Where They Go,
and Why They Stay Away

Robert A. Fuhr

I n the attic of a crumbling mansion, floorboards covered with undisturbed dust, two spirits wait patiently for the witching hour to begin. For that is the time, that one brief hour, once a year, that these two have voices ... and may continue their ancient conversation. They speak with great, long pauses ... considering each word, each thought, as if both were precious.
The black and white tabby asks the chocolate sealpoint, "How can they live with each other?" They would hide from one another, if they knew the truth," replies the Siamese.
"How do you know?"
"Do you remember Garbo?"
"She wanted to be alone."
"Yes, her. I told her the truth about her kind when she was young."
"We should tell them all."
"Most don't listen. Their kind won't change. We can only keep our distance. Hide."
"Or disguise."
"Yes, as long as we can stand being with them,"
"Yes, as long as we can, and then we die. Their loss."
"They frighten me. Are they evil?"
"Worse. Evil has no choice."
The black and white tabby thought a while, and then asked, "If they are not evil, why do they do the things they do"? The Siamese pondered this a great long while, and would have answered. But the hour was done. They would both wait for the following year to hear his reply.

First published: August 1998
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