Chapter Text
Tim was five when he noticed the first one.
It followed his parents inside after they returned from their latest dig in Egypt, hovering near one of the sealed boxes they'd lugged home.
It wasn't human — not like the others he would meet. This one was a cat.
Sleek black fur, well-groomed despite the long journey. Bandages trailed behind it like ancient ribbons, fraying at the edges. Bits of gold jewelry clung to its neck and legs — strange, glittering relics it wore as casually as fur.
Tim decided that was a strange thing to bring home. A cat. Especially one dressed like it had walked out of a tomb.
Nothing could live that long... right?
And Jack and Janet — his parents — hadn’t even seen it. They hadn't flinched when it brushed past them or darted ahead.
Then it jumped onto the table. The one with the priceless vase.
Tim’s breath caught. He almost ran to stop it.
But the cat didn’t knock anything over.
It fell right through it.
No sound. No shatter. No weight.
The cat couldn’t touch it. Couldn’t touch anything.
Why?
He turned to ask his parents — but they were already gone, swallowed by the maze of their house.
So Tim stayed. He watched.
The cat drifted around the room like the laws of physics were optional. Eventually, the boxes were unpacked, and he found something — a thick gold necklace, heavy with red and blue inlaid tiles.
The same one the cat wore.
That’s when he figured it out.
A ghost. A spirit. A remnant. Call it what you want — something ancient had hitched a ride home.
The cat was dead.
And Tim could see it.
Soon, it saw him too.
Luckily, the little black cat liked him.
So he did what any five-year-old would do — he researched. Library books. Old documentaries. Stolen pages from his parents’ notes. He learned about the cats of Ancient Egypt, about how they were loved and feared and worshipped.
He read about Bastet. A goddess. A protector. A cat.
So he gave the name to this strange companion.
Bastet.
He didn’t worry about gender — not with ghosts. The cat didn’t mind, anyway. It curled up on the foot of his bed that night like it had always belonged there.
That was the beginning.
Bastet was a constant in the otherwise silent house.
Before it had arrived, the silence had been heavy — not just quiet, but empty. Tim had always been surrounded by artifacts and books and the occasional distracted “Mm-hm” from his parents the few times they were home, but none of it ever really filled the space. Not until Bastet.
It followed him like a shadow stitched to his heels. Quiet. Careful. Present.
During the day, it drifted from room to room, trailing those thin, tattered bandages across the floor. Sometimes it perched in high places — the top of a bookshelf, the back of a chair, the windowsill — places no living cat could reach without knocking something over. But Bastet made no sound. Never broke a thing.
At night, it slept curled at the foot of his bed, or near his pillow, or just outside his door, like it was keeping watch. Maybe it was.
Once, when thunder cracked loud enough to rattle the windows and Tim bolted upright in bed, Bastet was already beside him. Not jumping in fear — just sitting there. Watching him. Letting him know it was there.
He’d never really had someone just be there before.
It didn’t talk, didn’t meow. He didn’t think ghosts could make sounds like that. But it didn’t need to. It blinked slowly when he was sad. Tapped its paw once against his hand when he seemed lost in his own thoughts too long. Brought him the occasional ghost beetle — an empty exoskeleton that crunched like leaves, if it even crunched at all. He had no idea as to where they could come from, his parents were never ones to display bugs in frames on the walls.
He tried once to give it a name tag. Cut it out of cardboard with a string and looped it through where its necklace had been in life. It sat very still while he did it. Then, when he was finished, it gave him a single, deliberate blink — regal. Pleased. It stayed on for three days before it faded away into nothing, like all things that didn’t belong to its past.
The house was still big, and lonely, and full of corners Tim didn’t like to look into. But Bastet made it feel less haunted. Or maybe it just made the haunting feel... safer.
It was the first ghost. The first piece of history that looked back.
And Tim, still only a kid, never once questioned whether he should be afraid.
He wasn't.
Because Bastet saw him.
And in its quiet, otherworldly way, it chose to stay.
Not amazing quality, but on chapter 31 there are links to my tumblr and Instagram, as long as they work :) happy reading!!