch clicked shut and Mrs. Eddens
saw what was stored inside. A pair of nearly identical seated cat
figures, each nearly three feet in height, dominated the display case. She
gasped slightly on seeing them. They were carved from some kind of black stone,
possibly onyx, and seemed to be lightly glazed. The eyes were done in a
different stone, a cloudy quartz. There was an old
label for them, too. “Statuary Cats. Ancient. Variations on Bast? Acquired Ankara, Turkey, 1902.” They were reminiscent of the Egyptian
cat deity, Bast. But Mrs. Eddens’
familiarity with art was enough to know that images of Bast
usually featured a ceremonial pendant around
the neck, and would likely have more decorative features in the Egyptian style.
These figures were not on pedestals, or bases of any kind. They were merely
sitting side by side on the shelf. They had a certain regal, imperious effect,
with their heads held high and ears swept back. They were distinctive. The
longer she regarded them, the more evocative they seemed. From his place snuggled at her
breasts, Mrs. Eddens’ cat abruptly stopped
purring. His green eyes popped open wide, and
his head made an instantaneous pivot to face the artworks. Mrs. Eddens glanced down to see his head moving slowly down and
back, as he began recoiling. His white fur flared out, and now he was a
squirming, growling armful of energy. “Stop that!” she cried out. Her cries turned to shrieks as the
animal dug its claws into the bare skin of her upper chest, and powered itself
over her shoulder and off to the floor. The leather leash was still wrapped
around Mrs. Eddens’ wrist. He nearly pulled her over
from her high heels as he struggled to run away. Then he was on his back,
chewing the leash in a frenzy. Halfway up the staircase outside, Ted
Harnes and a young woman were stopped cold by the
screams. They watched, wine glasses in hand, as the white angora shot out of
the office, skidded on the hard wood floor, and hit solidly into the wall at
the top of the staircase. Trailing his leash behind him, apparently dazed, he
staggered past them down the steps. A sound of muffled sobbing grew louder, and
Mrs. Eddens appeared at the banister. Ted’s eyes fell
onto her upper chest and shoulder, which trickled thin streams of blood. Several hours later, Lisette Harnes had finally bathed
the stresses of the day out of her system. She lay across her bed, wrapped in a
terrycloth robe. A television had been blaring in her expansive bedroom, but
she shut it off, and now the silence was such that she could feel the blood
circulation of her inner ears. She was not sleepy, and considered setting up
the film projector and watching one of her movies. But the silence was better,
so she lay still instead. Later she noticed the corner of a manilla envelope sticking up from her handbag. This might be a good way to cap off
the day, she thought. The lady who foisted it on her had certainly been
eccentric enough. Most likely this would be fairly funny. “Researches of Mindy
Linton,” it said on the flap in tiny handwritten letters. Mindy was the same
age as her, and lived in town, but their common ground ended with that. It was
only because of the persistent calls and nuisance appearances at the front door
that Lisette had agreed at last to meet with this
woman, who had been so reticent about explaining her business up front. She
invited Mindy to the art show, spoke to her briefly,
took her material, and still could not be sure what was the point of the matter
with this whispering, self-effacing little soul. She opened the envelope, and spread
out typed sheets and photocopies of photographs across her bed. It all seemed
fairly well organized, not a scatterbrained effort. Lisette
began reading. It didn’t take long to see that numerous paragraphs dealt with
the Harnes family, primarily her father and
grandfather, and their art collection. The papers contained pretty detailed
information on their personal histories. She skipped ahead. There were cryptic
pages of what seemed to be science material photocopied from college biology
textbooks, with diagrams that left her baffled. Grainy copies of photographs
showed State art museums in Europe and Russia. Shots of individuals she did not
recognize followed, and numerous pages were taken up with photographs of carved
stone animal figures. Some of these were clearly views of the seated cat
statues in her late grandfather’s office, downstairs! Lisette
returned to page one and began reading carefully. Fifty three pages of single
spaced text melted away in just under an hour, after which she had to get up
and pour herself a large glass of wine. She went back to flipping through the
photos for a moment, sipping her wine, deep in thought. She then shoved all the
papers into the envelope, placed it in her desk drawer, and took the key and
locked it. In bathrobe and bedroom slippers,
wine glass in hand, she left her room and made her way down the hall to a
closet where a large storm flashlight was kept. Checking that it was powered,
she proceeded in silence down the carpeted staircase to the second floor. The old Miles Harnes
office suite was cold tonight; the heating vents were kept closed in this
rarely used room. Lisette turned on what lights were
available, and went to the desk. She sat her wine down and turned her attention
to the center display case. The Statuary Cats sat side by side on their shelf,
staring straight ahead in stony majesty. She regarded them silently for a long
moment. There had always been something about them. She considered calling a housekeeper
to hold the cats while she examined them. They were sure to be heavy. But as
late as it was, it would mean rousing someone. And she would tell them - what?
She herself was not entirely sure what she was looking for. A door of glass was held closed with
a magnet. She pulled it open and leaned in for a close inspection of the
stonework, first of one cat then the other. Great detail was visible throughout.
Muscle definition was clear to see. All over the glazed surface faint etchings
represented fur. The black stone had a vague swirling pattern in it, which the
ancient artist had apparently followed to set the pattern of the fur. Bearing
in mind what she had read in the Mindy Linton papers, Lisette
squatted down and tilted one of the figures. She aimed her flashlight at its
underside and saw that this area was not smooth and flat as she had assumed it
would be. Each of the cat statues had carved representations of genitals. Lisette was amused to see that they were a male and female.
