by Mark E. Schrull
I have found some time to write more. My human friend has kindly left the word processor on for me. I didn’t even have to project to his mind. I think he’s starting to like my stories and wants to read more. So be it.
My latest report must be about cat activity. There have been no recent sightings of the spirit with a lantern. But it has been so cold lately I must admit I’ve been staying inside more. (I doubt frost bite is any concern of spirits.) Cat activity, however, is at an all time high.
Just before this cold hit, I donned a concealing outfit so I would blend in with my surroundings. Through the pane of a rain-soaked window, I snapped this photo of the elusive, spy of all spies, sneak of all sneaks, most shadiest, “Graver, The Grey.”
It is said of Graver – a clear picture of the grey one has never been captured. He is so elusive and so indefinable, his image has never been recorded. He only comes round when it is dark or in the worst of daylight conditions. He sees everything, even in darkness. He travels alone always and aside from a female outside of this farm, he has no friends or companions. All the other cats fear him.
Not having the least bit of cat fear, I set the camera down, removed my disguise and sprang into action. I quietly opened the door and jumped out. Suddenly a burst of heavy rain began and I ducked under a bench. He was gone. Melted into the rain from where he came. A distance voice in the darkness was all that was left. “She comes.”
Mark E. Schrull
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