The Cat with a Key Around Its Neck

Story by R.C.

I live in a small town—the kind where everyone knows each other. Boring, actually. But nevertheless, I love it.

I was one of the lucky ones to own my own house at 25. If you want to call inheriting a house lucky—someone had to die. I was grateful, though. I loved it.

Everything was normal in my life. I worked in an antique store, made pretty good money, had good friends. Life was good.

That was until one night, when I came home from work—and there he was.

A cat I had never seen before. A tabby with golden eyes so bright they looked like jewels shimmering on the porch.

I walked toward him and bent down to pet him. He came to me slowly. I looked around his neck for a tag. Curiously, there was no tag—just a key. It looked old. Antique.

I went to examine it, and he dashed away.

It was strange, but I didn’t think much of it.

Until the next day.

I was coming home from work—and there it was again.

“Hey, sweetie! How are you?!” I called, walking over to pet him.

He just looked at me with those beautiful eyes and sat.

I picked him up to look at the key again. He rubbed his face on me, then jumped out of my arms.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” I asked, as if he would reply.

He just looked back at me. His eyes stared—like he was trying to answer me—but he ran off again.

This happened every day for two whole weeks. I asked around, but no one seemed to know who the cat belonged to.

Strange.

One day I came home, and he wasn’t there. I felt… worried. I was starting to like seeing him.

I looked around, but he was nowhere in sight. So I went inside.

That night, as I lay in bed reading my book, I heard a click. It sounded like a door.

I looked at my bedroom door—no, it wasn’t that.

Then I noticed the armoire. The door was wide open.

Curious. It had never done that before.

I got up and walked toward the closet slowly. I saw nothing in my clothes. Just to be safe, I pulled them apart to check behind them.

That’s when I saw it: a glowing light coming from the back wall of the armoire.

I pushed on it, but it didn’t budge. I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight to get a better look.

It was solid. But to my surprise, it had a keyhole.

Didn’t remember seeing that, I thought. And when I bought it, they never gave me a key.

I decided to ask in the morning.

Luckily, I worked at the antique shop. Stephanie—my boss—would know.

The next morning, I went straight to work. First thing I did was ask her:

“Hey, Stef. That armoire I bought—it has a keyhole. I didn’t see one when I bought it. Do you have the key?”

“No, you just pull it to open. It never had a key when I bought it,” she said. “Did you see a keyhole?”

“Yeah, on the back wall inside,” I replied.

“Huh. That is weird,” I said, looking at a bowl of old keys we had on the counter. “Why would a keyhole be in the back of an armoire?”

“If you open it and there’s a jewel or something expensive,” she joked, “don’t forget me—I sold it to you!”

I laughed. “I won’t. You’re my bestie.”

All day, I couldn’t stop thinking about that armoire.

Finally, the day ended. We closed up, and I rushed home.

And there he was—my tabby cat. Staring at me from the porch.

I walked toward him and picked him up.

“Hey, fellow. Where’ve you been?”

He purred. Then suddenly, he jumped down—and left something in my hand.

The key.

Hmm… did he do this for the key I’m looking for? I wondered. No, I’m being crazy. Why would a cat have a key that fits the armoire?

But then again… why would a strange cat show up on my porch every day… with a key around its neck?

I quickly went inside. Ran upstairs to my room.

Cautiously, I opened the armoire, pushed the clothes aside, and slowly inserted the key.

It clicked.

It worked.

To my horror—it was a skeleton.

I screamed.

Behind the bones were old papers, stuffed into the back.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Why? Who?

It didn’t feel real. This wasn’t happening to me.

We live on a quiet street. The kind where everyone knows each other. Where people are nice. Friendly.

But clearly… someone wasn’t.

Someone had a secret.

And I had just found it out.

I called the police immediately. They removed the body, the papers—and of course, the armoire.

I was happy to let it go.

A few weeks later, a detective came to see me. He told me the full story.

Apparently, the antique store had originally belonged to Stephanie’s grandfather. When he retired, he left it to her.

What we didn’t know was that he owed a large amount of money to his business partner.

And instead of paying him… he killed him.

He hid the body in the armoire—along with the legal documents. His partner had been threatening to sue him.

To cover it up, he told the family that the partner had sold his share and moved away.

The store was completely his.

Wow. He seemed like such a nice old man.

Stephanie was devastated. Her grandfather went to jail for murder. She gave the store to her grandfather’s partner’s family.

She eventually moved away. She couldn’t bear the stares and whispers anymore. Every day, people looking at her like she had done something wrong.

She lost her best friend.

She lost her job.

And I didn’t sleep in my room for weeks.

I felt horrible about how everything happened.

Strange, how it all unfolded.

I never saw that tabby cat again.

It was as if he had only come to help me—to help me find the body.

To give justice to the man in the armoire.