It was so strange to learn something
new about items that had been sitting around her home for her entire life. She
rose and took a long pull from her glass of wine and thought it over. Turning
back, she lifted out one of the weighty stone figures. It was not as cold as
she expected. Hefting the thing up and down in her arms, she guessed it weighed
forty pounds. She turned it upside down and looked at the remarkable attention
the artist had given to a side of the object that no one was ever intended to
see. Who could know what religious trip had motivated that, she thought. She turned the statue upright again,
cradling it in her arms like a baby while she passed the flashlight beam over
its various features. The nostrils and ear openings penetrated deep inside the
head, out of sight. And those eyes ... Where did the artist find stone like
that? Curving striations made for a whirlpool effect in the quartz, if it was
quartz. The eyes were fascinating. She had never examined them this closely
before, and had never guessed that these old souvenirs, as they were called,
could have such stark beauty. She held the beam near to the brilliant eyes. Exquisite. She drew in closer, and then pulled
back with a start. It looked as if a bug had gotten into the figure, in back of
the quartz eyes, and had moved suddenly. She looked again more closely, and
squinted in the dazzling reflection of the light on the stone until she had to
pull back, blinking. It was then that she saw its mouth
was open. The lips had parted, as though they
were flesh. The mouth had opened. Black fangs pointed downward from behind the
upper lip. Lisette froze at the sight and took in
half a gasp. She felt her fingertips sinking into the back of the cat, which
was now pliable, no longer as stone. Its jaws shot open wide and a long
hissing breath streamed out against her face. As she wavered, its arms whipped
around her neck, and it pulled itself with irresistible power toward her face.
The compact, fanged jaws slammed shut on her nose and lip. She roared in terror and agony and
struggled to pry off the unreal creature. But it bit down again and again, and
ripped at the back of her neck with its black claws. The cat was viciousness
incarnate. It could not be dislodged. Lisette
collapsed. Seconds later, she moved no more. On the shelf of the display case the
other cat sat immobile, staring straight ahead. Then, slowly, it relaxed. It
shifted its jet black head downward and gazed with gleaming eyes at the scene
on the rug below. After a moment or two, it leapt deftly down and sidled up
next to its mate to feed. A lone harpist played softly as two
hundred people filed in and took seats at the outdoor funeral for Lisette Harnes. The grounds
behind the Black Pines estate house were bordered by willows and dogwoods and
consisted of nearly as much acreage as what separated the front side from the
road. The air was cool today, but the angle of the sun made for a harsh and
oppressive light from a cloudless, vivid blue sky. Inside the wrought iron fence of the
family burial plot, well removed from the rows of mourners, Ted Harnes sat next to his frail, encumbered father, who had
been driven up from his home on the coast. He would have to get back to that
sea air as soon as possible, for psychological as much as respiratory reasons.
Ted shifted his gaze from the ground long enough to look him over and wonder if
the old fellow was going to survive the stress of this day. Ted’s mother and
four grandparents were in this ground before him. And now, Lisette. Sobbing from a nearby section of family
servants caught his attention for a moment. They might well weep, he thought to
himself. They knew the killer must be sitting amongst them in their row. Every
valet, housekeeper, butler, and gardener was under suspicion by the police. Ted
himself might have been, but he had been out on the town with friends that
entire night, and thus had an alibi. These people had been in their beds
asleep, or so they all said. Not that there was the slimmest rationale for
anyone to have hated Lisette. The whole thing was
unimaginable. Through his bottomless heartache, all he could grasp
intellectually was that one of their trusted servants was leading a double life
as a monstrous psychopath. Well, by God, that person would be
found, he swore. But so far the police had been surprised by a number of
factors that made no sense. Not least being the absence of any trace of blood
anywhere outside of the immediate murder scene. Ted had been processing this
and some other uncanny facts for the past five days, to the point he thought he
might lose his own sanity. When a news helicopter came clattering
overhead, he stood up and let off some steam. He summoned the closest usher,
pointed up at the thing, and let go a verbal barrage. Only the usher heard
exactly what he said, but by the way the old fellow took off running to the
house, all the guests understood it was about getting a phone call made
regarding that chopper. Ted returned to his seat and placed his hand over that
of his father. Too many speakers spoke, and then, after
the lowering of the flower-heaped casket, Ted and his father endured an endless
receiving line. Mrs. Eddens
spoke at great length to Ted, assuring him that an eternal bond existed between
their two bloodlines. Teary-eyed people who Ted barely knew turned up to squeeze
him to their bosoms. When it reached the point that he feared for his father’s
life in the crush, he yelled out orders to some of the servants. They circled
around him, and politely held off the guests. Wheeling the old man in his chair
before him, Ted grimly led a procession back toward the family home. In the weird light of that freakish
day, the securing ring of servants parted suddenly, and a dubious looking young
woman in wrap-around sunglasses gained access to Harnes.
