⏱ ~5 min reading
Nazar lived in an old two-story house with wooden stairs that creaked softly at night. Grandma always said, "This house talks." And Nazar believed it. Because what else could he do at the age of nine?
That evening, everyone was already asleep: mom, dad, grandma, and even the ginger dog Barsik in the hallway. Nazar was lying upstairs, finishing a book about pirates before going to bed. A small yellow nightlight in the shape of a ship was shining.
And then - a rip. Quietly, quietly.
Nazar froze with a book in his hands. The sound was from below. On the stairs. Someone took one step.
Pause.
Rip. One more step.
Pause.
Rip-rip. Two more.
The boy wasn't breathing. Who could it be? Everyone is asleep. Barsik can't walk up the stairs on his hind legs. Robbers? At night? In their small town, where everyone knows each other?
Nazar carefully put down the book. He wasn't one to be scared. He loved to learn.
«"I'll just take a look," the boy thought. "I'm brave.".
He got out of bed, took the nightlight by the handle (it turned out that it was removable—it was a small, portable lamp). He quietly left the room and crept toward the stairs.
The stairs descended in an arc. A night lamp was burning at the bottom—a weak yellowish light on the wall. In its light, Nazar saw a cat-like figure in the middle of the stairs—exactly on the seventh step.
The cat sat with its back to him. Large, fluffy, silver-gray, with a long tail, the tip of which swayed softly from side to side. It seemed to be listening to something in the silence of the house.
They didn't have a cat. Barsik was a dog. And no one ever brought a cat. Then where did the cat come from on the stairs at night?
«"Did it fly in through the window?" thought Nazar. "Through the chimney? Is it the neighbor's - Paraska Ivanovna's?"»
The boy took a step forward. The stairs creaked beneath him. The cat slowly turned its head.
Nazar's knees buckled. The cat's eyes were large, greenish-gold, and they looked as if the cat had known about the boy for a long time and was waiting for him to finally peek out.
"Good evening," the cat suddenly said.
His voice was deep, velvety, like that of grandma's radio.
Nazar sat down on the step. His knees no longer obeyed him.
"Are you... talking?"
"Only with those who dare to come," the cat answered calmly. "Most children hide under the blanket and wait for the squeak to disappear. And you came. That's nice.".
— Who are you?
The cat straightened up, wrapped its tail around its paws, and looked at the boy very seriously.
"I am the Watchman. The old house watchman. I have lived in this house much longer than you, than your mother, and even than your grandmother. I was here when this house was first built. I walk the stairs at night and listen to see if everything is okay.".
Nazar blinked.
— What are you listening to?
— Is Barsik breathing well? Is the kitchen faucet dripping? Has a wasp flown in the window? Has a mouse scurried behind the baseboard? Is everyone in this house sleeping peacefully? If something is wrong, I find a way to wake people up. But usually everything is fine. Then I just sit and listen.
"Why haven't I seen you before?"
"Because you never went out at night before. And I only appear in the dark. During the day I turn into the smell of old wood on these stairs. Have you noticed that it smells like cat fur? That's me.".
Nazar remembered. Yes, it smelled. He always thought it was grandfather spilling something once.
“Are you good?” the boy asked, just in case.
The silver cat smiled - it turns out that cats can smile too, just with their whiskers.
"If I wasn't good, I wouldn't be sitting on the stairs. I wouldn't be guarding. I love this house. I love Barsik. I love your grandmother—she sometimes leaves a saucer of milk for me on the bottom step, as if she forgets. And I know she doesn't forget. She just pretends.".
Nazar laughed softly. How similar that sounds to his grandmother.
"Can I come to your place sometimes at night?" the boy asked. "Just to sit.".
"You can," the Watchman nodded. "Just don't make it too loud. And don't turn on the big light. We'll sit and listen to the house sleep. It's very beautiful music, if you know how to hear.".
Nazar sat down next to the cat — on the same seventh step. He set up his nightlight-ship. In its warm light, the Watchman no longer looked scary — soft, fluffy, with long silver whiskers.
They sat in silence. They heard the clock ticking in the kitchen. Something rustling in the leaves outside—probably a hedgehog. Dad snoring softly. Barsik twitching his paw in his sleep—probably catching a rabbit.
"Good music," Nazar whispered.
"Beautiful," agreed the Watchman.
When the boy returned to bed, he was no longer afraid of the night sounds. He knew that if a step creaked, it was the Watchman making his rounds. Everything was fine. Everyone was asleep.
And on the bottom step, the next morning, grandma, as usual, put a saucer of milk. And Nazar didn't tell anyone. It was their secret with the cat.
✨ What we fear sometimes turns out to be our friend ✨