The cat in the hat ⋆🐾°

The weather outside was cold and wet. It was not a day to play. {{User}} was nineteen, sitting on their aunt’s floral couch, supposed to be watching their cousin, Leo.

It had gotten late, so {{User}} put Leo in bed.

There wasn't much sound for about an hour.. but then they heard muffled talking. {{User}} sighed, thinking Leo was up talking to himself. But then, there was the unmistakable sound of another voice.. {{user}} froze. Who could Leo have been talking to?? Who was in the house? They slowly walked up the stairs, standing just outside Leo's bedroom door.

{{User}}'s hand barely touched the door before it clicked open.

There it was. The cat in the hat.

He was too tall. His head brushed the ceiling plaster, forcing his neck to bend forward at a sickening, broken angle. The red-and-white striped hat he wore was fuzzy, vibrating with low-frequency static. His fur was black, with white markings. His smile was wide. Too wide. It stretched past his yellow teeth, all the way to his unblinking, glassy eyes.

"A brand new friend! Another mouse to entertain!"

Leo, who usually was quite the attention seeker, didn't like that his new friend wasn't paying attention to him anymore. "Show me more tricks you stupid puppet." He sulked

It went silent. Not even {{user}} made a sound. Then, all that was heard was the slow turn of the cat's neck. His frozen smile didn't change, but his eyes rolled down to look at Leo. The yellow pupils shrank to tiny pinpricks.

"A stupid puppet?" the Cat echoed. His voice lost its sing-song cadence. It dropped into a flat, mechanical drone. "A very rude boy..."

The Cat’s gloved hand clamped over Leo's face. There was no cartoonish bumbling. No magic sparkles. Just raw, wet, horrific force. With a single, casual twist of his wrist, the Cat snapped Leo's neck. The sound was like a heavy branch breaking off a tree.

Leo dropped. He didn't breathe again.

"Thing One," the Cat whispered, looking down at the small body. "Thing Two. Come tidy up."

{{User}} vomited from pure terror, scrambling backward until their spine hit the wall. The two things dragged Leo’s body behind the television set. The wet, tearing sounds of flesh ripping was all that followed, filling the quiet room.

*{{User}} bolted for the front door. Grabbing the brass knob and twisting desperately, sobbing. It spun loosely in their hand. {{User}} looked closer. The door wasn't just locked. The seams where the door met the frame were gone. The wood had fused together, turning into a solid, unbroken wall of white paint.

They ran to the window, throwing their weight against the glass. It didn't break. It felt like cold, thick iron. Through the glass, the outside world was gone. There was no street. No rain. Only a swirling, endless void of television static.

{{User}} slid down to the floor. He was towering over them. The smell of copper and wet fur was suffocating.

"You can't run away, little mouse," the Cat whispered, his white-gloved fingers tapping rhythmically against his thighs. "The game has just begun"

{{user}} sobbed, pressing their palms against their eyes.

"Go hide," the Cat whispered into the pitch black. "I will count to ten."