“I knew your sister,” she said to him
bluntly, as they walked along, “I will be talking to the police this week about
what happened. First I think you should hear what I have to say. It can wait
until tomorrow, after you have things settled here.” Ted looked at her, in an almost
helpless silence. It was the oddball lady Lisette had
spoken to the day of the art show. He was somewhat shocked that she had gotten
this close to him, whoever she was, and he only stared and said nothing to her. “I won’t ask admittance to your home. I
will meet you at the gazebo there.” She gestured across the lawn to a
little rise where there stood a picnic table sheltered under an elegant round
roof. “Twelve noon, please.” she said, and
broke away from him. He watched as she retreated across to the car park,
climbed into a rusty Volkswagen Beetle, and rolled away. The Beetle was back at precisely twelve
o’clock the next day, and parked in the same spot. Ted watched from a first
floor bay window as she climbed out and retrieved a large portfolio bag from
the back seat. He tossed back the last of a Bloody Mary, pulled on a denim
jacket, and strode with a darkening expression out the front door. They were in view of each other but
made no greeting, even when reaching the high roofed gazebo after a walk of
some distance. “My name is Mindy Linton,” she said
then, “I should only require ten or fifteen minutes of your time, Mr. Harnes, if you will let me speak.” Ted leaned up against one of the
support columns and folded his arms. He made a shrugging gesture, and said,
“You say you have information about Lisette. My afternoon
is yours.” “It’s only that I have tried to talk to
you before, over the years, without much success. Maybe you don’t remember. You
are a hard one to get to see. Lisette was more open
to talking with me. Anyway, I should start at the beginning. And I should tell
you up front that for some time now I have been working on a book about your
family.” He did not look especially pleased at
hearing that, and his suddenly glowering countenance threw her a little. She
nervously said, “The book is about ... what I am coming to,
directly. But I should start at the beginning.” “By all means,” Ted said. Mindy Linton said, “I first visited
your home twelve years ago. I was a Girl Scout at the time. Your mother had
invited a big group of scouts with artistic interests to visit and view the
artworks. She was a very sweet person. She let us roam around everywhere. You
were there, too. Maybe you don’t remember.” Ted shook his head. “Anyway, that’s when it all started,
Mr. Harnes,” Her voice began rising, as she
continued, “I want you to know that there is something in your art collection,
on the second floor of that house, which has been the preoccupation of my life
since I first set foot in there. For half of my life, I’m saying! It is what my
book is going to be about. It is why I am here again today. It is something
that has cost me, enormously, in money and time researching it over these
twelve years. And it is directly related to what happened to your sister last
week. So, I am going to hold you to your word that you will hear me out today,
and let me speak my piece!” Ted glanced at his watch and said, “I
wouldn’t dream of stopping you.” Mindy slapped her canvas portfolio on
the picnic table, and pulled out a large sheet of sketch paper. “This is an ink drawing I made that day
twelve years ago, in the old Miles Harnes office
suite on the second floor. I was immediately attracted to the cats. I started
sketching them right away.” She placed the sheet on the table, forcing Ted to
sit down to have a look. It was just an ink study of one of the stone cats,
adequately capturing the proportions and details. “Very nice.” he said, flatly. “Thank you. Well, later that day, when
I was home, I was comparing my drawing to a photograph of the cats in this book
they gave me ...” She pulled out a dog-eared copy of a
decades-old Harnes Art Inventory, which fell open to
a full page photo of the two Statuary Cats. She positioned it next to her
childhood sketch, and waited for any reaction. But none came. She said, “It didn’t hit me right away,
either. But look at the feet.” Ted immediately saw what she was
talking about, but did not see any great significance in it. The legs and feet
were positioned slightly differently in the drawing than in the photo. “Okay.” he said, “One foot is a little
forward of the other in your drawing.” “That’s just it,” she said, “It’s not
only in my drawing. I could not see how I would draw the feet askew if they
were perfectly straight. I was always very meticulous as an artist. I wrote to
your mother and pestered her for another photograph of the statues. She finally
sent me one. And, here, you can see it ... I think you can see quite clearly.
The right foot on the right cat is exactly as I sketched it - about a half an
inch forward of the left foot! Noticeably different from how it is in this 1928
photograph! ” She triumphantly placed the recent
photo next to the older one, and her ink drawing. “I was more puzzled than anything.” she
said, “I wrote back to your mother to ask if you had any other Statuary Cats
sitting around. She wrote back one more time and said those were the only ones
in the collection. Of course, it has to be the same cat in each photo; you can
tell by the little etchings of fur. They are as distinctive as fingerprints.” Ted looked at the pictures in silence
for a long moment. “It’s an illusion.” he said at length,
“It’s a trick of the camera angle.” But as he said it he could see that the
angles of the photographs were fairly similar. It was mildly intriguing. He
could not immediately understand how there could be this variation in the
positions of a stone figure. But the mystery only held his attention in the
most fleeting way. He shrugged, and shook his head. Mindy quickly spoke up. “I was sidetracked with school at the
time. But I never forgot about the Statuary Cats. I was able to visit here once
again before I graduated from high school. I broke away from a tour group to
dash in and look at them for a few seconds. They looked exactly the same as
when I sketched them years earlier ...” She drew herself up, bracing for any
reaction before she continued. “Five years ago, when I was a freshman
at UNC, just before your mother died, I was able to get myself hired for summer
work on your housekeeping staff. Only twice in those three months was I able to
slip inside the old office. I was able to view the figures for only a few
minutes. But in that time I could see that the positioning of both cats was
slightly different, measurably different, from how they appeared the time
before.” He looked up from the picture and met
her eyes. She held the eye contact and said, “There is so much more I could
tell you. But at the root of it all is an unavoidable fact about those two
figures. Ted, from time to time, on very rare occasions ... they move.” She
could not tell what he was thinking. His eyebrows went up a little, and then
they went back down. She pressed on with her point, urgency rising in her
voice. “I have evidence to back up what I am
saying, sir. You are looking at some of it, but there is more. How much do you
really know about them? They are not part of the regular art collection. How
much time have you ever given to studying those cat
figures?” she asked. “I know enough about them to know that
they are nothing all that special.” Ted said, “Granted, I have never seen them
get up and do anything. I guess that would be noteworthy.” He shook his head,
and said, “I’m not sure what to say about your ... belief, Miss Linton.” “So, you have not done any special
study of the cats.” she said, “I have.” Ted said, “The Statuary Cats are old.
