Act I
The Old Woman rose from her chair. She had slept there all night, in front of the stove, her mother’s old blanket wrapped around her. Standing and stretching her whole body, she smiled at the cats. George was curling a figure of eight around her legs, Spassie Cass mewled a bit and Merlin, looking up at her in expectation, smiled. They knew the stretching thing, been doing it all their lives. Going to the basket in the corner, the Old Woman peered in. Matilda’s hazel eyes stared lovingly at her. Stirring beneath their dam, six kittens, all stripey and grey and tan, uncurled and preparing to breakfast, drew tiny needle claws across her underbelly. The Old Woman bent over, placing her nose close to Matilda’s, in feline kiss, they drew breath from eachother, satisfied.
As was her way, the Old Woman went to the stove and taking the simmer pot, poured out a cup of herbal. She stirred this, scent of honey drifting across the room and opened the cannister with yesterday’s gift from the Business Man. Scooping a large ladle of meaty goodness, the Cats screaming in excitement, she dumped their breakfast on the floor and watched as they swooped.
The Old Woman donned her old cloth coat and slipped her feet into her stout brogues and quietly left the cottage.
A couple of hours later, it is still dark, all shadows & smog. The docks are awakening with sounds of clanking chains, fishing boats starting & a cargo ship leaving port. Mists rising from the water, bringing chill to the air. The Old Woman is returning home after cleaning the Harbour Masters offices. She had been working there a long time. The last harbour master was a tight fisted old task-master, but this one, she liked. He was kind, let her make tea before starting work, was always happy and appreciative. Such a nice smile and a flock of blond hair brushing his brow. If only she were a few decades younger!
This well trod path, home to work and back, The Old Woman knew she could tread home with her eyes closed. Passing the abattoir, the doors were open. Glancing in, she saw human bodies on the meat hooks. Terrified, scuttling home, The Old Woman’s mind racing around myriad possibilities, she must be wrong. “Seeing things, I was”, she tells herself.
Act II
The businessman had just finished up hanging the last consignment. It was heavy work. He could not trust anyone else with this job, always worked alone, late into the night. His muscles rippling beneath his shirt, sweat finding it’s course, he had opened the sliding doors to let in some air. Didn’t help much. Smiling in satisfaction at a job well done, he glanced over at the open door. He saw that ugly old hag, the cleaner at his lover’s offices. He always pretended nice with her, gave her scraps for her cats. The Business Man hated cats. Gave him the creeps. Hated all animals, in fact. Especially the human kind.
The Business Man thought of his lover. That man knew what a man wanted! Earlier, in the offices, they had sat politely, drinking from the flagon, small talk about the day, about the ships, about Dirty Jon, the largest trawler and it’s skipper, with his strong lips and tight butt. How they had laughed and then tore at eachother’s clothing.
The Business Man wondered if he loved The Harbour Master. He loved being with him, loved their trysts, hated going home to house full of women, mother, sisters, wife, all wanting something.
Well, beginning with The Old Woman, he was about to fix that.
Act III
Sensing something is wrong, the cats are agitated. The Old Woman cannot sleep, she sits and rocks in her chair & frets. Spassie Cass tries to move from her usual perch. The Old Woman always marvels at how the rest of the family accept and even respect the spastic cat, Cassie. How gentle they are with her, how anytime she wants it, they will move from her spot, at the headrest of the old sofa.
Suddenly, the door creaks open, like there’s someone there who wants to both announce and hide their presence. The Old Woman turns and sees The Businessman stepping into her home. His face is thunderous and he is holding a cleaver. Terror crawls through The Old Woman’s skin, sinking into her bones. Cold now, frozen to the spot, mindless.
George screeches and flies at The Businessman’s head. The Business Man screams and tries to run but he cannot fight off this large tom cat. Matilda, fearful for her kits, leaves her basket, all skin and bones with vicious intent, she crawls, close to the ground to remove the threat. She launches at The Business Man’s face, double paw claws scrape down, across his eye. She glances at George, who seems to have everything under control and runs back to her litter. Merlin, loves his litter-mate Matilda, he does not like to see her having to work so hard. He loves his Queen, The Old Woman, he knows she is afraid. Nothing was normal right now. A natural fighter, Merlin strolls over to the warring George and Businessman and sunk his teeth into a human leg. Tasting familiar, Merlin bit down harder. George, distracted for a moment, releases his clawed grip, jumps to the ground. The Businessman backs away, running out, with Merlin still attached to his leg.
