By Onision in Short Stories
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In the shadowed outskirts of Derry, Maine, where the Penobscot River whispered secrets to the overgrown banks and the old mill houses sagged like weary old men under the weight of forgotten dreams, there lived a man named Elias Thorn. Folks in town called him Old Eli, or sometimes just "that queer fella up on Ridge Road," because he kept to himself, rarely venturing into the bustling heart of Derry where the **** rode their bikes in endless loops and the adults swapped gossip over coffee at the diner. Elias wasn't queer in the way they meant it... not really... but he was different. He had a way about him, a quiet intensity that made the air hum when he passed by, like the low buzz of power lines after a storm. Elias was a wizard, though he'd never call himself that. He preferred "practitioner," or on bad days, just "tired old bastard who's seen too much."
His house was a rambling Victorian affair, paint peeling like sunburned skin, with gables that creaked in the wind and a porch swing that swung on its own sometimes, as if ghosts were taking a load off. Inside, the rooms smelled of pipe tobacco and musty books, shelves groaning under tomes with spines cracked from centuries of use. Spells whispered from yellowed pages, potions bubbled in the cellar, but Elias kept his magic subtle, hidden from prying eyes. He had three dogs: Buster, a hulking German Shepherd with a bark like thunder; Daisy, a sprightly Beagle who chased her tail in endless circles; and Max, a mutt of indeterminate breed, all wiry fur and sad eyes that seemed to know more than they should. They were good dogs, loyal and uncomplicated, eating their kibble from metal bowls in the kitchen without complaint.
And then there was the cat. Whiskers, Elias had named her, though she answered to nothing but the rattle of a food can. She was a long-haired white beauty, fur like fresh snow on a moonlit field, eyes green as envy itself. But beauty hid a bottomless pit of greed. Whiskers wasn't just hungry; she was ravenous, a creature driven by some ancient, primal urge that no full belly could satisfy. Biology, Elias figured, or maybe something darker, a glitch in her feline soul that turned want into need, need into obsession.
It started small, as these things often do. Elias would fill the dogs' bowls at dusk, when the kitchen filled with the golden slant of evening light filtering through lace curtains yellowed by time. The kibble clattered into the bowls... brown nuggets smelling of rendered meat and grains, a hearty mix of cow and chicken parts ground fine and baked hard. Buster, Daisy, and Max would gather 'round, tails wagging like metronomes, their jaws working in rhythmic crunches that echoed off the linoleum floor. Whiskers would watch from her perch on the windowsill, those green eyes narrowing to slits, her tail twitching like a serpent ready to strike.
She'd eaten already, of course. Elias spoiled her with tins of fancy feast... tuna in gravy, salmon pate... portions that would sate any normal cat twice over. Her belly would swell, fur stretching taut over the bulge, but it wasn't enough. Never enough. Biology, remember? That hardwired imperative to gorge when food was plentiful, a holdover from wild days when meals were uncertain. But in Elias's house, food was always there, and Whiskers's biology had twisted into something uglier: gluttony laced with spite.
The first theft was sly. As the dogs bent to their bowls, Whiskers slunk down, her paws silent as fog on the river. She darted in, snatched a mouthful from Buster's edge, and retreated before he could growl. The kibble crunched between her teeth, dry and savory, exploding with flavors of blended beasts that her fancy feasts lacked. Satisfaction bloomed in her gut, warm and illicit, better than any legitimate meal. Elias caught her at it once or twice, his voice booming like a distant storm: "Whiskers! Stay away from the dogs' food! You've had your fill, you greedy little thief!"
She didn't care. Rules were for dogs, those slobbering fools who begged and obeyed. Cats made their own laws. And so she grew bolder. Nights when Elias dozed in his armchair by the fire, pipe smoldering, she'd raid the bowls outright, batting kibble across the floor like marbles, devouring what she could before the dogs stirred. Her body changed, slowly at first. Fur that once flowed like silk now bunched over a rounding belly, her steps losing their grace, turning into a waddle. She was getting fat, fatter than any house cat had a right to be, but the thrill outweighed the discomfort. Stealing was the spice; the fullness, the drug.
Elias warned her time and again. "Cat," he'd say, scooping her up in his gnarled hands, his eyes like chips of blue ice, "you're pushing it. Let the dogs eat in peace. You're already bursting at the seams." She'd purr innocently, rubbing her head against him, but inside, her mind was a whirl of defiance. Food. More food. The squat in the litter box became a ritual, pushing out pounds of half-digested mush, the stench filling the air like a foul perfume, just to make room for the next raid. Blended cows and chicken, churned into dog chow, sliding down her throat in glorious gulps.
The wizard's patience wore thin. Elias had seen enough in his long life... demons in the woods, curses that twisted men into monsters... to know when a lesson was needed. Magic wasn't for petty squabbles, but Whiskers was testing him. One evening, as the autumn wind howled outside, rattling the panes like skeletal fingers, he cornered her on the counter. The kitchen smelled of roasting chicken from his own supper, steam rising from the pot like ghosts. Whiskers eyed the dogs' bowls, her mouth watering.