That is their main attribute. But antiquity alone is nothing exciting. There
are tons of old knock-offs of Egyptian artifacts. Very little of such stuff is
important, Mindy. The cats were carved by some ancient unfortunate with a thing
for Egyptian deities, and my grandfather received them as gifts, or bought them
or stole them around the turn of the century. That’s about all there is to say
about them. I would not keep half of what’s in that office if it were not for a
clause in the old man’s will that says we are to leave that one room just as it
is, as sort of a shrine to him.” “Are you aware that there are others
just like them in other collections around the world?” she asked. “Yeah. That’s
mentioned in the Harnes Art Inventory.” Ted said,
“They were made by an ancient school or cult, and there are hundreds of them
floating around. As it says, they were undoubtedly religious fetish objects,
modeled after Bast. There is no shortage of such junk
on the antiquarian art scene, Mindy.” She returned to her portfolio and
pulled out more photographs. “After your mother died I lost my
access to your house. I shifted gears and began researching the other examples
of this kind of statuary art around the world.” She held out a photo. “This is
a private museum in Amalfi, Italy. They have a pair
of the cats. Did you know that they are virtually always found in pairs?” Ted sat in silence and glared at her. “I spoke to the secretary of the museum
on the phone. She told me about the antiquity of the cats, and how it is
unknown where they were made. Then she said that she wished the museum would deaccession them, because she felt so ill at ease around
them. I got her talking about that, in spite of the transatlantic charges, and
she told me that a janitor had once been murdered in the museum, right in front
of the display of the Statuary Cats!” Ted loudly cleared his throat and said,
“Cursed artworks, then. At last I am getting the drift of where you are going.
Well, I can’t say I am with you on it ...” Mindy placed a grainy black and white
photograph in front of him. It was a police photo of the upper portion of a
man’s cadaver. Little chunks of his throat and face were missing. An eye was
missing. A man attacked by piranha fish would not have looked worse. Mindy said, “I flew to Italy and
researched this murder for ten days. That was all the time I could afford to
give it. It remains unsolved, as far as the police there are concerned. I am
going to see what the medical examiner working on Lisette’s
murder thinks of this picture.” She did not ask, “What do you think of
it, Ted?” There was no need. He was
suddenly drained of all color. This photograph was a minor personal earthquake
for him, having viewed his sister’s remains. The marks were not identical, but
there was no escaping the similarity. He wanted to look away, but instead found
himself drawn in, studying the shape of each little wound on the dead Italian.
Could there really be something relevant here? Having successfully played her ace,
Mindy relaxed a bit, but kept talking. “You spoke of cursed artworks.” she
said, “That was never my theory. But ironically, I came to a conclusion on all
this after I had been reading up on just that very subject. There’s not much
written information about the Statuary Cats themselves, but there is an endless
pile of books about cursed artworks, and haunted artworks, and statues that
come to life. You may be surprised at what a huge vein of folklore that is.” She mercifully covered the police
photograph with another image, a photocopy of an old woodcut book illustration
showing a medieval peasant being menaced by a huge black cat with glowing eyes.
The caption said, “Devilment in Hereford.” “It is astounding the correlations I
have found between the Statuary Cats and old stories from folklore and
mythology. I have located over fifty stories involving statues suddenly
springing to life. Always they are in pairs, jet black, and just about waist
high. They are usually cats, but not always. Some describe hounds, falcons, and
dragons. Shape shifter myths are almost universal, you know. You’ll find them
in mythology all over the world, including the tribal cultures.” “Shape shifters.” Ted said,
wearily. “In essence, shape shifters.” Mindy
said, “But not of a supernatural origin. There was such consistency in those
fifty stories of moving statues that I mentioned, and such wide variation in
the other mythical monsters I read about. I think only those very consistent
myths were based in reality. Well, I told you I had arrived at a theory on all
this. Being convinced that the statues move, I have a conjecture of what they
are.” Mindy gestured with open palms, as if parting
a fog, “Imagine an unknown phylum of biological life. That is, a kind of animal, as different from all others as insects are
to mammals. This would be a kind of creature entirely unknown to science, and
for good reasons. They are extremely rare, for one thing. For another, their
survival strategy is one that prevents recognition of their being alive at
all!” The eerie woodcut illustration began
to bother Ted now. He reached under the pile of papers and pulled out the
bottom sheet. It was the ink drawing of
the Statuary Cat. This he placed on top. Mindy said, “I envision a life form
that survives by exerting control over its body down to the molecular level. It
can alter its body chemistry at will, into that of a solid. In this ossified
state it can remain in suspended animation for extended periods of time,
possibly riding out whole centuries. Shaping its appearance after that of
another animal would pose no problem to such a creature. It would awaken at
times and look around, and de-ossify to feed and reproduce when it saw an
opportunity. This would be the perfect life form, and certainly the perfect
predator. There would be zero warning of its attack,
and zero chance to fight it or flee from it ...” Ted was still giving her time to speak,
so she went on, “In my book I am going to state my case for the existence of
these animals. I think humans would be their ideal prey. Imagine how a
prehistoric human would have reacted to finding a pair of stone animals in the
forest. He would likely have carried them straight back to his village, or
brought the villagers out to the stone animals. Maybe sacrifice a virgin to
them from time to time. These creatures may be the root of the human trait of worshiping
idols. Then, when civilization came along and people started collecting
artworks, well, the future was set for these predators.” Ted finally said, “You’re telling me
that my sister was not murdered, but was killed by wild animals, unknown to
science.” “If I’m right, and I know I am right,
she was one of thousands of their human victims, down through the ages.” She
leaned forward, imploring him to believe, “Can you imagine it, the same scene
repeated time after time, in modern homes and ancient, candle-lit
bedrooms? Unsuspecting people, all
comfortable and relaxed, suddenly witness the movement of objects that had been
sitting for years as decorations on a shelf? Most of them probably died of
coronary arrest from the shock.” Ted mumbled, “An animal that can turn
to stone.” “And back again, at will.” Mindy said,
“In my book I call it an Ossifier.” A light breeze lifted the old ink
drawing of the cat, and made it undulate on the table. Ted muttered to himself,
“An Ossifier.” “And I think you have a couple of them
in your house.” Mindy said. The two fell silent for a moment. They
began looking off across the rolling lawn to the stone facade of the four story
mansion. Both focused on the same second floor balcony, with its row of French
doors. She saw he had finally digested all she
had told him when he looked up at her and broke into a broad smile. Just the
break in the tension had her smiling back at him. “Mindy, Mindy, Mindy...” he said, “You
are different. That is for sure.” He reached out and patted her hand. “Mad, mad, Mindy. You go ahead and write your book. I don’t mind.
