He'll Billy Horror Stories Presents

Eerie Encounters

I never really said goodbye to my great-tabby peaches because, well, quite frankly, I never

thought I was going to have to.

She had been with me since I was six years old and I just assumed that she would be with

me until one of us passed away.

But all that changed when my father moved us into our expensive new house in the desert

hills when I was eleven.

Although we had had peaches paid when I was seven, I knew that she was a mother and

I was her adopted daughter.

She took care of me, looking my fingers when I broke my arm when the monkey bars and

the third grade, hissing at the neighborhood kids who sometimes bullied me and admonishing

me to get more sleep on school nights by pushing my books down at night and laying on top

of them so I had no choice but to stop reading and call it a night.

On the nights my parents fought, which was, unfortunately, often, peaches would be there

in my room, sitting on my strawberry shortcake twin sheets.

Blinking slowly at me as I walked in, her tail tapping the bed as if to say, comes

at him, welcoming the crying nauseated mess as the evening had left me.

My father merely tolerated peaches who never caused too much trouble in our first house.

Despite her maternal learnings, there was still a worthless hunter inside of her and she

didn't hesitate to kill the innocent, namely baby birds.

In fact, that's all she killed.

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