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Chapter I – Tired Like a Kitten

Jacob pulled himself up onto the narrow rock ledge, hauling his body over the edge before stopping, bent forward, hands braced on his knees. His breathing was heavy and uneven, his chest rising faster than he liked. The sun hung high above, and the heated stone radiated warmth back into his body. When he finally straightened, he leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. Most climbers would have turned back long before this point. Maybe that’s why he was alone up here.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt a slight shift beneath his shoulder blade. At first, he ignored it, but instinct made him move aside. He ran his fingers over the rock and paused. One of the stones felt loose. He pressed against it. With a dull sound, it came free and disappeared into the void below. In the hollow it left behind, the end of an old cord stuck out.

Jacob stared at it for a moment, then reached out and took hold of it. The cord felt surprisingly sturdy. He pulled carefully. A small, decayed pouch slid out from the cavity. As soon as he squeezed it, the fabric gave way, and a bronze coin slipped into his palm. It was worn smooth, its markings almost completely erased, with a small hole near the edge. He turned it between his fingers for a moment, then, without much thought, slipped it into his pocket and began preparing for the descent.

Climbing down was worse.

At one point, a foothold broke beneath him, and in an instant he was hanging ten meters above the ground by one hand. His fingers burned, the muscles in his forearm screamed, but he didn’t let go. He found another hold, shifted his weight, caught himself with his other hand. Eventually, he made it down, but the memory of that moment stayed with him. His body had memorized it.

He got home exhausted. Truly exhausted. After a quick meal, he went straight to the bathroom and sank into the hot water. His muscles relaxed, his head rested against the edge of the tub, and for a moment everything went still. That was when he remembered the coin. He reached for his clothes, pulled it from his pocket, and tried to identify it using his phone. No luck. The details were too worn.

He yawned. “It’s been a long day… I’m tired like a kitten,” he muttered to himself. He set the coin and his phone down on the washing machine beside the tub. As he released it from his fingers, he felt a faint, almost imperceptible tremor. He didn’t pay it any attention. The exhaustion was stronger. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Something changed during the night.

Not suddenly, not dramatically. It was more like something deep beneath the surface had begun to move. Warmth spread from his chest into his arms, into his hands. The right one reacted first. His fingers curled slightly in his sleep, as if testing something. The skin at his fingertips grew denser, the tendons tightened. Then it spread further. To the other hand, into his body, into his breathing. Jacob curled in on himself more tightly in his sleep, his posture more compact, more natural in a way that didn’t come from conscious thought.

Morning felt strange.

His body was light, almost too well-rested. His movements were precise, immediate. He noticed it, but tried to explain it away as leftover adrenaline from the climb. That explanation didn’t last long.

First, his right hand. His fingers moved differently, his grip more precise, stronger. The range of motion was slightly greater. The skin felt different to the touch—denser, rougher. When he tested it again, there was a faint cracking sound, but no pain. It felt more like something inside had shifted into place.

Then the left hand began to catch up. The difference between them started to fade.

By midday, he noticed his teeth. There was no pain, just the sense that his bite didn’t sit quite the same. When he ran his tongue over them, he froze. His canines were sharper. Not dramatically—but enough that it couldn’t be ignored.

By afternoon, it was visible on his chest. The narrow line of hair between his pectorals had thickened and spread. Not in a sudden jump, but faster than anything normal. When he ran his hand across it, the sensation was stronger than before. His skin responded differently.

His entire body functioned differently. Faster. More precisely. Without the small imperfections he had never noticed before. He dropped down to do a few push-ups, just to test himself, and stopped halfway through the third. He held himself above the ground without effort, his muscles responding instantly. There was no fatigue in it. There was strength he wasn’t used to.

By evening, there was nothing left to ignore.

He stood in front of the mirror, both hands raised. The right and left were nearly identical now. Both… changed. He clenched his fists. His fingers locked into place, tight and exact, with a certainty that didn’t feel entirely human. He held it there for a moment, feeling that new sensation. Then he opened them quickly.

“This isn’t normal,” he said out loud.

That night, everything accelerated.

This time, there was no gradual shift. The warmth surged through his body, his muscles working, his skin reacting, his entire frame adjusting faster than before. His hands, his chest, his jaw, even his breathing—everything shifted another step forward. In his sleep, Jacob tensed, curled tighter, pulling the blanket closer to himself.

Morning tore him out of sleep.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. The difference between them was gone. The change remained. When he clenched them, the motion was immediate, precise, finishing in a way it never had before.

He stood too quickly—but didn’t lose his balance. His body caught itself before he even realized he needed it to.

He walked to the mirror and stopped. This time, it wasn’t just a feeling. He could see it. His posture was different, his center of gravity lower. His chest was thicker, his stubble heavier. When he opened his mouth, his canines were visibly longer. Sharper.

He closed it and leaned against the sink. His palms adjusted automatically to its shape, without thought. His breathing was fast.

“This isn’t just exhaustion,” he said.

He stood there, staring at himself.

“This is happening.”

For the first time, he stopped trying to explain it away. He accepted it as a fact. The question that followed was simple.

What is this?

No answer came. Only that feeling, deep inside him, stronger than before. Familiar, and yet not his.

Tired like a kitten.

#ai generated #ai image #young adult #climbing #transformation #original story #cute kitten #sleeping man

Xiao Wang, "Slumber-Dusk (Sueño -Después de Goya- Anochecer)". 2020, óleo sobre lienzo. 1990 Chinese born, New York based figurative painter primarily working with oil paint.

An intruder at the hospital.

(One of Trevor Henderson's creations, The Sleeping Man!)

#Fanart #Monster #Body Horror #Sleeping Man #Sleepwalker #Trevor Henderson #Art

Selene and Endymion

Artist: Gerard de Lairesse (Dutch, 1641-1711)

Date: ca. 1680

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, Netherlands

Description

In Greek mythology, the moon goddess Selene was the lover of the mortal shepherd Endymion; but because of her lunar nature, their meetings could only take place at night. Nicolas Poussin has represented the poignant moment at which the two must part.