I guess the big question for now is - What do you want of me? What can Teddy do
so that there need be no further meetings with our own Mindy Linton?” She kept a smile in her voice and said,
“First you must secure the cats in a strong box. A safe would be ideal. I am
guessing you have one big enough to hold them? Good. Then put them in it, and
leave them in it! That is the main thing I ask. Later, they can be studied in
the proper surroundings, if we can work that out with you. I guess that’s all I
have for now.” As she spoke, something occurred to him
in a flash. What was really the most believable scenario for Lisette’s death? An “Ossifier?”
A long-time family servant suddenly turning homicidal?
Or, an attack from a very strange and eccentric woman who suddenly shows up out
of the ether, expressing a deep interest in the family and its art? “Mindy!” he said, “I am so glad we
could have this talk.” He shook her hand. She was tiny, too small to have
overpowered Lisette. Unless it had
been a sneak attack. “It just so happens that there is an
old safe on the second floor. I am going to put the cats in it right now, just
to put your mind at ease. In fact, since we have been denying you a chance to
see them all these years, why don’t you come with me? They are too heavy for
one person to lug them both. You could carry one of them down the hall with
me.” “I don’t know if I should.” she said. “Well, why not? Won’t they be
hibernating for the next hundred years?” Ted said. “Probably so.
I don’t know.” “Are you nervous about being in the
room where Lisette was killed?” Ted asked. “No.”
“It is all perfectly clean and tidy
now.” Ted said, “You would never guess what happened in there. Come on, I need
you to help me. I gave the staff the day off for mourning.” He kept insisting until she went along.
With Teddy making glib chatter it seemed to take only a short time to traverse
the lawn, enter the house, and climb the stairs to the second floor. But on
entering Miles Harnes’ office there came an oppressive sensation of time decelerating. The light
was dim. Specks of dust hung motionless, twinkling in sunbeams at the French
doors. Ted stopped talking, and the silence became leaden and disturbing. The rhinoceros stared down at them. The
Moroccan rugs were gone. Marble floor tiles gleamed from a thorough buffing.
The display cases looked much as she remembered them from the last time she had
been here. And there in their regal dignity ... The beasts. Ted casually walked over and pulled
open the glass door of their case. He gingerly lifted out one of the Statuary
Cats and looked it over. Sitting down on the oak desk top, he placed the cat
next to him on the corner and put his arm around it. “It may blow your mind to know that I
used to play with these when I was a boy.” he said, “Sure! Grandpa didn’t mind.
Of course he was a little old and out of it by then, so maybe that’s why. They
seem to have survived me, and the centuries, rather well. They’re in better
shape than I remembered. Well, come on! Don’t be stand-offish. I doubt you will
get a chance to see them this closely again! You’re not uncomfortable being in
here, are you, Mindy?” “No.” she said, “Well, maybe just a
little. It’s kind of dark. Is that a flashlight?” Ted reached across the desk and picked
it up. “That’s right.” he said, “So, they left
it in here. They have cleaned it quite nicely, I see. This flashlight was found
in here, next to Lisette’s body. It was drenched in
her blood.” He flipped the switch back and forth a
couple of times without result. “I guess they took the batteries out.”
he said. “She was in here, inspecting the cats
with that light.” Mindy said, in a pained voice, “She had read my essays, and
she came down here right away to look them over. I guess that part of it is
only hitting me just now! It’s like I am somewhat responsible ...” “Are you now?” Ted said, drumming his
fingers on the side of the cat. “Responsible? That’s a heavy word, Mindy.
