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vanillalimeOh hey, I actually wrote something again. It's been a while! I think it's put me in the mood to do some upcoming holiday writing... ;D
Title: The Cat in the Pumpkin Patch
Main Character: Steve Harrington (with Jim Hopper and Eleven in supporting roles)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,915
Creature Prompt: Evil Cat
Summary: It's a good thing Steve isn't superstitious. But maybe he should be.
Notes: Written for the 2022 Spook Me Mult-Fandom Halloween Ficathon. Cross-posted to AO3 and Livejournal. The artwork prompt used for the story is included at the end.
______________________________________
Steve wasn’t superstitious. Like, at all.
The freaky shit he’d seen in Hawkins these last three years had been caused by supernatural elements he didn’t quite understand. But he knew that none of the town’s horrible events had anything to do with silly old wives’ tales. Will hadn’t been abducted on Friday the 13th. Barb wasn’t dead because she’d walked under a ladder. Billy hadn’t been possessed because he’d broken a mirror.
So when he saw a stray black cat during his weekly patrol of Merrill’s old pumpkin farm, he thought nothing of it. He was more concerned with the new cloud of spores drifting through the cool autumn air at the back edge of the field.
Steve circled the area in question while the cat, sitting under a nearby tree, silently watched.
He took note of the size of the plume and the spores’ density before deciding it was nothing to worry about, at least not yet. There were small breakthrough patches just like this one all over Hawkins. He’d keep an eye on it, though.
Steve glanced over at the cat, who stared right back at him. It looked mangy and unkempt, and not particularly happy. He doubted it was someone’s pet. Maybe next time he’d bring some food with him, in case it was still hanging around.
*~*~*~*
When Hopper went around the room that evening, asking each of them if they had anything unusual to report, Steve confidently replied no. Things in Hawkins had been relatively calm lately, and they were all grateful for that.
*~*~*~*
The following week, Steve stepped out of his BMW with a can of tuna fish and a can opener stuffed in his coat pocket. He conducted his usual examination of the pumpkin patch, saving the area with the new cloud of spores for the end. As he approached the back edge of the field, he looked around for the cat. Sure enough, there it was, sitting under the same tree as before.
He cautiously walked toward it, then stopped dead in his tracks.
The cat had company.
Directly behind it, partially hidden by the shadows of the tree, sat a group of several more black cats. A flood of unnerving yellow eyes stared at Steve, and Steve stared back at them. These new cats were just as scraggly and scrawny as the first. He wondered if they'd all been part of the same litter, one that consisted entirely of solid black kittens.
Steve toyed nervously with the contents of his pocket. One can of tuna wasn't going to be enough to feed all these cats. He began to count them, going from left to right. One, two... five, six, seven... twelve, thirteen.
Thirteen black cats.
Steve nervously laughed to himself. He counted them again, going from right to left this time.
He still got thirteen.
Good thing I'm not superstitious, Steve thought.
He began to back away. None of the cats moved, but all those creepy yellow eyes followed him.
Good thing I'm not superstitious, Steve repeated to himself.
He remembered the task at hand and promptly turned away to look at the cloud of spores. In the center of the plume was a crack in the ground that he hadn't noticed before. Maybe it was his imagination, but the spores seemed thicker compared to last week, and he thought the size of the cloud was bigger as well. Too bad he hadn't thought to measure it before.
Steve quickly walked around the area, counting the number of footsteps needed to make his way back to where he'd started.
For a long moment, he contemplated the situation. Ultimately, he decided the plume wasn't really all that big. It probably wasn't any bigger than last week. Most likely, that crack had been there then, too.
He glanced back over at the cats. They'd been watching him the entire time.
A sudden wave a nausea rolled over him. He decided he needed something to eat, even if he wasn’t particularly hungry. He started to walk back toward his car.
A minute later, he couldn’t help himself. He turned around to look at the cats, but he was too far away to see them. Somehow, though, he knew they were still there, sitting under the shade of the tree. Watching him.
