MY ENCOUNTER WITH A GRIMALKIN

In my biography of Cailly Leach, I observed that artists have long been captivated by this mystical entity, frequently portrayed as a cat. However, I never anticipated having the honor of witnessing her presence firsthand.

She is a storyteller of immense experience, having lived through countless years. She has witnessed war, pestilence, and the myriad transgressions of humanity, consistently finding herself captivated by creative individuals.

Since my childhood, I have been dedicated to writing—perhaps not always with skill, but with unwavering persistence. I have also explored dimensional art, photography and art.

In the early 1990s, I encountered a fascinating term in Webster's Collegiate Dictionary: Grimalkin. Intrigued, I delved into research and discovered its mention in Shakespeare's Macbeth. Although the legends appear to be rooted in the Scottish Highlands, the tale of Cailly metamorphosis actually originates from 16th-century Irish folklore.

I authored a short poem titled The Grimalkin, which was published in a small press magazine in the early '90s.

Subsequently, I revised and republished this poem, along with others, in various small press magazines, college publications, and anthologies, while also writing and publishing short stories and aspiring to author a book.

In the oppressive summer of 2018, at precisely 10:13 pm, the usual cacophony of night sounds fell abruptly silent, leaving an eerie stillness that sent shivers down my spine. A soft, unsettling tapping echoed against my sliding glass door, clawing at the edges of my sanity.

With trepidation, I pulled aside the vertical blinds and was met by the sight of a stout, gray and white Ragdoll cat. Her striking golden eyes glimmered with a predatory glint, almost too intelligent for a mere animal. As I slid open the door, she entered with an unsettling confidence, her tail arching like a fluffy, gray exclamation point, a sinister punctuation mark against the night. But it was her bones that caught my attention—glowing with a blinding white light, tiny electrical currents coursed through her body like a live wire, a grotesque display of unnatural vitality.

In a matter of seconds, a horde of cats, each more grotesque than the last, slinked in behind her, their shapes contorting in the shadows, mimicking her every move with an eerie synchronicity. It was clear she was the Alpha, a queen among fiends.

I recoiled as she brushed against my legs, a chilling caress that sent a jolt of fear through me. Clutched in her mouth was something grotesque—a dead bat, its lifeless form dangling as she dropped it at my feet, nudging it toward me with a predatory glee.

Paralyzed by dread, I wondered, Should I be worried? Has the devil come to claim me? Will he offer me literary greatness in exchange for my very soul?

"Sure'in you don't believe I'm the Devil now, do ya'?" the feline purred, her voice a soft, alluring whisper laced with an Irish accent, her mouth remaining unnaturally still. I realized then that she was communicating telepathically, her words echoing in my mind like a haunting melody.

"You're—you're Cailly Ceann Leach!" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper, a mix of awe and terror.

"I am," she replied, her tone dripping with a chilling nonchalance.

If the tales I'd heard were true, she would expect an offering. I squatted before her, heart pounding, but before I could utter a word, she swiped at my hand, her curved claws slicing through flesh with ease. I gasped as she began to lap at the blood, her tongue a wicked, serpentine flicker. Before I could pull away, my wound healed, leaving no trace behind. "Holy shit!" I exclaimed, disbelief coursing through me. "This is unreal!"

"Let us dispense with this useless blather," Cailly commanded in my mind, her voice now a dark whisper. "Sit down. I have much to tell you."

Without thinking, I blurted, "Do you mind if I record this? Your words will be immortalized." My voice trembled with both excitement and dread.

She narrowed her eyes, a predatory glint dancing within them, and replied, "You may proceed." A chilling chuckle escaped her, echoing in my mind, leaving me unsettled.

I grabbed my digital recorder, my hands shaking as I activated it. I sat on the couch, an island of sanity amid the encroaching madness, while she perched on the floor beneath me, her tail flicking like a serpent poised to strike. Her melodic Celtic timbre wove a tapestry of words that dripped with malice, punctuated by sinister proverbs and ominous sayings.

Time slipped away, hours melting into the dark as the clock struck midnight. Suddenly, the drapes parted, and my sliding glass door squealed open as if beckoned by an unseen force. Cailly and her clowder surged out into the abyss, their forms swallowed by the night. The door slammed shut behind them, latching with a finality that echoed in my bones. I snatched my recorder, heart racing, only to be met with a cacophony of static, my shallow breathing punctuated by the occasional Mmm, hmms, uh huhs and ah, ha's—a haunting reminder of the dark communion I had just witnessed.

A month or so later, I got a white 8 x 10 envelope. Inside, there was a portrait of a radiant cat sitting on a hill of skulls, along with a photo of the striking, dark-haired artist from Block Island, RI named Valeria Candelaria.

She had portrayed Cailly with exquisite detail as she had envisioned her. Val also included a remarkable story of how Cailly rescued her from an abusive relationship. She had become one of her chosen.

Two days later, I commenced my short story collection on my desktop, striving to recall all of Cailly's narratives while maintaining her intensity, yet expressing them in my own words. I included my rendition of Val's story, placing it as the opening piece. Additionally, I incorporated a modified image of her painting on the cover, with her permission.

I completed the collection in late 2019, and it was published in February 2020 during the Covid-19 pandemic. All Things Truly Wicked: Tales of Sinners, Saints, Science, and the Supernatural featuring 11 dynamic stories about conflicted characters drawn to the unknown.

Whispers in the Dark

Since then, CaiIly has haunted my nights, appearing in the dead of darkness, her presence sending shivers down my spine. Each visit is more unsettling than the last; her eyes gleam with an otherworldly light, a stark contrast to the shadows that envelop us.

She’s far from pleased with how I’ve spun her tales, and her whispers are laced with a chilling urgency. I’ve rewritten the entire book under her watchful gaze, her spectral fingers guiding my trembling hand. Now, I’m feverishly working on getting All Things Truly Wicked, 2nd Edition published, though I can’t shake the feeling that I’m merely a vessel for her sinister stories.

Dark Inspirations

CaiIly has been unearthing even more spine-chilling tales—macabre secrets of magic, the finality of death, the wickedness of witches, and the eerie whispers of the otherworldly. Each narrative she shares wraps around my mind like a creeping vine, tightening its grip with every word. She’s transformed my writing, forcing me to delve deeper into the abyss of horror, revealing techniques that no teacher, website, class, or college course could ever impart. I find myself both terrified and grateful for her influence.

A Gruesome Sacrifice

Yet, there’s a price to pay for her guidance... I’m running out of fingers to prick for blood! Each drop spilled is a pact sealed, a connection forged in the darkness. My gratitude is overshadowed by dread. Thank goodness she’s not a vampire, I remind myself, though her thirst for my essence feels just as insatiable. I can only wonder what will happen when I can no longer offer her my blood—will she abandon me to the void, or will she demand a far worse sacrifice?