Mr Flumkins Needs A Pet-Sitter

20250707

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Normally pet-sitting was a great gig. Tom loved animals of all kinds, there was enough downtime for him to work on his novel, and cleaning up after himself and accepting packages etc was a fab trade for couch-surfing a stranger’s house. By this point he’d accrued enough good reviews and repeat customers that he rarely had to sleep in his car. And living like this was great for collecting writing material.
So when a request came in for a week in a woodland cottage caring for a “special needs cat” he didn’t hesitate. Shot off an email emphasising that he didn’t have veterinary training but was happy to follow any at-home care regime, please make sure there’s instructions and contact details, the usual.
They agreed, and… here he was.
Staring at a rickety wooden fence topped with bleached skulls. Mostly animal ones. And… they all had to be fake. Right? Or at least, legally purchased from some kind of… bone shop?
Before he’d worked up the courage to get out of his car the gate soundlessly swung open and his phone buzzed. Message from the customer. [Come in.]
Ok. They knew he was here. Driving away now would be horribly unprofessional. And possibly… his gaze flicked to the nearest human skull, then he firmly shook himself. No, no, that was silly. He was being silly.
He parked next to the weathered cabin. At least the boards, while grey and warped with age, looked weathertight. The inside was doubtless nice and cosy and far less creepy. He hoped.
Leaving his bag in the car he climbed the creaky porch steps. The door swung open before he touched it.
The inside wasn’t less creepy. But he barely noticed, his attention seized by the figure standing there. His unconscious assumptions hadn’t been wrong; ‘Velma’ was in fact stooped, wrinkled, and had grey hair. She was also deeply, deeply eerie.
“Thank you for coming.” Her lips twisted into a polite, icy smile of perfect white teeth. Her glittering black eyes pierced right through him. “Now. While I said I have a cat…”
Oh god.
“Mr Flumkins is actually… well, see for yourself.” She pointed to a patchwork bed by the cast-iron stove. The puddle of darkness sprouted yellow eyes and chirped.
“Um…” Tom blinked and automatically knelt down as the round fluffy… thing… bounced over to investigate him.
“Now, night sprites are quite easy to look after. And I didn’t have enough notice to get someone… qualified.” Velma examined how ‘Flumkins’ was eagerly sniffing Tom and gave a satisfied nod. “You’ll do fine.”
She picked up the waiting broomstick, which was heavily leaden with panniers. “I’ve locked up everything you shouldn’t get into. Help yourself to the rest. Few places will deliver here, but I’ve left a list. And don’t worry - if anything goes wrong, I’ll know.”
Then she’d swept out, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving Tom staring blankly at the sprite batting his shoelaces.
This… did not fit into his novel.

Prompt was “Write about an evil witch who has a strangely adorable pet”.