*~*~*~*
That night, the atmosphere at Hopper's cabin was lighter than usual. It was Lucas's birthday, and Erica had made cupcakes. She offered one to Steve, but his stomach clenched and he politely declined.
"Watching my weight," he said with a weak smile.
"So, let's start with the birthday boy," Hopper proclaimed. He paused to wipe some frosting from the corner of his mustache. "Did you see anything this week? Vines growing inside Hawkins Public Library? Baby demodogs in the trash behind Melvad's? A Russian scientist at the high school disguised as your substitute biology teacher?"
Lucas actually laughed. "No, nothing like that. Nothing at all."
Around the room they went. Each member of Hopper's private army replied that there was nothing new to report, and Steve detected an undercurrent of contentment and confidence. It was a nice change of pace from the usual worry and trepidation.
When it was his turn, he hesitated, but answered, "Nope. All good."
Hopper moved swiftly on to the next person, and Steve looked down at his feet. When Mike joked about Dustin’s proclivity for forming attachments to creatures of unknown origins, he gritted his teeth. He absentmindedly stroked the scars on his abdomen where the demobats had once removed a sizable chunk of his flesh.
Soon the meeting was over. As people began to make their way to the door, he bent over to grab his coat off the floor. When he straightened up, he realized Eleven was standing close to him, looking down at him with a grim expression on her face.
She leaned over and said in a low but firm voice, "Friends. Don’t. Lie."
Steve stared at her, speechless, while his brain tried to form a response. Unfortunately, she was halfway across the room before he could think of one.
He hurried out of the cabin, his coat still in his hand.
*~*~*~*
He didn’t want to wait another whole week.
The very next day, Steve drove back to Merrill’s farm. He parked in the driveway, got out, and opened the trunk of his car. He pulled out his trusty nail bat and a 12-pound bag of Purina Cat Chow. He was going to be prepared for anything.
This time, he headed directly to the back of the field. He stomped through the weeds, mud, and abandoned pumpkins until he reached the cloud of spores. He spotted the tree and moved in, wondering how many, if any, cats would be there today.
Then he stopped short, with his breath caught in his throat. He wished he had a free hand to rub his eyes with, because he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him.
A whole sea of black cats now sat under the tree, staring back at him. There had to be at least a hundred. Too many to count.
At least it isn’t thirteen, he thought wildly.
All his doubts vanished. He knew now that something was definitely wrong here, and he regretted not telling Hopper and the others about what he’d seen.
He quickly began to back away, walking directly into the plume of spores. His foot slipped on a rotting pumpkin, and he lost his balance. He dropped the nail bat and fell to the ground, landing with a thud. He heard a ripping sound and felt twelve pounds of cat food spilling over his body.
He lifted his head and saw a wave of black fur rushing toward him. His blood ran cold, and his heart started to race. His fingers reached for the nail bat and grasped nothing but thin air. The dark shapes closed in, and he instinctively put both hands in front of his face for protection.
Then everything went black.
*~*~*~*
When Steve came to, he warily opened his eyes and saw that everything was upside down. Panic immediately set in. He began to flail, but the forces of gravity worked against him. He tried to yell, but the only sound that came out was a low moan.
"Shhh. Shhh. It's okay. Hopper's got you."
Eleven's simple, soothing voice floated through his head. He tried to focus, tried to concentrate. He could see her face, upside down, bouncing in and out of his line of vision.
"Tell him to stop moving."
Hopper’s gruff, heavy voice came from above, but it seemed to be aimed at his feet. Steve was so disoriented.
"Be still," Eleven instructed, "or he might drop you."
Steve went limp and worked to get his bearings. Slowly, he realized that he was hanging off Hopper’s shoulders in a traditional fireman’s carry. He was upside down, but the world was not. He observed Eleven walking beside them, occasionally hopping over rotting pumpkins, with no sense of urgency or alarm.
"We’re almost back to the truck," she told him.
Sure enough, a minute later, he was being stuffed into the front seat of Hopper's pick-up truck. Eleven climbed in next to him, while Hopper landed behind the wheel. The bottom half of Hopper’s face was covered by a bandana tied behind his head.
