The red threads had ensnared my paws, winding themselves tightly around my legs as I struggled to free myself. I tugged at the strings, but every pull only bound me further in the web of my own making. Sam sat across from me on the carpet rug, lost in a fit of hysterical laughter, his face red, hands gripping his sides as though he might split apart from the intensity of it. 

Meanwhile, Anne remained on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, absorbed in the pages of some old thick book. Her eyes flicked up from the text, a frown forming as she glanced over at Sam. She said nothing, though her silence spoke of a quiet disapproval rather than outright reproach.

Sam had been digging through his mother’s cabinet drawer, an act that seemed harmless enough. Joe, always the voice of caution, had warned him—”don’t do it, Sam, you know that Mom will get upset”—but the youngest Kelping child, for all his good nature, carried within him that stubborn streak, the same impulse that drives most children to test the boundaries of their world, even if punishment was just on the horizon. 

Somewhere deep in the drawer, Sam unearthed a ball of red yarn, round and tightly wound. Without a second thought, he tossed it casually to the floor, where it rolled and spun in a series of lazy circles before coming to rest directly in front of me.

At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. The yarn—it seemed innocuous, but my brain played with possibilities. Could it be alive? Or worse—could it be watching me? I raised my paw cautiously, my instincts firing off signals of both curiosity and caution. My claws extended and lightly tapped the soft, fibrous surface of the ball. 

I swatted at it again, trying to provoke a response, a reaction—anything. I half-expected it to scuttle away like some strange creature of the deep. But the thing just wobbled there and rolled a little farther, taunting me with its stillness.  Then, in an instant, I found myself locked in a struggle with the thing. The yarn, innocent at first glance, had somehow come alive—or perhaps, I thought, it was always alive, and I had only now become aware of its intent. Its red strings unraveled and wrapped themselves around my paws, my legs. I pulled, I twisted, but the more I fought, the tighter it clung to me. Who was really in control here? Was I wrestling with the yarn—or was it wrestling with me?

***

“For God’s sake, Page! Snap out of it!” 

Lee's yelp jolted me from the fog of distant memories, thrusting me back into our present ordeal. The red threads were alive, bent on choking the very breath from our lungs. We were helpless, their hold tightening with each passing moment. 

Lee clenched his jaw, thrashing his head side to side in a frantic attempt to keep the threads at bay as they probed, seeking a way in. His eyes, wide with terror, darted wildly, searching for any means of escape.

My teeth clenched as the red threads also sought entry, slithering around my face, eager to pry their way in. I lashed out with my claws, swiping at them frantically, but they were slippery. They slipped through my claws as though coated in oil, their slick, sinewy forms twisting and dodging every attempt to grasp them. The harder I clawed, the more they multiplied and weaved around us. Still, I fought, not knowing if escape was possible, but knowing that the alternative—a complete surrender to this beast—was a fate far worse than any death I could imagine.

Just as my muscles reached the brink of collapse, something else moved with quick speed. It dropped silently from the tangle of clotheslines above and soared over the rat, twisting its body in midair before coming down hard on the creature’s back, sinking all four sets of claws into its flesh. A paw, claws extended, rose and sliced through the air and found its mark–the rat's head.

The blow sent the rat skidding across the grimy pavement. The tendrils slackened just enough for me to crawl out of reach, though the entire scene felt surreal—like a half-forgotten dream I couldn’t shake off.

The monstrous vermin rose, unleashing a furious scream that rippled through the air. It lunged at the cat, slashing with its hooked claws, while its tendrils lashed out wildly. One coiled tightly around the other cat's neck, but with a sharp hiss, the cat struck back, swiping at the tendrils and tearing itself free.

More tendrils lashed out, one wrapping around my hind leg and yanking me to the ground. This time, its touch burned like fire, searing through my skin. But I couldn’t give in—we couldn’t. We all had to fight. 

Lee snarled, sinking his sharp canines into the writhing tendrils, tearing them apart with savage fury. I clawed and bit at them too. The taste was vile, bitter like rusted metal and blood, but I didn’t care. I ripped a few free and spat out the shredded pieces.

Whoever it was standing behind the rat sunk its teeth into the back of its neck, and it bit down, hard. Bones crunched beneath the jaws. The rat staggered, bleeding from where the claws and teeth had torn into its body.

I glanced over and saw Lee frantically scrambling away from the tendrils, his back pressed against the cold wall, a guttural growl rising from his throat as he bared his sharp canine teeth. 

The rat tumbled to the ground, lifeless, but as it did, its body convulsed. The tendrils continued to twitch, as if they hadn’t realized their host was dead. They retracted, slithering back into the rat’s mouth. 

Then, something began to writhe. The thing inside it—whatever it was—was weakening, but it wasn’t done. It tore through the rat’s mouth, splitting its head like overripe fruit with an audible crack. And from the gory mess sprung a shapeless, throbbing pink blob, with hundreds of tendrils probing and tasting the air, then latching onto the ground. The thing began to drag itself across the ground, its tendrils pulling it forward inch by inch. 

They reached out toward the pufferfish, searching for new life to inhabit. The blob attempted to merge with the dead creature, but its thrashing soon faltered, slowing to weak, erratic twitches. Moments later, it stilled completely, shriveling into a desiccated, motionless gray husk.

I winced as I tried to take a step, my whole body aching. The spots where the tendrils had gripped throbbed with a sharp, stinging pain. I lowered my head and began licking one of the burns on my leg. The metallic taste of blood lingered as I cleaned the dirt from the gash, the sting slowly fading with every lap.

“What the hell was that thing?” Lee gasped, still catching his breath. 

“It’s as much of a mystery to me as it is to you,” replied a voice from the shadows. That voice—I recognized it instantly. A wave of unexpected relief washed over my rattled nerves. I looked up to see its owner.