Phantom Felines And Other Ghostly Animals - Gerina Dunwich 2006
The Cat in the Dumbwaiter
Phantom Felines
by Andi Jennifer Sowers
In an old apartment building, once a classy hotel in downtown Miami, I made my home on the ninth floor with my boyfriend. With one bedroom, a small gallery-size kitchen, and two windows facing the harbor, our lives were compacted into a tiny area. Over several decades, many people have shared this room, their memories and lives stained into the walls around me. I pondered if this place was a hotbed for spirits, paranormal energy, or ghostly sightings. Curiously, there would only be a pleasant silence and a peaceful setting to call home. Until one day, a faint cry was heard from the wall of my bedroom.
During the sweltering heat of a hot summer day, I was thankful that I had the day off from work. Since I had an obsession with saving money, going out into town for some south Florida fun was out of the question. So, I decided to finish reading my favorite novel, Haunted, by Tamara Thorne. As I lay comfortably in my bed with satin sheets and a fan silently blowing, a small slightly muted sound emanated from my bedroom wall. I paused a moment, looking above the pages of my paperback, observing the usual scenery of my cluttered space. Must have been something on the street far below, I thought, and returned to my book.
“Mew.”
My wall spoke more clearly, causing me to cautiously look up a second time. Butterflies rose in my stomach as I recognized the sound. Is there a cat behind the wall? My neighbors had moved out two months ago. They had never mentioned having pets. I crept up to the wall slowly, not knowing what to expect. My horror novel must have added some anxiety to the situation.
“Mew.”
I paused, not moving a muscle. Okay, I thought, maybe there is a cat stuck in the empty apartment next door. I threw on some decent clothes and headed downstairs to the office. Luckily one of my friends was manning the desk. I told him about the situation, and he accompanied me back up to the ninth floor to investigate the mysterious cat crying for help.
The apartment next door was what I expected, empty and damp from the midsummer weather. But to my surprise, no cat was found. My friend thought I heard it from the street below. I didn’t feel like arguing, especially over a cat that wasn’t around. So, I nodded in agreement. Before our departure from the vacant apartment, I noticed a crease in the shared wall. It was badly cracked and sunken in. Not saying anything about it to my friend, I returned to my room.
I immediately went to the mysterious mewing wall and studied the structure of it. I noticed a crease running vertically from the ceiling to the floor, much like the other side, only not as many signs of damage. I knelt down to study the bottom half of the floorboard, when I noticed a small hole. Ignoring all the advice of every horror novel ever written, I tugged on the small board. It loosened! I quickly grabbed a screwdriver to help pry the old board and with a little strength, I pulled it completely up. Anxiously, I grabbed my flashlight and peered into the darkness. Looking straight down, I saw another floorboard one foot down. I assumed that it was a support for the flooring I normally walked on. I then shined my flashlight diagonally expecting to find the wall continuing down, but to my surprise, it was an open space that extended outward. This wall was concealing what appeared to be a small shaft of some sort. I barely contained my excitement and retrieved a mirror from my bathroom. Again, ignoring the laws of every blood-curdling horror novel, I stuck the mirror inside the dark space aiming my flashlight to enhance the reflection. It indeed was a shaft no wider than a couple of feet. Wow, it must be an old dumbwaiter from back in the days when this building was a hotel, I thought. I angled the mirror downward to see how long it was. It didn’t go down very far, and to my shock, there was something at the bottom.
My hand began to shake as I tried to change the angle of light in order to get a full picture of my discovery. A small incomplete skeleton was lying at the bottom of the shaft. Despite my lack of lighting, I could make out a few small clumps of matted fur around dry bones and the top of a tiny skull. My anxiety transformed into fascination of what was entombed beneath my small apartment I called home. I wished I could see the front of the tiny head to help in my speculation as to whether it was indeed a cat.
I’m a natural skeptic. I never knew if the poor animal was actually a cat, nor if the sound of the mewing actually came from the spirit of this skeleton, but I felt that this little creature in its final resting place deserved some words of peace. Though I lacked any experience with the other side, I decided to grab some rose petals from my bouquet next to the window, gently dropping them into the tomb while whispering words of comfort. I replaced the top floorboard, never to open it again.
Up until I moved away to a new house, I always kept listening, wondering if I would ever hear the faint cry of a cat again. I heard only silence.