by Jason Hoyt
Tales of the Sacred Sword (YouTube)
Jason Hoyt searched youtube for 10-minute fantasy short stories. After finding many channels like this for horror or creepypasta, but a dearth of similar content for fantasy stories, he started his own channel. Tales of the Sacred Sword.
Jason is currently working on his third novel, with the first two in various stages of revision.
What he’d appreciate more than anything is if you could subscribe to his youtube channel
Copycat opened its eyes. It took a step forward, dipping its head forward and low then stretched. Then it took two more steps and stretched its back legs as well. Its mouth opened wide then it let out a big but silent yawn. It stepped out from the shade of the old willow tree it called home.
After a couple of blinks to adjust to the noon sun, Copycat licked its paw then rubbed its head. This continued for a few minutes. Then Copycat stared straight ahead. Copycat wasn’t tired anymore. There was only one thing Copycat wanted and there was only one place to get it. Copycat’s stomach grumbled. It headed to the human town.
Copycat trotted through the fields then to the human road. Half an hour later, an old farmhouse came into view. The farmhouse was of no interest to Copycat. But the barn behind it was. Rickety and rotting. The barn was an eyesore to the humans, but a treasure trove to Copycat.
Copycat ran along its narrow wooden beams as easily as if they were as wide as the barn doors. To a human, the barn was as silent as a prison. To Copycat, a menagerie of life echoed in his wispy haired ears. In no time, Copycat had a mouse in his teeth. Copycat took it to the front of the farmhouse to enjoy the breakfast in the warm sun. The mouse was good, crunchy, and fresh, but it was no milk.
“Good day Tabby. I thought you were still in the house,” The Farmer pet Copycat’s brown and black striped fur then rubbed his long skinny tail. “Did you catch a mouse today boy?”
Copycat purred as the farmer scratched its cheeks and ears. The farmer went into the house and Copycat finished the mouse and headed toward town.
Copycat trotted along the human road then to the edge of town. Half an hour later, the ranch came into view. The farmhouse was of no interest to Copycat. But the slaughterhouse behind it was. Stinky and noisy. The slaughterhouse was an eyesore to the humans, but a treasure trove to Copycat.
Copycat ran along with the twists and turns of its hardened floors as easily as if they were a straight line. To a human, the slaughterhouse was a cacophony. To Copycat, very specific noises pierced his wispy haired ears. In no time, Copycat had found the scraps of processed pork in his teeth. Copycat took it closer to the fire to enjoy the lunch in its warmth. The pork was good, salty and tender, but it was no milk.
“Good day Manx. I thought I saw you in the other room,” The butcher pet Copycat’s white and brown patchy fur. “Eating some scraps, are you?”
Copycat purred as the butcher scratched its cheeks and ears then rubbed Copycat’s stub of a tale. The butcher walked to the other room and Copycat finished the scraps of pork and headed into town.
Copycat trotted along the human streets, the road then to the center of town. Half an hour later, the bakery came into view. The bakery was of no interest to Copycat. But the kitchen behind it was. Crowded and confined. The kitchen was a delight to the humans, and a delight to Copycat as well.
Copycat ran between the feet of the humans in figure eights. To a human, the kitchen was where the eclairs, turnovers, and doughnuts were made. To Copycat, eclairs, turnovers, and doughnuts were about as tasty as dirt. But they were all made with milk. Copycat rubbed its head on the chef’s legs. It purred in anticipation. In no time, the chef poured a saucer of milk. The chef put it closer to the corner so Copycat could enjoy it without fear of a human stepping on its tail. Nothing compared to the taste of milk.
“Bonne Journee Chartreux. I thought I’d see you sooner,” The chef pet Copycat’s fluffy grey fur. “Have some milk mon beautiful chat,”
Copycat purred as the chef scratched its puffy grey cheeks and ears then rubbed Copycat’s long and thick tale. The chef’s eyes went wide. While Copycat had its head buried in the saucer, drinking the succulent milk, another cat came next to Copycat. The second cat waited patiently for milk, its eyes focused on the chef, eager for a saucer of milk. The second cat would be no great surprise to the chef if it didn’t look exactly like Copycat.
Copycat looked at the other fluffy grey cat then at the chef. It realized the chef knew the two cats were identical. Not wanting to know how the chef would react any further Copycat fled the kitchen. Copycat ran through the bakery, from the center of town, then along the human streets, out of town past the slaughterhouse. It ran along the fields, it eventually passed the barn then the old farmhouse. It ran all the way to the old willow tree it called home.
After an adventurous morning, Copycat wanted nothing more than to relax, have a bath, then take a nap under its favorite tree. As it licked, its fur alternated colors, shifting from grey to white, then purple to blue, orange then red. At any given time, all the colors of the rainbow could be seen. Its tail shifted in length and thickness, as did all its fur. Even its height and length varied every few seconds. It was exhausting work changing your appearance. But it was worth it for milk. Then it closed its eyes for a peaceful catnip.
The next time your little kitty comes to your feet with a mouse it caught, or scraps from your table, or begging for milk, take a good look. Where did you last see your cat? And how can you be sure it’s your kitty and not the Copycat?