The Visit

There it was again, a scratching at my door. Like nails upon a chalkboard. It wasn't there before. The wind blew round the settle and the fire glowed back to life. I reached for my plate of bread and cheese and deftly grasped the knife. "Who is it?" I said, "And what do you want, on this frosty Hallows Eve?" The wood on the fire crackled and spat and I hoped to God it would leave. There it was again, more insistent than before, I gripped the knife tight in my hand and inched toward the door. Slipping the bolt, I lifted the latch and opened the door a crack, a 'presence' rushed in with subtle force and I was taken quite aback. The cat hissed and arched it's back, it's ears flat with fear, and the fire crackled louder yet as the awful 'presence' drew near. A sulphurous smell filled the room and an icy cold pervaded, then, in a trice,it vanished again, and the acrid smell quickly faded. I know not what visited that Hallows Eve, fiendish, ethereal, dire, but since that night, when shadows fall, the cat never sits near the fire.