Page 125 of Not Quite Dead Yet

On the right-hand side was a darkened room, no lights, just a pale glow from a window in the background. In front of it, lit from the silver of the computer screen, was a cat.

Not a real cat, not even a full cat. Some kind of filter: a digital ginger-and-white cat face plastered over the human one below, moving with it, blinking bright green, uncanny eyes. The cat wore a dark hoodie zipped up to cover their neck. Pointed cat ears out the top of their head, just a sliver of visible dark hair, but their human ears showed beyond the orange fur.

It tilted its head, cat face moving with it, staring right at Jet, almost an entire year later.

She felt the hairs stand up on her arm. Just one arm.

Then flinched as a sound erupted from the speakers: Town Hall bursting into laughter.

Gerry Clay hooted.

Jet’s mom covered her mouth with her hand, giggled into it.

‘Oh dear!’ Gerry called over all the commotion, barely able to speak. ‘Ms Duffy, is that you?’

‘Oh my god.’ Florence Chu laughed so hard she had to wipe her eyes.

‘I’m afraid it looks like you have some kind of filter on,’ Gerry continued. ‘Has one of your grandchildren been playing on your computer, Ms Duffy?’ His voice broke, more laughter, high and tuneful, before he wiped it away. ‘Is there anyone there who can help you turn it off?’

The cat blinked slowly.

Opened its mouth, a flash of human teeth.

An awful, inhuman sound rattled against the laptop speakers.

Gerry Clay covered his ears; so did the old chief of police, and Billy.

‘I don’t want to turn it off,’ the cat said, its voice terrible and deep, from another world, reverberating on each word. Some kind of voice-changing software. ‘I don’t want you to know who I am.’

The hair rose up the back of Jet’s neck now. Billy pressed closer.

Gerry lowered his hands, the smile still on his face, flickering at the edges, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or …

‘Who are you?’ he said, deciding to go with the smile, but the laughter was gone, almost all trace of it.

Dianne’s hand was still in front of her mouth.

‘I’m a citizen of Woodstock,’ the cat answered in its dark and dreadful voice. ‘And I have a comment. For Dianne Mason.’

Jet’s mom lowered her hand, uncovering her mouth.

‘About Mason Construction,’ the cat added.

Dianne found her voice, an audible clack from her tongue. ‘Well, I don’t actually work there. That’s my husband’s company. Do you have a comment about –’

‘– I want to know, how do you sleep at night?’ the cat asked, tilting its head the other way.

‘Excuse me?’ Dianne’s voice rose.

‘How do you sleep at night?’ the cat repeated, voice growling, filling Town Hall, and Billy’s apartment one year later. ‘Stealing people’s homes so you can build mansions and vacation homes for people who don’t even live here.’

Dianne shook her head, sharing a glance with Gerry.

‘Mason Construction does notstealhomes,’ Dianne replied. ‘And if you don’t mind, we –’

‘– offering too much money to people who are too weak to say no. What’s the difference between that and stealing? You’re still predators.’

‘Milly,’ Gerry called, ‘I think we should –’

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