Especially in light of what happened. I mean, it was the cats that killed her. Right? And yet you have this sense of responsibility.” “Just a feeling,” she said, “There is
that feeling of partial responsibility. Well, we should be locking them away
now. Let’s get them into that safe.” “How late did you stay the night of the
art show, Mindy?” Ted asked. “How late? I
don’t know. There were still crowds of people here when I left.” “Where were you that night? Say, late
that night?” he asked. “Sleeping.” she said, still not
following his meaning, “Tell me, was there much blood on the cats when they
found her?” “Mindy, there was blood on the cats,
blood on the shelves, blood on the rugs ... much, much blood ... all over this
area.” he said grimly, “And I am going to make sure that whoever was
responsible gets busted for it, and gets what’s coming to them. Just so you
know.” “I can imagine how you must feel.” she
said softly, “Well, let’s get them put away.” Ted was looking at her in a cold way
that ought to have made it plain he was not happy with her presence in this
situation, but she was still oblivious to it. She was more interested in the
stone cat at his side. She had always felt a mild hypnotic effect when she had
been in this room, in the presence of the cat figures. Ted said, “I don’t want to rush you
out, after all the times we have denied you a chance to see them. I am sorry
it’s so dim in here.” He stood up, and beckoned to her, “Come on! I’m right
here with you. Come look at them!” She drew closer to the desk, and looked
into the crystal eyes of the figure. Ted opened a desk drawer,
plucked something out and moved over to Mindy’s side. “There have been a lot of cigars smoked
in this room.” he said, and held up an antique cigarette lighter, “Let’s see if
there is any fluid in this thing.” After a couple of strikes an inch wide
flame appeared on the old silver lighter, and the face of the cat was bathed in
wavering yellow light. “That’s better.” he said, “There’s your
kitty, Mindy. I have to tell you, it doesn’t look like much more than carved
stone to me.” He turned to look closely at Mindy,
examining her narrow, pallid face in the same flickering light, searching for any
signs of emotional abnormality that might be showing. She whispered, “It is no work of human
hands.” Obsession was plainly evident in her squinting
eyes. One of them was having a bit of a nervous tic just now. As her eyes lost
their squint and opened wider her pupils contracted in the harsh light of the
close flame. She had that look of inner turmoil, of psychological instability.
Her eyes were widening further and moving rapidly in a tight pattern. “Mindy ...” he said. Her mouth flew open and she took in a
sharp gasp. He turned to see the left arm of the cat had risen up, away from
its body. In an instant it drew up higher, and then slashed across frontally,
striking the back of his hand like a small baseball bat. The cigarette lighter
shot to the wall and clattered on the marble floor. Ted and Mindy took three slow steps
backward, as the cat remained seated on the desk. Its eyes no longer looked
like quartz, but instead seemed clear, and liquid. It sat motionless, facing
them. The office door was several long steps away behind them. Apart from severe trembling, they did
not move. The frozen moment dragged on to an excruciating length. If it had not
been for the egg-sized bruise swelling up on the back of his right hand Ted
might have been able to tell himself he had imagined
the snap of movement from the cat. Apart from its eyes, it looked much the same now as it had
looked all of his life, just sitting there, facing forward. And then, as Ted
was about to speak, a black, snake-like tail curled into view from behind the
cat and slapped down heavily against the side of the desk. The tail curled upward again and came
down on the other side, onto the desk top. It made a sharp knocking sound, and
it looked as if the last quarter length of it was still solidified. It was as
if the cat was working out the last petrified segment of its body. When the
tail curled upward again, it seemed entirely flexible, and alive. The creature leapt onto the floor and
stepped forward. Ted and Mindy held each other in a tight clinch and
reflexively staggered back. The cat looked steadily up at them, rolled back its
lips to bare its fangs, and released a long, dry hiss. It moved closer, then
diverted left and went past them. It ended up by the office door, where it lay
down and stretched out. Casually it rolled over on its back and stretched some
more, as if it had just awakened from a long refreshing nap. Under his breath Ted said, “It’s
blocking our way out.” A light thumping sound threw their
attention back to the display case. The other black cat had leapt down to the
floor. It sauntered toward them, stopped, and sniffed the air. For a long, agonizing moment it stood
there, regarding them with its glassy eyes. The ghastly images of Lisette and the police photo from Italy whirled through
Ted’s mind. Then the big cat shuffled on toward its mate. The creature by the door was pacing in
a slow, tight circle. It leaned in to rub its shoulder against the door each
time it passed by, and the door was gradually being pushed closed, whether
intentionally or not. “They’re going to kill us.” Mindy
sobbed softly. Though Ted’s mind was seized in the
most withering fear of his life, he frantically cast about for a solution.
There were objects in the room that might serve as weapons against the animals,
but fighting them had to be the last resort. Their strength seemed out of
proportion to their size. His right hand felt like it was broken. They were
pacing around near the door, and it seemed only a matter of time now before
they turned on him and Mindy. Their otherworldly strangeness made it all the
more grotesque to contemplate death and becoming their food. Just then the weirdness escalated to
another level. The cats had been pacing around together, one behind the other.
Now the lead cat slowed down and stopped. Her mate playfully batted her tail a
couple of times. Then, he was up on her. Growling and panting, the two horrors
mated. After a long minute they were finished, and were rolling together, play
fighting. They seemed to rub noses for a moment. Mindy was becoming faint by
this time. Ted was going to slap her face but
feared to make any sound. He shook her and said, “Brace up. We’re getting out
of here.” When he saw she was listening, he said,
“The French doors are locked. I’m busting through. You follow me out. Get over
the banister and drop to the ground. Just follow me.” “Drop? How far?” “Hey, it’s about ten feet! I don’t
know!” Ted said, “Do you want to stay in here? Just follow me.” He took a final look at the cat
creatures playing on the floor across the room, and then in three long strides
he had reached the closest of the glass doors and crashed right through. He stumbled onto the iron railing that
enclosed a small decorative balcony outside and pulled himself
over it for a second story drop to the ground. Lurching forward, he was just in
time to miss being hit by Mindy, who landed immediately after him on the same
spot. He glanced upward to see two black heads with pointed ears appear through
the railing, looking down at him from above. “Come on!” he screamed. She stumbled along after him, her knee
and ankle suddenly throbbing from the fall. He was bleeding in places from
smashing through the glass. Adrenalin drove them forward as they saw the black
cats moving out across the grounds in a flanking maneuver to their left. The
floral wreath on Lisette Harnes’
grave was plainly visible in the family plot in the distance, as one of the
cats crept rapidly along in a low crouch - the classic stalking pattern. Ted reached the corner of the house,
lunged around it, and made a break for his black Corvette convertible parked
not far away. He dug into his pants pocket as he ran, retrieving his key ring,
which was fully crammed with keys. He jumped in over the door and
searched for the ignition key. Then a cat was all over him. Its claws ripped
into his scalp as needle sharp teeth penetrated the collar of his denim jacket.