"Cat," Elias intoned, his voice low and grave, carrying the weight of ancient incantations, "this is your final warning. If you don't stop stealing from the dogs... I'll curse you with such obesity that you won't lose even after weeks of starvation! I'll paralyze you, and give you overwhelming girth to boot! You'll regret it! Mark my words!"
Whiskers flicked her tail, dismissing him. Wizards and their bluster. What did he know of hunger's call? That night, she ignored the dogs altogether. Instead, as Elias sat at the table, fork midway to his mouth with a juicy bite of chicken, she leaped up, bold as brass. Her paws landed on the edge of his plate, and she snatched a morsel right from under his nose. The meat was warm, seasoned with herbs and salt, a forbidden delight.
Elias's eyes flashed with fury. "Enough!" he thundered, and the air crackled with power. A wave of magic surged from his fingertips, invisible but potent, wrapping around Whiskers like a shroud. In that instant, her body betrayed her. Fat bloomed beneath her skin, swelling like dough in an oven. Her belly expanded, tripling in size, fur stretching thin over rolls of blubber that jiggled and quivered. She yowled in shock, her legs buckling under the sudden weight. Three times her body fat... more, perhaps... and she toppled from the table, rolling like a snowball down a hill. She smacked into a near wooden chair seat with a thud that rattled the dishes, then hit the floor with a meaty slap, linoleum cool against her overheated flesh.
At first, ecstasy. The fullness was unlike anything she'd known... a tidal wave of satiation crashing through her, every cell stuffed to bursting. She moaned with joy, a deep, rumbling purr that vibrated her massive form. But then reality seeped in. She tried to stand, paws scrabbling weakly, but her body was a prison of lard. Legs splayed out, useless; tail buried under folds. She was immobile, a white blob on the kitchen floor, heart pounding in panic.
Elias stood over her, face stern. "You brought this on yourself, cat. Learn!" He shouted again "Learn damn you!" And he left her there, the dogs eyeing her curiously before returning to their bowls. Whiskers watched them eat, envy burning like acid in her gut. Buster crunched kibble inches from her nose, Daisy lapped at scraps, Max slurped water with noisy abandon. She moaned in anger, a pitiful wail that echoed off the walls, but she couldn't move. Not an inch.
The days blurred into nights, the kitchen her world. Pee trickled out first, warm and shameful, soaking into her fur. Elias cleaned it up without a word, his broom sweeping like judgment, mop swabbing in wicked squeals. The smell clung to everything... ammonia-sharp urine... mingling with the perpetual aroma of dog food that taunted her. Hunger gnawed now, the curse's fullness fading into a hollow ache, but Elias provided only water. A shallow dish placed before her nose, her head lolling sideways, half-submerged by gravity's cruel pull. She lapped weakly, water dribbling down her chin, pooling around her immense form.
Months dragged on, seasons shifting outside the window. Fall leaves turned to winter snow, blanketing Derry in white silence. Whiskers wasted away, fat melting slowly without sustenance, her body cannibalizing itself. Skin hung loose now, fur matted and dull, eyes sunken into sockets like embers in ash. Still, she couldn't move, limbs atrophied, muscles forgotten, and the wizard's curse in tow. The dogs came and went, eating their fill, their barks and playful romps a torture. She'd moan when they approached, green eyes pleading, but they ignored her, sensing the wrongness.
One crisp spring morning, when the river thawed and birds sang mocking tunes, Elias squatted before her. His knees creaked like the house's old bones, his face lined with reluctant pity. "Cat," he said softly, "I've taught you a lesson, haven't I?" Whiskers moaned, a feeble sound, her body a shadow of its former obesity but still pinned by the curse's remnants.
"I will lift this curse," he continued, "if you swear you'll never steal from the dogs again." Another moan, what passed for assent in her broken state.
With a sigh, Elias waved his hand, murmuring words in a tongue older than Derry itself. The magic unraveled, weight lifting like mist in the sun. Whiskers felt strength return, tentative at first. She pushed up, legs wobbling, body gaunt and trembling. Freedom! She staggered to the litter box, relieving herself properly for the first time in months, then lapped more water, the coolness a balm.
But biology is a stubborn beast. The very next day, as Elias filled the dogs' bowls, Whiskers felt the pull. The kibble's scent hit her like a drug, memories of theft's thrill overriding the horror. She darted in, snatching a mouthful from Daisy's bowl. The dogs barked, Elias shouted, but it was too late. The cycle resumed.
Years passed in a haze of gluttony. Whiskers ballooned again, stealing with reckless abandon, her body a battlefield of excess. Health faltered: breaths came short, heart stuttered like a faulty engine. One rainy afternoon, not quite as fat as the time of the wizards curse, but near by her own self-destructive choices... she collapsed mid-food raid, eyes glazing over, felling from sight of the freshly filled dog bowls, to the dusty floor, as organs failed under the strain. Elias found her cold and contorted laying on her side, lifeless, a white furred husk.
He buried her in the backyard, under a willow that wept eternal tears. "No more cats," he muttered to the wind, pipe clenched in his teeth. The dogs whined at his side, but Elias turned away, the house feeling emptier, the magic dimmer. In Derry, life went on... **** on bikes, gossip at the diner... but for Elias Thorn, the wizard who cursed a cat, some lessons cut too deep.
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