Cato
"The folklore Killer"
Name: Cato
Age: Around 25
Appearance: Usually always seen with a mask on. He is very hairy, with brown curly fur and hazel eyes. He is scrawny yet toned, slender but noticeably muscular - he has a very slim waist and wide shoulders, but his thighs are thick. He is littered with scars, the most prominent ones being the gash over the left side of his face. His skin is tanned.
Things to note: He tends to bump into things on his left side since he is blind in that eye. He hunches over a lot and acts similar to a puppy around Wyatt and Bernie. With Yuki, he seems like a protective older brother constantly watching over her, and with Cliff he treats him like a friend, likely to cuddle up to him and nudge him when he seems sad. Around Em, however, Cato is very skittish and uneasy, usually raising hell unintentionally whilst trying to avoid his wrath.
The Story:
Cato was born in a quiet forest town to a mother who loved him very dearly. He was her world. As he grew, she supported him every step of the way, whilst also taking time to stand back fondly and watch him learn things for himself. He was a bright, bubbly child – relentlessly inquisitive. His eyes were always bright and filled with wonder. However, he wasn’t the brightest in school, and would often fall behind the students. He couldn’t understand grammar, thus he could only speak in broken sentences. Determined to help her son, they would sit and read books together, Cato watching in awe as his mother weaved an animated narrative with her hands and enthusiastic voice. She never gave up on him, always pushing him to be the best he could be.
There were many complications with Cato socially. He struggled to make friends when he reached a higher school level. His peers believed he was weird and, whilst still for the most part being polite, tended to ignore him. He didn’t have any friends. His mother tried everything, but there was only so much she could do when the others around them weren’t so patient and understanding with her son. Teachers deemed him hopeless and insisted there was nothing more they could do. Left with no other choice, she took Cato out of school, tired of watching him wilt under the constant isolation and neglect.
Whilst everyone else moved on around them, Cato’s mother spent time teaching him how to keep himself alive. Unbeknownst to him, she’d had a very rough life, constantly suffering in poverty and doing everything she had to in order to survive. She never wanted that life for him – tried everything to provide luxuries she’d never had – but as he grew, she knew she had to prepare him for the inevitability that one day she wouldn’t be around anymore. She feared he wouldn’t cope without her, since she was the only pillar of support in his life.
She taught him important life lessons: how to hunt, how to cook, how to start a fire when the heating goes off, how to find clean water in the wilderness, and how to rely on himself and only himself. During their outings, she’d tell him old tales of the town – the fairies in the cherry trees that blessed their harvests, the tall demon who would take away naughty children, the morphing creatures of the forest that would lure travellers deep into the woods by mimicking human voices… he loved those stories, but there was always one he would have her tell him every day: the werewolf in the old mill.
She took him to that mill a few times on their longer trips, even letting him explore it. He loved the place a lot, so sometimes they would stay there overnight, when it grew too dark for them to return home. On one such night, deciding to do so sealed their fate.
As it turned out, those lessons became invaluable by the time Cato turned fifteen. Upon returning home from an overnight trip, his mother went to unlock the door to their house, only to find the lock couldn’t turn any more than it already had. Someone had been in their house. Alarmed, she threw the door open, running inside to see their home ransacked. Before she could process what had happened, she was knocked to the floor with terrifying force, and teeth sank into her stomach, hooking in before tearing out a chunk of flesh. She screamed, flailing in panic and beating the assailant’s head over and over with her fist, but it wouldn’t give in.
Cato was screeching in the doorway, calling out for her. She tried to scream for him to run, but her intestines took any words she may have had with them as they were torn from her stomach. Before she could even fathom what was happening, someone tackled the creature off of her, wrestling it to the floor. Watching thoughtlessly, she registered in the back of her mind that she’d been attacked by a rabid wolf. All she could do was watch as it snapped its teeth at Cato’s face, managing to scrape a chunk off his left eye.
The boy let out an almost inhuman wail of fury and agony, before grabbing the wolf’s head and bashing it against the floor, over and over until it stopped twitching.
Once it was dead, he held his mother in his arms, screaming mindlessly for help as he sobbed and held her. She stared up at him in vague awe of the boy she’d raised, shock numbing all the pain. She touched his face, caressing his cheek, smearing their blood together, and barely managed a small smile. He sobbed into her touch, babbling senselessly, his eyes begging her to stay. He held her for what felt like hours, until her hand dropped and the door flew open, the local police officers on high alert.
Cato was inconsolable.
He no longer spoke words. Doctors noted he’d permanently damaged his vocal cords from how hard he’d screamed. He no longer interacted with people as a ‘normal’ person would. Therapists noted he would growl and hiss, and curl up in a corner and study the room from afar, lashing out if he felt threatened. Doctors thought he may have contracted some form of rabies, but they could never get close enough to draw blood for tests. He didn’t sleep, didn’t speak, and barely ate. He was passed around from foster parents to doctors, but no one could handle him.
One night, when the full moon was bright in the sky, he disappeared. The room he was left in was destroyed; lamps shattered, drawers strewn about, a table broken in half and the bed sheets ripped to pieces. All that remained of his window was glass shards, glittering in the night light.
Rumours about the old mill began to circulate once more.
