THE OFFERING

That night my dreams were filled with blood, screams of terror and the sickening sensation of bludgeoning another being to death. I spent the rest of the night watching old Hollywood musicals on the internet, trying to blot out the dark images seared into my brain.

Deep down I knew the real fear; had he found me? Was this his declaration of intent? He always knew how to terrorise me so I would give in. My bungalow no longer felt like a refuge, there aren't many places you can hide from the outside world if it wishes to peer in. If he wanted to find me I was there where he could see.

A sheep's skeleton followed, the bones licked clean. It was a blessed respite from the previous day's horror. Still, bones were bones and I'd had my fill of death. Garnering all my courage, which wasn't all that much, I decided to stay up the next night and catch him at it. I had my camera to hand. At least I'd have something to show the police when I called them.

The moon filled the night with its muted glow, turning everything to silver. I stayed crouched down beneath the kitchen table until I had the sense I was not alone. Fear exploded in my chest as I saw the large shadow crouched near the hedge. I was rendered useless as my nightmare materialised before me.

But it wasn't him and nothing could be worse than he was. The shadow was immense compared to its owner. The relief was intoxicating. Its black tail flicked as it fed pulling my gaze to what it ate, which was mostly blood and gore, but I was drawn to what appeared to be an arm complete with hand and fingers. I pressed my fist into my mouth to suppress a scream.

I must have emitted a noise for the cat's head rose sharply. It looked me dead in the eye so I could see the bright moon reflected in bottomless wells of darkness. There was a flicker of recognition. It was like seeing myself, the darkest recess of my unconscious, brought to life. Or was this a dark angel protecting me?

I couldn't move as it dragged the limb and dropped it at my feet. My stomach lurched; I recognised it, the large signet ring on its pinkie unmistakable. I ran my finger unconsciously across my cheek which bore its indelible imprint.

She mewed, sitting at my feet, head pushing urgently against my leg. I had heard that sweet supplication before, understanding and complicit in my inability to defend myself from his cruelty. I sat there, in the moonlit night, on the cool earth, outside my little house and wept into her soft fur.

I buried the limb. I hoped he had suffered in the losing of it. I recalled the dead offerings and suddenly recognised them for what they were, a promise. A reckoning in which my abusive husband would be brought to justice.

I don't know how she did it nor will I ever know. When I ask her she just gives me an enigmatic stare, with those wide, green, unblinking eyes. Then she turns to lick her paws, that cat of mine, whom I had given up for dead, hanging from that damned tree.

I am no longer afraid. I no longer hide. I no longer feel the dread of discovery. My dark angel has set me free.