The Old Woman has not moved from her chair. The cats surround her. Now the threat has gone, even Matilda is there, mewing, worming around the chair, The Old Woman’s legs. The cats and The Old Woman share the chair, all night long. She rocks, they purr, sometimes stopping to kiss her.
Act IV
Next day, the Harbour Master is angry his office hasn’t been cleaned. His lover The Businessman, will not be impressed. The Harbour Master gets on with his day. There is inventory to check, licenses to update. An irate union man to placate. The Harbour Master’s thoughts keep drifting to his lover, the man of his dreams. He shakes his head. “Focus”, he tells himself, restarting the count.
At the usual time, the Businessman arrives, he is covered in scratch marks, his eye scabbed over, is still bleeding.
“Oh, my love! Whatever has happened?” exclaimed The Harbour Master. The Businessman told his lover a tale of hateful cats, attacking him for no reason.
“They belong to your char woman,” he said. “I see this place is a mess. Problems?”
The Harbour Master complained how The Old Woman had not come into work. “I don’t understand it,” he said, “never missed a day and now, nothing, not even a note. Perhaps she is ill or dead”
They reach out to console eachother and then made love, again, as was their way.
Afterwards, no afterglow. Just angst and rage and concern. Two men, nursing a bucket full of ambiguity. They hit the flagon. Using a beautifully laundered hankie, the Businessman dabs at his eye. Blood stains the linen but he does not care. The women at his house were useful for some things. Maybe, he wont kill them all. He liked his mother’s cooking. The house was always spotlessly clean, his clothes well cared for. He did not know if they deserved to live or die. Only that they were useful and he hated them.
The Harbour Master’s concern for The Old Woman spilled over. “Something’s wrong. Why hasn’t she sent a message or something? That boy who lives nearby or something?”
“Why so worried? She’s just an old bitch with no sense! You sure you can trust her? Seen the way she looks at you. Think she knows about us? Jealous maybe?” said The Businessman
“Nah,” replied The Harbour Master, “she’s dumb. Maybe jealous type but real dumb, if you know what I mean”
“I’m sure she set those cats on me. She the boss of them alright. Can’t think why.” The Businessman paused, chewed his lip a bit. Looking sideways at his lover he continued, “Always wondered how a skinny old bint like her could do such a good job keeping this place clean. How she move all that heavy furniture? How she live like she does? Not saying she’s rich or anything but she always has spare to treat those cats. Pays the boy’s mother to do laundry for her. Pays his pa for the firewood. How she do it?”
“Not sure” said The Harbour Master. “Never really thought about it. She does do a good job and right enough, I have seen her move that cabinet, twice the size of her. Didn’t even break a sweat”
“Maybe she a witch!” replied The Businessman. He watched as the idea played it’s way around his lover’s face.
Nervously laughing, The Harbour Master nodded, “Maybe, maybe sat at her cauldron right now.” They laughed and laughed, used insult after insult until they agreed, she was indeed a witch and deserved to a good dunkin in the brine.
Act V
The Old Woman sat soothing her cats. After The Businessman had escaped, the cats ran around, climbing, screeching, even hissing at eachother. Anyone would think a storm on it’s way. She had called them to her and gathered them to her body. Even Matilda’s kits had left their sanctuary and joined her. There they all sat, rocking together, all ten hearts and breath and life, together.
Slowly, the cats begin to meld into The Old Woman. She can feel George, wrapping himself around her heart. His heart, beating as one with her own. She felt the other cats find comfort within her. Their warmth unfreezing her terror, warming her to the bone. The purring, a rhythmic symphony, taking her back, through the annuls of time, the never-ending course, like the Nile, all the way to the beginning without end. And in a while, she fell asleep.