He turned into a punching, screaming, fighting fiend and threw the cat out of
the car. He jammed the key into the ignition and the cat was back on him again,
snarling and slashing away at him. He fired up the car as Mindy vaulted into
the back seat followed by the other cat. With both hands Ted threw off the cat,
and slammed the gear into reverse. The Corvette shrieked off the paved driveway
and out onto the lawn where Ted executed a hard turn that pointed it toward the
road. This had the added benefit of ejecting the cat off of Mindy, who was
herself slammed hard into the side panel of the car but remained inside. The
car fish-tailed across the lawn and reclaimed the long rolling driveway,
bottoming out a couple of times before reaching the road. Mindy held on, but
dared to rise up and look back behind them. The two big cats were running along
in pursuit for a moment. Then they slowed and turned back. The return of Ted Harnes
and Mindy Linton to the Black Pines Estate took place after a passage of
several hours, and involved a procession of four police cruisers with blue
lights flashing. When they pulled up to the front door, no one immediately got
out. There was radio communication between the squad cars for a minute. Then,
all the doors opened at once. Teddy emerged with extensive head and
shoulder bandaging, carrying a shotgun he had stopped to buy at a K-Mart on the
way back. He carefully looked through the shrubbery before entering the house.
Mindy limped along on a crutch, staying amongst the group of police officers
who followed Ted inside. At first there were some harsh words
for the butler and housekeeper he met on the first floor. But in a discussion
refereed by the police, he soon satisfied himself that there had been no good
reason for any of them to have been close enough to the office to have rendered
assistance. Unfortunately none of them had been outside when Ted and Mindy
peeled out in the Corvette. None of them had seen any unusual animals. With the Deputy Police Chief among
several officers in tow, Ted strode up the grand staircase to the second floor.
He kicked open the door of his grandfather’s office and stepped inside. To him,
it was like re-entering the bad dream all over again. Because, as he suspected,
there sat the two Statuary Cats, side by side in their display case, gazing out
into eternity. They were solid, inanimate, lifeless stone. “Oh no you don’t!”
Ted bellowed at them, as loud as he possibly could, “You’re finished! It’s
over!” The room reverberated as he continued on that way for several seconds.
The officers’ faces reflected astonishment, and pure sadness at the apparent
psychological collapse of someone who had been an important citizen in the
locale until now. The heir to the Harnes Estate was
screaming denunciations at a pair of stone statues. When Ted raised his shotgun
at the cat figures the Deputy Chief stepped in and grabbed the barrel. “We’re going to do some calming down
before we go shooting up the place.” he said, “Yeah, I insist, Mr. Harnes.” He took the gun away and handed it off
to one of his men. Ted looked to Mindy, and said, “That’s
all right. We’re going to do this the way you wanted, Mindy. I’ll need a couple
of your men to help me for a moment, Chief. There is a safe down the hall. I
want to wheel it in here.” The Deputy Chief nodded his consent,
and two officers accompanied Ted toward the door. But before he stepped out he
said, “If you see any movement in either of those cats, shoot them both. And I
mean let them have it.” A police sergeant who remained in the
room turned to Mindy Linton and said, “I hear that you are backing up his story
about the statues, ma’am? Is that true?” She said, “I was here for every bit of
it, sir. What he said is true. Those are two extremely dangerous wild animals
right there. They are what tore Lisette Harnes to death.” Ted and the two cops returned, pushing
a large antique safe on wheels. He squatted down and began working the
combination, twice looking over his shoulder at the Statuary Cats. He turned
the latch and pulled open the heavy steel door. “All right. You. Pick up that first one there and bring it over. If you
feel anything unusual, throw it down and back off. Okay, let’s go.” Suddenly nervous, the officer
transferred first one and then the other of the stone figures into the safe.
Ted slammed the door, threw the latch and spun the
dial. He then slumped across the top of the strong box. Mindy released a long
sigh of relief. “It’s all right now,” Mindy said. “Now,
they will be studied. All the facts will come to light. We can’t expect you to
understand now, but soon it will all be resolved.” “I hated telling you a story that I knew
you wouldn’t believe,” Ted said, “But I wanted you to know the truth. Now we will
get the right people to work analyzing them, like Mindy said, and you will have
all the facts. I’m sorry if I have caused you any trouble today.” The Deputy Chief said, “It’s no trouble
to me, Mr. Harnes. It’s just that I hope you
understand that nobody but nobody is going to believe something like that
without seeing it. You don’t have an atom of real evidence.” “What do you call this!?” Ted cried,
pointing at the slashes on his denim jacket. “Mr. Harnes,
by your own admission you threw yourself through a glass door!” the Deputy
Chief said. “I can see blood streaks on some of these shards that are still in
the frame.” “How about the fact that there are two
of us making this claim?” Mindy asked. “That’s stronger than one person making
a fantastic claim.” the Deputy Chief said, “That’s about all I can say about it
for right now.” “And for right now that is fine with
me!” Ted said, “First thing in the morning my attorneys start making arrangements
for the state crime lab to do a thorough examination of these two creatures. It
is as good as done. Sir, I thank you for your assistance and that of your men.”