Struggling to remain upright, he tried to ask what was going on. "Whhaaa…" was all he could get out.
Hopper pulled his bandana down. "Hallucinogenic mushrooms," he explained. "There’s a whole patch of 'em at the edge of that field. You must’ve trampled over some by accident and inhaled their spores."
Steve stared hard at him, still trying to understand what had just happened. Harnessing all his energy, he managed a word. "Cats?"
"Cats?" Hopper repeated.
Steve nodded his head. He saw Hopper look over at Eleven, and he thought he heard her giggle.
Steve tried another angle. He had to make sure the danger was gone. "Portal?"
Hopper stared at him for a moment, then smiled sympathetically. "There’s nothing back there but rotten pumpkins, a few trees, and a bunch of bad mushrooms. Sounds like you’ve been on one hell of a trip, son. You’re lucky El here thought to keep tabs on you."
Eleven gently nudged him in the ribs. "This is why friends don’t lie," she said.
Hopper started the truck’s engine and put it in gear. "I’m going to take you to the hospital to get checked out. You’re going to feel pretty sick for a while, but you should be fine once the effects wear off. I’ll come back here later with a respirator and destroy that bed of mushrooms."
Steve leaned back into the warmth of the truck’s seat and started to relax. He didn’t care how sick he felt as long as there was no imminent threat of attack by supernatural creatures from the Upside Down. He closed his eyes as Hopper began the long drive down Merrill’s driveway.
"Pretty wildflowers," he heard Eleven say.
"Yeah," agreed Hopper. "But they’re not wildflowers. They’re chrysanthemums. Merrill planted those flowers to decorate the graves of his pets."
"Graves?"
"Yep, that’s his pet cemetery. Ol’ Merrill was a real animal lover, especially cats. I bet there’s a hundred of 'em buried over there."
Steve’s eyes popped open, and he bolted upright. He frantically motioned for Hopper to pull the truck over. He was going to be sick, and he didn’t want to throw up inside the truck.
THE END
Title: The Cat in the Pumpkin Patch
Main Character: Steve Harrington (with Jim Hopper and Eleven in supporting roles)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,915
Creature Prompt: Evil Cat
Summary: It's a good thing Steve isn't superstitious. But maybe he should be.
Notes: Written for the 2022 Spook Me Mult-Fandom Halloween Ficathon. Cross-posted to AO3 and Livejournal. The artwork prompt used for the story is included at the end.
______________________________________
Steve wasn’t superstitious. Like, at all.
The freaky shit he’d seen in Hawkins these last three years had been caused by supernatural elements he didn’t quite understand. But he knew that none of the town’s horrible events had anything to do with silly old wives’ tales. Will hadn’t been abducted on Friday the 13th. Barb wasn’t dead because she’d walked under a ladder. Billy hadn’t been possessed because he’d broken a mirror.
So when he saw a stray black cat during his weekly patrol of Merrill’s old pumpkin farm, he thought nothing of it. He was more concerned with the new cloud of spores drifting through the cool autumn air at the back edge of the field.
Steve circled the area in question while the cat, sitting under a nearby tree, silently watched.
He took note of the size of the plume and the spores’ density before deciding it was nothing to worry about, at least not yet. There were small breakthrough patches just like this one all over Hawkins. He’d keep an eye on it, though.
Steve glanced over at the cat, who stared right back at him. It looked mangy and unkempt, and not particularly happy. He doubted it was someone’s pet. Maybe next time he’d bring some food with him, in case it was still hanging around.
*~*~*~*
When Hopper went around the room that evening, asking each of them if they had anything unusual to report, Steve confidently replied no. Things in Hawkins had been relatively calm lately, and they were all grateful for that.
*~*~*~*
The following week, Steve stepped out of his BMW with a can of tuna fish and a can opener stuffed in his coat pocket. He conducted his usual examination of the pumpkin patch, saving the area with the new cloud of spores for the end. As he approached the back edge of the field, he looked around for the cat. Sure enough, there it was, sitting under the same tree as before.