Awakening, The Old Woman goes about her usual early morning routine. No cats to greet her this morn. She knows they like a bit of honey. She does not know why. “It will serve as an appetiser” she thought as she downed the hot herbal. Slipping on her coat and shoes, she smiled at the memory of last night. Of The Businessman, his intent and his surprise. She hoped he was still bleeding. She thought of all those dead bodies but was no longer afeared of the abattoir, or it’s owner and she had never been afraid of the ghosts that had tried to haunt her. She had her cats with her, so many this time. Some about to begin weaning.
She does the walk to work one last time.
The lovers, entwined and languorous only see her when it’s too late. She has entered the office, she has taken her coat off and there is a vision of some creature, tall as a grown woman, lithe as a lynx. They do not see how barbed the tail, sharp the claw, long the tooth. They feel nothing but terror and pain as they watch eachother, in agony.
Act VI
Once The Old Woman and her cats are sated, she runs out of the office, coat in hand, screaming, “Help, help. Something terrible has happened.”
A worker from the abattoir comes running. “We need the police!” he cried. “It’s like a horror movie in there!” He began retching then vomited his dinner up. The Old Woman felt the urge to go over and sniff the vomit then decided she was not some mangy cur. “Did you call the police?” she asked the green skinned vomit man. He could only weep.
Nee-naw, nee-naw, sirens blaring, police arrive. Somebody had called them. The Old Woman tells them she found these men dead when she arrived to work. Forensic team arrives. They check the office and then go over to the abattoir. Half a dozen mortuary vans come to collect the bodies.
The Inspector says there will have to be major inquiries. She seems more interested in the abattoir than the bodies in the office.
Forensic find human and feline blood in the office. Bite marks to the dead bodies are neither. Nor is the saliva. Larger than a normal human bite, not as large as any known big-cat. Other mace-like marks, all over the bodies. Some of the human blood proves to be The Old Woman’s. Police accept her explanation about cutting herself whist washing up. One of the men had bled out. The other, younger man had died of a heart attack. The police report they can’t say how the men appear partially eaten.
The abattoir workers are interrogated, what did they know about human cadavers hanging in the processing room? Some of the bodies appeared to have been dead quite a while. Police knew they would have to look into trafficking, murder, disappearances. They were not happy, preferring online ‘research’ to having to deal with real people.
Press arrive en-mass. As she interviews The Old Woman, the reporter cannot help but notice how striking she is. From the pure white hair, still thick and luxurious, to the smooth brow, the slightly shagging eyebrows, bright green eyes, now hooded with time, to the sculptured cheekbones and the wide mouth, deeply lined each side. “This lady has known suffering” thought the reporter.
The Old Woman tells the press her history of working at the harbour. All the different jobs she has done from working trawlers back in the 1920’s when it was virtually unknown for women to do this work to her last job, cleaning the offices. She even mentioned her time as a ‘working girl’ at the cat-house under the pier and how at age 25, she had taken on the madam role.
Act VII
Police can find nothing to implicate any staff at either the abattoir or the Harbour Office in any of the crimes. Heralded in the press as the greatest ‘eerie mystery of our time’. Nobody knows what happened.
In Chinatown, there are whispers the killer was chimei, come out of the wilderness, starving and seeking human meat to survive. That the demon had killed hundreds to embalm before taking back to it’s lair and then used feminine wiles to lure the two men and eaten them alive. Others said it was E-gui, the hungry ghost. But most agreed, it was tiger-demon, having consumed it’s young, was now a man-eater.
One church also claimed the killer was a demon. The pastor shouted from pulpit to pod, how homosexuality would eat gay men alive and let this story be a warning. His wife was sceptical, she knew her husband was an idiot, a rich idiot to be sure, all that shouting and calling down hellfire had served them well but sexuality actually eating people? She was surprised anyone believed a word he said.
The press herald The Old Woman remarkable. She was invited on so many talk-shows she lost count. It was boring always being asked “How do you do it? How do you stay so young looking? Where do you get your strength, your agility?” She would always answer in the same way, “Good genes, I suppose” and refused to be drawn.
The Old Woman signs a book deal.
The cats sleep sated and purr all day.