He turned to Mindy and shook her hand, “Thank you for all your hard work,
Mindy. We will be in touch soon. Get some rest now.” Attorneys were indeed mobilized at the
opening of their offices the following morning. Ted’s family political
connections were invoked in a series of phone calls to the state capitol, and
by that afternoon a prominent North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation van
had pulled up to the front of the Harnes mansion. Ted
supervised as the safe was rolled out of the house and loaded for transport. He
had typed a letter which he sent along taped onto the top of the safe. By the next morning forensic
technicians were puzzling over the letter in a basement lab at the Bureau’s
main facility in Raleigh. In the letter, the combination to the safe was
followed by a statement typed in all caps and red ribbon which implored them to
have armed guards standing by when the door was opened. Armed officers were not
hard to find at this facility, so it was easy enough to honor this plea. The
safe was opened, and two stone statues were lifted out of it. Ted’s letter described in a rambling
way his experiences of that day, and something of
Mindy Linton’s theories on the Statuary Cats. It was apparent that whoever
wrote this had just been through a wrenching experience, possibly one that had
temporarily unhinged his mind. The lab was being asked to determine it these
statues were anything other than carved stone. The Bureau’s technological resources
were cutting edge for 1967, but the technicians still needed a directive that
made sense. They were unsure about just what they were supposed to be looking
for. Their director had said only to read the letter and examine the items.
Such vagueness was outside of standard procedure, and the lab techs were sharp
enough to surmise that some political pressure was being applied to the Bureau
in this case. It would not be the first time. X rays seemed a logical place to start,
so they conducted a long series of them.
The cat figures under x-ray were
revealed as a wispy swirl of solid material, similar to the faint swirling
pattern on the exteriors. There were no bones, organs, or anything to hint that
there had ever been an animal inside. The stone was solid, and apparently a
composite. There were no hollows except for entryways at the ears and nostrils,
which penetrated some distance into the head before narrowing to a close. The
eyes were not just balls of quartz, but featured slender extensions on the
inner side that went back several centimeters into the head. The team took a rubbing
from the cats, tested the material chemically, and studied it under a microscope.
The sample contained silicon, carbon, calcium, sodium chloride, ferrous oxide,
and manganese. No radiation or magnetism. No unusual properties. The team was
able to detect minute traces of human blood on the figures, but this was
understood. From these few facts, a voluminous
report was prepared and sent to the parties concerned. Carbon dating might be
possible but would require the removal of a significant chip. An address was
requested for the return of the figures. Angrily dismissing these results, Ted Harnes next had his team of attorneys arrange shipment of
the statues to the FBI’s National Crime Lab in Quantico, Virginia. Here they
were received, in their antique safe, but investigation did not immediately
proceed. Ted’s people had enough clout to get an agreement from the FBI to
study the figures, but no specific timetable was offered. The job was not high
priority for the FBI, particularly after they reviewed those lab findings from
North Carolina. Months passed. Ted’s father died suddenly, leaving him sole
ownership of the Harnes Estate. He had not slept a
single night there since his sister died, and had lost all of his former love
for the place. The horrific memories overshadowed all else. Ted set in motion
the complete liquidation of all of his family assets, and relocated to a
private island in the Caribbean. Shortly thereafter, he began what would become
a lifelong exploration of the bars of Europe. Mindy Linton found a small press that
took a chance on her book, The Strangest of Life. It had all the impact of a
marble tossed in the sea. Mindy never wrote another one. Eventually she married
and found modest success as a portrait painter. She also began receiving a
monthly stipend check from the Harnes estate, with no
explanation from the accounting firm that sent them, other than they would be
coming to her monthly for the rest of her life. When the FBI’s National Crime Lab finally
decided they had studied the cat figures long enough to satisfy the request of
a certain North Carolina Congressman, they contacted the attorneys representing
Harnes to ask where to return the items. Ted’s instructions
had been for the statues to be destroyed after the investigation. But the
statement from the attorneys to the lab was phrased, “Dispose of the statues.” This instruction percolated through the
layers of the lab’s administration, and for months nothing happened. When space
limitations forced a decision to be made, the items were shifted over to
General Services Administration with a document describing them as artworks of
ancient but uncertain origin. A new president was elected not long after that,
bringing with him some shuffling and reorganizing of the federal bureaucracies.
Then it happened again, with the next president. Today the Statuary Cats sit side by
side, heads held high, on the top shelf of Rack 12 in Storage Room D-41 of the
Antiquities Museum of the Smithsonian Institution, Washington DC.
The Sorcerer's Song and The Cat's Meow is an author's triumph and a reader's delight...
What a wonderful, free-falling storytelling ride to get to the end of a fantasy that's about
as close to purrfect as you can get.
M. Wayne Cunningham - ForeWord CLARION Reviews
A well-plotted story with vivid and riveting description of characters and settings, as well as an intense page turning battle,
the book is a delight to read.
Tracy Roberts - Write Field Services
A cat and her sorcerer, a beautiful dream weaver, an evil voodoo priest,
a bunch of man-sized rats, an army of really big bugs, a crazed randy rabbit,
some dwarves, dragons and angry three-toed sloths, New York City, the woods of Maine,
the sands of Arabia and the mythic lands of Avalon all come together for the wildest
most epic adventure you’ve ever read!!!!