The queen, resplendent in tabby-and-white fur, regarded the spirit at the foot of the stairs with a lazy half-lidded glance.
‘And what is it you seek again?’ She asked in a delicate prrt.
The spirit rubbed its heavy clawed hands together. No larger than a tennis ball, it was nonetheless sharply scaled and sharper-toothed.
‘The stairs,’ it croaked. ‘Let me up! I will chew on the dreams of those who rule you, shredding them into nightmares.’
The queen’s tail thumped once in a heavy gavel-beat. ‘No one rules me,’ she said.
The spirit attempted to ascend a step.
Quick as a flash, she struck out at him with outstretched claws. He fell back, howling.
The queen resettled. She yawned, baring her teeth, and he drew further back. ‘I don’t think I will let you up, you know,’ she said. ‘Now go away. I won’t ask again.’
—
For October, all microfiction is dedicated to Gwenfar’s Garden in honour of her birthmonth! This one inspired by her kitty, Freya.
Lol this reminds me of my friend and the story she told me about a little goblin that would always press on her shower curtain with its tiny claws. Never to be seen again after moving out of that house.