The Old Woman rose from her chair. She had slept there all night, in front of the stove, her mother’s old blanket wrapped around her. Standing and stretching her whole body, she smiled at the cats. George was curling a figure of eight around her legs, Spassie Cass mewled a bit and Merlin, looking up at her in expectation, smiled. They knew the stretching thing, been doing it all their lives. Going to the basket in the corner, the Old Woman peered in. Matilda’s hazel eyes stared lovingly at her. Stirring beneath their dam, six kittens, all stripey and grey and tan, uncurled and preparing to breakfast, drew tiny needle claws across her underbelly. The Old Woman bent over, placing her nose close to Matilda’s, in feline kiss, they drew breath from eachother, satisfied.
As was her way, the Old Woman went to the stove and taking the simmer pot, poured out a cup of herbal. She stirred this, scent of honey drifting across the room and opened the cannister with yesterday’s gift from the Business Man. Scooping a large ladle of meaty goodness, the Cats screaming in excitement, she dumped their breakfast on the floor and watched as they swooped.
The Old Woman donned her old cloth coat and slipped her feet into her stout brogues and quietly left the cottage.
A couple of hours later, it is still dark, all shadows & smog. The docks are awakening with sounds of clanking chains, fishing boats starting & a cargo ship leaving port. Mists rising from the water, bringing chill to the air. The Old Woman is returning home after cleaning the Harbour Masters offices. She had been working there a long time. The last harbour master was a tight fisted old task-master, but this one, she liked. He was kind, let her make tea before starting work, was always happy and appreciative. Such a nice smile and a flock of blond hair brushing his brow. If only she were a few decades younger!
This well trod path, home to work and back, The Old Woman knew she could tread home with her eyes closed. Passing the abattoir, the doors were open. Glancing in, she saw human bodies on the meat hooks. Terrified, scuttling home, The Old Woman’s mind racing around myriad possibilities, she must be wrong. “Seeing things, I was”, she tells herself.
Act II
The businessman had just finished up hanging the last consignment. It was heavy work. He could not trust anyone else with this job, always worked alone, late into the night. His muscles rippling beneath his shirt, sweat finding it’s course, he had opened the sliding doors to let in some air. Didn’t help much. Smiling in satisfaction at a job well done, he glanced over at the open door. He saw that ugly old hag, the cleaner at his lover’s offices. He always pretended nice with her, gave her scraps for her cats. The Business Man hated cats. Gave him the creeps. Hated all animals, in fact. Especially the human kind.
The Business Man thought of his lover. That man knew what a man wanted! Earlier, in the offices, they had sat politely, drinking from the flagon, small talk about the day, about the ships, about Dirty Jon, the largest trawler and it’s skipper, with his strong lips and tight butt. How they had laughed and then tore at eachother’s clothing.
The Business Man wondered if he loved The Harbour Master. He loved being with him, loved their trysts, hated going home to house full of women, mother, sisters, wife, all wanting something.
Well, beginning with The Old Woman, he was about to fix that.
Act III
Sensing something is wrong, the cats are agitated. The Old Woman cannot sleep, she sits and rocks in her chair & frets. Spassie Cass tries to move from her usual perch. The Old Woman always marvels at how the rest of the family accept and even respect the spastic cat, Cassie. How gentle they are with her, how anytime she wants it, they will move from her spot, at the headrest of the old sofa.
Suddenly, the door creaks open, like there’s someone there who wants to both announce and hide their presence. The Old Woman turns and sees The Businessman stepping into her home. His face is thunderous and he is holding a cleaver. Terror crawls through The Old Woman’s skin, sinking into her bones. Cold now, frozen to the spot, mindless.
George screeches and flies at The Businessman’s head. The Business Man screams and tries to run but he cannot fight off this large tom cat. Matilda, fearful for her kits, leaves her basket, all skin and bones with vicious intent, she crawls, close to the ground to remove the threat. She launches at The Business Man’s face, double paw claws scrape down, across his eye. She glances at George, who seems to have everything under control and runs back to her litter. Merlin, loves his litter-mate Matilda, he does not like to see her having to work so hard. He loves his Queen, The Old Woman, he knows she is afraid. Nothing was normal right now. A natural fighter, Merlin strolls over to the warring George and Businessman and sunk his teeth into a human leg. Tasting familiar, Merlin bit down harder. George, distracted for a moment, releases his clawed grip, jumps to the ground. The Businessman backs away, running out, with Merlin still attached to his leg.
