At Faerykin Castle, where the ivy crawls up weathered stone and the mists cling to the towers like a shroud, there dwells a feline whose name says it all: Scare D. Katt. Unlike most castle cats who are known for their regal aloofness or courageous mousing skills, Scare D. Katt is a bundle of nerves wrapped in fur. Every creak of the floorboards, every flutter of a moth’s wing, every gust of wind rattling the windows sends her skittering into some dark corner with her fur puffed up and her tail three times its normal size. The residents and guests of the castle find it endlessly amusing, though some whisper with a touch of sympathy that a creature descended from mighty hunters should be so thoroughly undone by the ordinary sights and noises of daily life.
But to be fair to Scare D. Katt, Faerykin Castle is no ordinary place. The halls are thick with enchantment, the gardens teem with mischievous Faerykins, and shadows often move where they shouldn’t. While most visitors find the oddities of the castle charming, Scare D. Katt perceives them as daily threats. A painting that tilts ever so slightly when no one is looking? For her, that’s an omen of doom. A Faerykin giggle echoing from the rose garden? Proof of sinister plotting. Even the harmless suits of armor that line the hallways seem, in Scare D. Katt’s imagination, ready to lurch to life at any moment. She patrols the corridors with wide, darting eyes, ears swiveling like radar dishes, prepared to leap at the first sign of danger…which, in her world, is constant.
Yet the strangest irony of all is his relationship with the castle’s resident ghost, Ian MacSkerrin. Ian, in life, had been a stern Scottish laird whose reputation for stern lectures and stormy glares kept even the bravest warriors on edge. In death, his spirit found itself bound to Faerykin Castle, doomed…or perhaps delighted…to spend eternity attempting to frighten intruders, prank guests, and generally assert his ghostly authority. He rattles chains in the dungeon, sends cold drafts through the banquet hall, and whispers ominous phrases in the gallery late at night. The only problem? No one takes him seriously. No one, at least, but Scare D. Katt.
Children laugh at his antics, mistaking him for a stage performer. Grown-ups assume he’s part of the castle’s theatrics, a bit of entertainment laid on by the hosts. Even the Faerykins, who know better, simply roll their eyes and tease him back, treating his ghostly efforts as fodder for mischief. Ian MacSkerrin, once feared in life, is reduced in death to something like a court jester.
Except, that is, when it comes to Scare D. Katt.
For reasons Ian cannot entirely explain, the cat is absolutely terrified of him. Whenever Ian drifts into the great hall, translucent and moaning in his most ghastly tones, Scare D. Katt immediately bolts. The poor creature dashes under tapestries, hides in cupboards, or wedges herself under the armory racks with a low, desperate growl. When Ian rattles his chains, Scare D. Katt leaps straight into the air like a cartoon. If Ian sighs dramatically through the keyholes, the cat hisses, fluffs up, and streaks down the hallway like a streak of lightning.
For Ian, this is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, at least someone in the castle recognizes his frightening power. Finally, he has an audience who reacts appropriately to his efforts. On the other hand, that audience is a cat. A quivering, paranoid little feline whose terror borders on the ridiculous. Ian often finds himself hovering in frustration, muttering, “Och, but what use is it to scare only the wee beastie, when the rest o’ ye just laugh?”
The strange dynamic between ghost and cat has become something of a running joke among the residents of Faerykin Castle. Guests at the long banquet table will raise their goblets and toast to “the bravest of us all, Scare D. Katt, survivor of the MacSkerrin hauntings!” The Faerykins, never missing an opportunity to stir the pot, will sometimes lure the cat into rooms where Ian is known to linger, just to watch the chaos unfold. The castle’s caretaker once even suggested that Ian and Scare D. Katt should team up, their combined fear and fright perhaps making a proper haunting duo. Neither party was convinced: Ian too proud, Scare D. Katt too petrified.
Despite the comedy of it all, there is a strange companionship between them. Scare D. Katt, for all her trembling, has become Ian’s most reliable witness. When the ghost laments that his presence has gone unnoticed, he only has to glance at the puffed-up tail disappearing around the corner to be reassured that yes, he is still a figure of dread. And for the cat, in some peculiar way, Ian provides consistency. The castle’s enchantments are unpredictable, its Faerykins playful and unreliable. But Ian? Ian can be counted on to appear in the same shadowy places, to rattle the same chains, to moan in the same forlorn tones. Scare D. Katt may never feel safe in the ghost’s presence, but she at least knows what to expect.
There are moments, late at night, when Ian perches at the top of the stairwell and watches Scare D. Katt creeping nervously across the courtyard. The ghost sometimes wonders if perhaps they are more alike than different. Both misunderstood, both out of place in a castle that has moved on without them. Scare D. Katt will never be the bold mouser her ancestors were. Ian MacSkerrin will never again command mortals with a glare. Yet together, they form a peculiar balance: one forever scaring, the other forever scared.
So if you ever find yourself within the enchanted halls of Faerykin Castle, pay attention not just to the echoes of laughter or the sparkle of faery lights. Watch for the streak of fur vanishing beneath a chair, followed by the faint rattle of unseen chains. That is the eternal dance of Scare D. Katt and Ian MacSkerrin. It’s a partnership built not on courage or victory, but on fear itself, which, in this strange place, has become its own form of companionship.
