H'aint Nothing To Worry About

Today is the letter H in the A to Z Blog Challenge. It is also #MotivationMonday, so I have combined the two.

H is for H'aint. A h'aint is a spook, lost soul and one of the undead. Chiefly southern U.S, it is a varient of haunt. Some of my favorite Twilight episodes are about h'aints, who are usually shown to be clueless as to their undead state. One of my favorites had grandpa falling apart, but others showed them as looking human, just...different. They don't necessarily have to be evil, but lets face it...evil is more fun.

H’aint Nothing To Worry About

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

We never thought we’d see him again.  Tori cried for a week when we told her that Frank was missing. A month went by and then one day we heard a yowling outside the front door. Tori’s eyes lit up and she went running to the door and threw it open. It was obvious from his matted fur and open wounds, Frank had been through an ordeal. The most horrifying part was the gash that circled his neck. Someone had kept Frank tied up. 

“Who would do something like this,” I asked the vet.

Dr. Sugar shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve seen this a lot lately, both cats  and dogs missing for weeks, then suddenly showing back up with wounds similar to Frank’s.  Some found their way back home, but most were found dead along the roadside.”

“But…what’s being done about this?”

“Dead animals on the side of the road aren’t unexpected and even with physical evidence of abuse, not a high priority for law enforcement.”

I took Frank home and called the police. They sent someone by, but it was obvious the officer was only there to appease me and there was no real interest in finding out what happened to, what was after all, “only a cat.”  I dismissed the officer, who skirted past a hissing Frank.

“I don’t like him either,” I said, picking Frank up and smoothing his fur down.

Frank had changed. He no longer tried to go outside, staying close to Tori. When she would go out to play, Frank sat in the window, watching. I had a feeling he knew something bad was coming.

Tori was outside when Frank’s back arched. Hissing and spitting, he clawed at the front door, demanding that it be opened. I followed him, calling for Tori. When I reached the front walk, she was standing there with the officer that had taken my report. The back door to his cruiser was open and it looked like he was trying to put her in the car. Frank attacked the cop, leaping through the air and clawing at his face. Tori ran to me, crying and we both stared in disbelief as the man changed. His skin began to mottle, turning greenish, blackening in some spots. He…It, knocked Frank off and turned towards us, reaching for Tori. Frank launched himself at the corpses feet, for I could see now that the man was dead, animated as though we were in some zombie apocalypse style movie.

The creature, my grandmother would have called it a h’aint, ran, leaving a finger behind. I called the police and they took it with them as evidence. When the officer left, Frank hissed, flattening his ears. That was a week ago and I haven’t read anything about it in the paper, even after I called them. My neighbor’s son is missing and no one seems concerned. Frank sits on the window sill every day, watching and waiting.  I no longer let Tori go out and play.