He cautiously walked toward it, then stopped dead in his tracks.
The cat had company.
Directly behind it, partially hidden by the shadows of the tree, sat a group of several more black cats. A flood of unnerving yellow eyes stared at Steve, and Steve stared back at them. These new cats were just as scraggly and scrawny as the first. He wondered if they'd all been part of the same litter, one that consisted entirely of solid black kittens.
Steve toyed nervously with the contents of his pocket. One can of tuna wasn't going to be enough to feed all these cats. He began to count them, going from left to right. One, two... five, six, seven... twelve, thirteen.
Thirteen black cats.
Steve nervously laughed to himself. He counted them again, going from right to left this time.
He still got thirteen.
Good thing I'm not superstitious, Steve thought.
He began to back away. None of the cats moved, but all those creepy yellow eyes followed him.
Good thing I'm not superstitious, Steve repeated to himself.
He remembered the task at hand and promptly turned away to look at the cloud of spores. In the center of the plume was a crack in the ground that he hadn't noticed before. Maybe it was his imagination, but the spores seemed thicker compared to last week, and he thought the size of the cloud was bigger as well. Too bad he hadn't thought to measure it before.
Steve quickly walked around the area, counting the number of footsteps needed to make his way back to where he'd started.
For a long moment, he contemplated the situation. Ultimately, he decided the plume wasn't really all that big. It probably wasn't any bigger than last week. Most likely, that crack had been there then, too.
He glanced back over at the cats. They'd been watching him the entire time.
A sudden wave a nausea rolled over him. He decided he needed something to eat, even if he wasn’t particularly hungry. He started to walk back toward his car.
A minute later, he couldn’t help himself. He turned around to look at the cats, but he was too far away to see them. Somehow, though, he knew they were still there, sitting under the shade of the tree. Watching him.
*~*~*~*
That night, the atmosphere at Hopper's cabin was lighter than usual. It was Lucas's birthday, and Erica had made cupcakes. She offered one to Steve, but his stomach clenched and he politely declined.
"Watching my weight," he said with a weak smile.
"So, let's start with the birthday boy," Hopper proclaimed. He paused to wipe some frosting from the corner of his mustache. "Did you see anything this week? Vines growing inside Hawkins Public Library? Baby demodogs in the trash behind Melvad's? A Russian scientist at the high school disguised as your substitute biology teacher?"
Lucas actually laughed. "No, nothing like that. Nothing at all."
Around the room they went. Each member of Hopper's private army replied that there was nothing new to report, and Steve detected an undercurrent of contentment and confidence. It was a nice change of pace from the usual worry and trepidation.
When it was his turn, he hesitated, but answered, "Nope. All good."
Hopper moved swiftly on to the next person, and Steve looked down at his feet. When Mike joked about Dustin’s proclivity for forming attachments to creatures of unknown origins, he gritted his teeth. He absentmindedly stroked the scars on his abdomen where the demobats had once removed a sizable chunk of his flesh.
Soon the meeting was over. As people began to make their way to the door, he bent over to grab his coat off the floor. When he straightened up, he realized Eleven was standing close to him, looking down at him with a grim expression on her face.
She leaned over and said in a low but firm voice, "Friends. Don’t. Lie."
Steve stared at her, speechless, while his brain tried to form a response. Unfortunately, she was halfway across the room before he could think of one.
He hurried out of the cabin, his coat still in his hand.
*~*~*~*
He didn’t want to wait another whole week.
The very next day, Steve drove back to Merrill’s farm. He parked in the driveway, got out, and opened the trunk of his car. He pulled out his trusty nail bat and a 12-pound bag of Purina Cat Chow. He was going to be prepared for anything.
This time, he headed directly to the back of the field. He stomped through the weeds, mud, and abandoned pumpkins until he reached the cloud of spores. He spotted the tree and moved in, wondering how many, if any, cats would be there today.
