The Queen of Cats (Part 1 of 3)

This is my entry for The Writer's Block Art Prompt Writing Contest #11.

I'm only submitting Part 1 for the contest. The whole piece was too long for steemit in one post. It's not ideal, but I decided for all the inspiration The Writer's Block have provided, I should submit an entry.

The other 2 parts are written but need to be reworked. Once I decided to break it into 3 parts, I had new ideas. They'll appear in the next few days or whenever work gives me a breather.

I dedicate this to the lovely @supersoju because she really is one of the nicest and quirkiest steemians I've met. Check out her blog, she is one strange cat lady. If you want to see hairy insect legs, salt crystals, bacteria or vacuum matter under a microscope, she is the science blogger for you.

Finally, thanks to @thewritersblock for organizing the contest and @lymmerik for the intriguing photo. If you haven't already discovered this writing group, they're a lively community and well worth the effort.

So without further ado...

PART ONE

New York City, 1935

There was a cat curled up inside the old chandelier.

Cecilia blinked.

How was that possible?

She faltered on the step of the grand staircase of the abandoned theatre. Her hand caught the dusty brass banister to prevent her from tripping. The indulgent pile of white fur shifted, lifted its head and perked its ears. Bright blue eyes set in a dark face stared down at her unblinking.

Gerard, her fiancé, and the Realtor were a few steps ahead of her. They were discussing the theatre’s infamous past. There was a fire in 1875, followed by the gruesome murder of David Montague, the previous owner who lavishly restored the theatre at the turn of the century. It had stood boarded and abandoned ever since.

When the men passed directly under the fixture, the pretty cat started to growl. It waved its brown paw and leaped from its nest of broken and misaligned crystal.

“Watch out!” cried Cecilia. Her fiancé ducked and the cat hit Mister Hotham, dislodging the man’s toupee. The Realtor wrestled the animal scratching at his receding hairline .

“Get off me you wretched furball!” snarled Mister Hotham, ripping his hair piece from the cat’s mouth. He grabbed the creature by the scruff of its neck and threw the feline against the patchy gold-leafed wallpaper.

Meeeeeeoooow!

Cecilia darted from where she stood and scooped up the cat. “I’m sure it didn’t mean you harm!”

The harassed man brushed his small amount of hair, repositioned his toupee and straightened his waistcoat. He glared at the cat before looking at his pocket watch. “A quarter to eight, we must hurry.”

The private showing had been scheduled for the evening and the foyer had been dimly lit. It was only now that Cecilia noticed the Realtor was dressed in a suit that was at least fifty years old. He could have been mistaken for a patron of the old theatre. As Mister Hotham rushed up the remaining steps and held the ornately carved door opened, she was hit with a cold draft that left her uneasy and on edge.

“Hurry, Ceci! You promised me your opinion on this investment opportunity!” Gerard eyes twinkled with excitement and his golden hair gleamed healthily against the flickering wall sconces. Drawn forward by his glowing enthusiasm, they stepped through the dark entry together. The door slammed shut, closing them in the shadowy cavern of empty theatre.

Cecilia tensed. Her eyes searched the stage where the red velvet curtain remained drawn

“Intriguing!” exclaimed Gerard, pulling away.

“Not long now,” muttered Mister Hotham, looking at his watch again. “It’s always the same.”

Cecilia frowned at the odd comment.

“John, hurry along, the show starts soon!” A woman called to the Realtor from a row of seats near the back. She was dressed in a heavy frock that added extra layers of frumpiness to her already generous figure. The woman reminded her of an opera singer.

Where did she come from?

Cecilia turned to see Gerard heading to the stage. She looked back to find Mister Hotham seated with his lady friend. More people had joined them as if from thin air.

Alone, real fear began to seed inside her. All these people were dressed from a bygone era. She followed the fading beacon of her fiancé’s golden head down the aisle. “Gerard! Come back!”

Every time she looked, more people occupied the velvet seating. A sweet voice called out, “Soju! You found my cat, Soju!”

Meow!

The cat writhed from her arms and jumped onto the lap of the little girl with ebony curls and bright pink cheeks. She was wearing the most striking red slippers. Cecilia stumbled to a stop, and to her relief, she could see Gerard had stopped too. “This is your cat?”

“Yes, she ran away when the fire started,” said the little girl, as she stroked the fur of Soju.

“Fire?” replied Cecilia. A frisson of fear raced down her spine to make her legs weak. She refused to collapse in a useless heap.

The little girl nodded earnestly. “I could hear her meowing. I wanted to follow but Mama fell down, so I went down too. People were running—”

“Elaina! Stop. You’re upsetting your mother,” ordered a deep voice.

Cecilia gripped the back of a seat to steady herself, her arms shook from the effort. She looked up to see the grim mustached man sitting next to a thin lady. Neither had been there a moment ago. The lady was quietly wiping her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

“Leave her be, Alexander,” she sniffled. “It’s my fault we died.”

“Everyone died,” stated Alexander in resignation as he hugged his wife.

“Not Soju,” whispered Elaina. “He hates Soju.”

Cecilia let out a jerky breath. “Who hates Soju?”

“The Magician. Papa says he’s a demon and this is a Hell he created. But only bad people go to Hell. I asked papa why we were in Hell.”

“Elaina! Enough!” scolded the father. The mother wept louder.

The little girl bit her lip, her innocent brown eyes welled with tears. “I’m just little, I once stole Jenny’s blue ribbon. That’s not too naughty was it?”

“Of course not,” replied Cecilia.

“Then why am I dead?” Elaina raised her tiny palm, stretching out dainty fingers. “I’m only five. I never got to grow up.”

Soju mewed gently and licked the childish hand that petted her.

Cecilia couldn’t think of an answer, so she placed a comforting hand on Elaina's fragile shoulder. The child felt warm, real, and not what she imagined the dead to be. She crouched down to the sad little face. “Where is this Magician?”

Elaina’s face paled, her eyes rounding to saucers before she whispered softly, “He’s standing right behind you.”

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