The Old Woman has not moved from her chair. The cats surround her. Now the threat has gone, even Matilda is there, mewing, worming around the chair, The Old Woman’s legs. The cats and The Old Woman share the chair, all night long. She rocks, they purr, sometimes stopping to kiss her.
Act IV
Next day, the Harbour Master is angry his office hasn’t been cleaned. His lover The Businessman, will not be impressed. The Harbour Master gets on with his day. There is inventory to check, licenses to update. An irate union man to placate. The Harbour Master’s thoughts keep drifting to his lover, the man of his dreams. He shakes his head. “Focus”, he tells himself, restarting the count.
At the usual time, the Businessman arrives, he is covered in scratch marks, his eye scabbed over, is still bleeding.
“Oh, my love! Whatever has happened?” exclaimed The Harbour Master. The Businessman told his lover a tale of hateful cats, attacking him for no reason.
“They belong to your char woman,” he said. “I see this place is a mess. Problems?”
The Harbour Master complained how The Old Woman had not come into work. “I don’t understand it,” he said, “never missed a day and now, nothing, not even a note. Perhaps she is ill or dead”
They reach out to console eachother and then made love, again, as was their way.
Afterwards, no afterglow. Just angst and rage and concern. Two men, nursing a bucket full of ambiguity. They hit the flagon. Using a beautifully laundered hankie, the Businessman dabs at his eye. Blood stains the linen but he does not care. The women at his house were useful for some things. Maybe, he wont kill them all. He liked his mother’s cooking. The house was always spotlessly clean, his clothes well cared for. He did not know if they deserved to live or die. Only that they were useful and he hated them.
The Harbour Master’s concern for The Old Woman spilled over. “Something’s wrong. Why hasn’t she sent a message or something? That boy who lives nearby or something?”
“Why so worried? She’s just an old bitch with no sense! You sure you can trust her? Seen the way she looks at you. Think she knows about us? Jealous maybe?” said The Businessman
“Nah,” replied The Harbour Master, “she’s dumb. Maybe jealous type but real dumb, if you know what I mean”
“I’m sure she set those cats on me. She the boss of them alright. Can’t think why.” The Businessman paused, chewed his lip a bit. Looking sideways at his lover he continued, “Always wondered how a skinny old bint like her could do such a good job keeping this place clean. How she move all that heavy furniture? How she live like she does? Not saying she’s rich or anything but she always has spare to treat those cats. Pays the boy’s mother to do laundry for her. Pays his pa for the firewood. How she do it?”
“Not sure” said The Harbour Master. “Never really thought about it. She does do a good job and right enough, I have seen her move that cabinet, twice the size of her. Didn’t even break a sweat”
“Maybe she a witch!” replied The Businessman. He watched as the idea played it’s way around his lover’s face.
Nervously laughing, The Harbour Master nodded, “Maybe, maybe sat at her cauldron right now.” They laughed and laughed, used insult after insult until they agreed, she was indeed a witch and deserved to a good dunkin in the brine.
Act V
The Old Woman sat soothing her cats. After The Businessman had escaped, the cats ran around, climbing, screeching, even hissing at eachother. Anyone would think a storm on it’s way. She had called them to her and gathered them to her body. Even Matilda’s kits had left their sanctuary and joined her. There they all sat, rocking together, all ten hearts and breath and life, together.
Slowly, the cats begin to meld into The Old Woman. She can feel George, wrapping himself around her heart. His heart, beating as one with her own. She felt the other cats find comfort within her. Their warmth unfreezing her terror, warming her to the bone. The purring, a rhythmic symphony, taking her back, through the annuls of time, the never-ending course, like the Nile, all the way to the beginning without end. And in a while, she fell asleep.