Then he stopped short, with his breath caught in his throat. He wished he had a free hand to rub his eyes with, because he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him.
A whole sea of black cats now sat under the tree, staring back at him. There had to be at least a hundred. Too many to count.
At least it isn’t thirteen, he thought wildly.
All his doubts vanished. He knew now that something was definitely wrong here, and he regretted not telling Hopper and the others about what he’d seen.
He quickly began to back away, walking directly into the plume of spores. His foot slipped on a rotting pumpkin, and he lost his balance. He dropped the nail bat and fell to the ground, landing with a thud. He heard a ripping sound and felt twelve pounds of cat food spilling over his body.
He lifted his head and saw a wave of black fur rushing toward him. His blood ran cold, and his heart started to race. His fingers reached for the nail bat and grasped nothing but thin air. The dark shapes closed in, and he instinctively put both hands in front of his face for protection.
Then everything went black.
*~*~*~*
When Steve came to, he warily opened his eyes and saw that everything was upside down. Panic immediately set in. He began to flail, but the forces of gravity worked against him. He tried to yell, but the only sound that came out was a low moan.
"Shhh. Shhh. It's okay. Hopper's got you."
Eleven's simple, soothing voice floated through his head. He tried to focus, tried to concentrate. He could see her face, upside down, bouncing in and out of his line of vision.
"Tell him to stop moving."
Hopper’s gruff, heavy voice came from above, but it seemed to be aimed at his feet. Steve was so disoriented.
"Be still," Eleven instructed, "or he might drop you."
Steve went limp and worked to get his bearings. Slowly, he realized that he was hanging off Hopper’s shoulders in a traditional fireman’s carry. He was upside down, but the world was not. He observed Eleven walking beside them, occasionally hopping over rotting pumpkins, with no sense of urgency or alarm.
"We’re almost back to the truck," she told him.
Sure enough, a minute later, he was being stuffed into the front seat of Hopper's pick-up truck. Eleven climbed in next to him, while Hopper landed behind the wheel. The bottom half of Hopper’s face was covered by a bandana tied behind his head.
Struggling to remain upright, he tried to ask what was going on. "Whhaaa…" was all he could get out.
Hopper pulled his bandana down. "Hallucinogenic mushrooms," he explained. "There’s a whole patch of 'em at the edge of that field. You must’ve trampled over some by accident and inhaled their spores."
Steve stared hard at him, still trying to understand what had just happened. Harnessing all his energy, he managed a word. "Cats?"
"Cats?" Hopper repeated.
Steve nodded his head. He saw Hopper look over at Eleven, and he thought he heard her giggle.
Steve tried another angle. He had to make sure the danger was gone. "Portal?"
Hopper stared at him for a moment, then smiled sympathetically. "There’s nothing back there but rotten pumpkins, a few trees, and a bunch of bad mushrooms. Sounds like you’ve been on one hell of a trip, son. You’re lucky El here thought to keep tabs on you."
Eleven gently nudged him in the ribs. "This is why friends don’t lie," she said.
Hopper started the truck’s engine and put it in gear. "I’m going to take you to the hospital to get checked out. You’re going to feel pretty sick for a while, but you should be fine once the effects wear off. I’ll come back here later with a respirator and destroy that bed of mushrooms."
Steve leaned back into the warmth of the truck’s seat and started to relax. He didn’t care how sick he felt as long as there was no imminent threat of attack by supernatural creatures from the Upside Down. He closed his eyes as Hopper began the long drive down Merrill’s driveway.
"Pretty wildflowers," he heard Eleven say.
"Yeah," agreed Hopper. "But they’re not wildflowers. They’re chrysanthemums. Merrill planted those flowers to decorate the graves of his pets."
"Graves?"
"Yep, that’s his pet cemetery. Ol’ Merrill was a real animal lover, especially cats. I bet there’s a hundred of 'em buried over there."
Steve’s eyes popped open, and he bolted upright. He frantically motioned for Hopper to pull the truck over. He was going to be sick, and he didn’t want to throw up inside the truck.
THE END
