3 AM Crazies

By: Aaron Geerts

The Logan family tried to cope with the 3AM screams, the blood-leaking ceilings, and the translucent faces staring back at them in the bathroom mirrors. After a month of madness, however, Mr. Logan looked at his wife and said, “Baby, this house is haunted as shit.”

“I know,” she said.

“I’m gonna kill that real-estate agent who sold us this place,” said Mr. Logan.

“Don’t do that, then we’ll have another spirit haunting us,” said Mrs. Logan. “Besides, I already placed an order.”

“Order for what?”

Suddenly, a black van skidded around their corner with ‘3AM Crazies’ painted on its sliding side door. Without stopping, the side door slid open and a hooded figure tossed a crate at the Logans’ feet.

“The answer to our haunting problem,” Mrs. Logan said opening the crate and pulling out a mangy old Tabby.

“How in the hell is a cat going to un-haunt the house?” Mr. Logan folded his arms and leaned in to read the cat’s collar. “Pickles? That’s a stupid name.”

The cat shot him an evil look, licked his chops, jumped out of Mrs. Logan’s arms, and scurried under the house.

“Well,” said Mrs. Logan. “I read online that cats are expert hunters of life and afterlife. Their senses transcend this reality, giving them the ability to see, smell, hear, hunt, and kill evil spirits and entities. All cats can do it apparently, and their supernatural and killer instincts are heightened at 3AM…which also happens to be the witching hour. Isn’t that a coincidence, honey?”

“Sure,” Mr. Logan said finishing raking his leaves.

That very night, the Logans woke up to screaming at 3AM coming from the attic. Before it could get louder, the couple heard the patter of feet running across the boards followed by a feral sounding Nyaaaaa hmmmmmm.

Within a week, the screaming stopped. Mr. Logan was impressed, but not convinced until he was brushing his teeth one morning. A face with fangs falling out of its mouth tried to frighten him, but the cat pounced from out of nowhere and started gnawing on the face.

Mr. Logan looked behind him, saw nothing, then back to the mirror where the cat was finishing the last few bites of the ghost’s face. Pickles then hoped out of the reflection and into Mr. Logan’s arms.

“You know what, Pickles,” Mr. Logan tickled Pickle’s chin. “You’re alright by me.”

Although the Logans were always awoken by all manners of cat crazies at 3AM, they would quickly fall back asleep with smiles knowing Pickles – and cats the world over – are doing their job at that time to keep their humans safe.