Awakening, The Old Woman goes about her usual early morning routine. No cats to greet her this morn. She knows they like a bit of honey. She does not know why. “It will serve as an appetiser” she thought as she downed the hot herbal. Slipping on her coat and shoes, she smiled at the memory of last night. Of The Businessman, his intent and his surprise. She hoped he was still bleeding. She thought of all those dead bodies but was no longer afeared of the abattoir, or it’s owner and she had never been afraid of the ghosts that had tried to haunt her. She had her cats with her, so many this time. Some about to begin weaning.
She does the walk to work one last time.
The lovers, entwined and languorous only see her when it’s too late. She has entered the office, she has taken her coat off and there is a vision of some creature, tall as a grown woman, lithe as a lynx. They do not see how barbed the tail, sharp the claw, long the tooth. They feel nothing but terror and pain as they watch eachother, in agony.
Act VI
Once The Old Woman and her cats are sated, she runs out of the office, coat in hand, screaming, “Help, help. Something terrible has happened.”
A worker from the abattoir comes running. “We need the police!” he cried. “It’s like a horror movie in there!” He began retching then vomited his dinner up. The Old Woman felt the urge to go over and sniff the vomit then decided she was not some mangy cur. “Did you call the police?” she asked the green skinned vomit man. He could only weep.
Nee-naw, nee-naw, sirens blaring, police arrive. Somebody had called them. The Old Woman tells them she found these men dead when she arrived to work. Forensic team arrives. They check the office and then go over to the abattoir. Half a dozen mortuary vans come to collect the bodies.
The Inspector says there will have to be major inquiries. She seems more interested in the abattoir than the bodies in the office.
Forensic find human and feline blood in the office. Bite marks to the dead bodies are neither. Nor is the saliva. Larger than a normal human bite, not as large as any known big-cat. Other mace-like marks, all over the bodies. Some of the human blood proves to be The Old Woman’s. Police accept her explanation about cutting herself whist washing up. One of the men had bled out. The other, younger man had died of a heart attack. The police report they can’t say how the men appear partially eaten.
The abattoir workers are interrogated, what did they know about human cadavers hanging in the processing room? Some of the bodies appeared to have been dead quite a while. Police knew they would have to look into trafficking, murder, disappearances. They were not happy, preferring online ‘research’ to having to deal with real people.
Press arrive en-mass. As she interviews The Old Woman, the reporter cannot help but notice how striking she is. From the pure white hair, still thick and luxurious, to the smooth brow, the slightly shagging eyebrows, bright green eyes, now hooded with time, to the sculptured cheekbones and the wide mouth, deeply lined each side. “This lady has known suffering” thought the reporter.
The Old Woman tells the press her history of working at the harbour. All the different jobs she has done from working trawlers back in the 1920’s when it was virtually unknown for women to do this work to her last job, cleaning the offices. She even mentioned her time as a ‘working girl’ at the cat-house under the pier and how at age 25, she had taken on the madam role.
Act VII
Police can find nothing to implicate any staff at either the abattoir or the Harbour Office in any of the crimes. Heralded in the press as the greatest ‘eerie mystery of our time’. Nobody knows what happened.
In Chinatown, there are whispers the killer was chimei, come out of the wilderness, starving and seeking human meat to survive. That the demon had killed hundreds to embalm before taking back to it’s lair and then used feminine wiles to lure the two men and eaten them alive. Others said it was E-gui, the hungry ghost. But most agreed, it was tiger-demon, having consumed it’s young, was now a man-eater.
One church also claimed the killer was a demon. The pastor shouted from pulpit to pod, how homosexuality would eat gay men alive and let this story be a warning. His wife was sceptical, she knew her husband was an idiot, a rich idiot to be sure, all that shouting and calling down hellfire had served them well but sexuality actually eating people? She was surprised anyone believed a word he said.
The press herald The Old Woman remarkable. She was invited on so many talk-shows she lost count. It was boring always being asked “How do you do it? How do you stay so young looking? Where do you get your strength, your agility?” She would always answer in the same way, “Good genes, I suppose” and refused to be drawn.
The Old Woman signs a book deal.
The cats sleep sated and purr all day.
