This week, we have a story sent in by a fan who may have encountered the spirit of a cat!
I used to be a huge skeptic the kind of person who listened to ghost stories with a tight, patronizing smile. To me, every “encounter” was just a drafty window or a brain looking for patterns in the dark. I preferred the cold comfort of logic. But logic has a way of dissolving when you’re standing in a small, brightly lit bathroom, staring at something that shouldn’t be possible.
I was staying with friends in a house that felt perfectly ordinary. There were six of us in the house: two adults, three teenagers, and Jimi, a chunky black cat with a penchant for mischief.
It was a normal evening, the television was humming in the living room, and the house was filled with the familiar, cozy sounds of people existing in close quarters. I got up to use the restroom, flicked on the light, and stepped inside.
The shower curtain was drawn shut. From behind the heavy fabric, I heard it: the frantic, playful scritch-scratch of paws against the tub. It was a sound I’d heard a thousand times. Patter-patter-slide. I watched, not thinking much of it, as the curtain jerked. A distinct, feline shape pressed against the plastic from the inside, bulging outward before retreating, only to strike again a few inches higher.
It was a cat at play. I could hear the rhythmic thump of landing and the frantic sliding of soft pads on slick porcelain.
“Jimi, get out of the tub!” I said, my voice echoing off the tiles.
I reached out and yanked the curtain back, ready to scold the cat as he bolted.
Two things happened in the same heartbeat. From the living room, one of the girls called out, “You’re going to have to move him yourself—Jimi’s fast asleep on my lap!”
And I found myself staring into a void.
The bathtub was empty. It wasn’t just empty; it was pristine. The white tub was bone-dry and cold. There was no darting shadow, no scratching sound, no frantic exit. The air in the bathroom suddenly felt thick, as if the oxygen had been replaced by something heavy and old.
My stomach did a slow, sickening roll. I looked at the curtain, still trembling slightly in my hand from where it had been “hit” just seconds before. There was no draft. No open window.
I stood there in the silence, the fluorescent light humming overhead, realizing that the “pitter-patter” I had just heard wasn’t made by anything with a heartbeat. My mind tried to claw its way back to skepticism, to find a “rational” explanation, but the physical evidence was still vibrating in my grip. Something had been in that tub. Something that knew exactly how a living cat moved, how it played, and how it sounded.
I realized then that the world is much thinner than I thought. We aren’t always alone in the quiet rooms of our lives; sometimes, we’re just sharing the space with things that no longer have a need for skin and bone.
I’m not a skeptic anymore. I’m just someone who keeps the shower curtain open.
Remember if you’ve had a paranormal encounter like this and want to send it in, you can send it through our Google form. You can also email us at spookyappalachia@gmail.com
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