When Do the Rats Come (psychological thriller)

When Do the Rats come

It is the worst during the nights. It is the time when the rats come to visit.

Every day after I wake up it is the same. I go through the same routine as always. The windows: they always need to remain closed. I check that the doors are locked - I have to make it sure at least three times. There is no room for mistakes. Then the real work begins: every corner and hole must be sealed. The rats are real beasts and can eat their way through the wall if they are eager. And believe me, they always are.

The night has already fallen and the shadows lurk in the corners of the room. After sunset there is utter darkness. I lay still and try not to make a single noise. It is vital not to move or make any sound, as the senses of the rats are highly specialised to hearing. Even an infant picks up softer sounds than a human being ever can, and detects much higher frequencies, into the range of ultrasound.

Their vision is poor though, but counting on it would be a fatal misstep. I know better. All the other senses are a lot more sensitive than ours. They use their sense of smell to hunt their prey, and it is their most important instrument to track their victims. Their teeth are so strong it is almost impossible to stop one dig oneself in the house.

I have studied everything about rats. I know they need to always gnaw something in the order their teeth can grow even 14 centimetres per year. It is in their genes, and they are willing to pass on this very instinct to their offspring. They form an organized animal colony - they are disciplined and extremely militant. I have seen it.

The sealings in the walls and corners start to rustle. They are about to give up. There is no such net or metal rats can't eat away.

In the dead of the night the rats have invaded us. My husband lies next to me. He is a corpse, he does not move a muscle. He's dead. Still as a statue. Rats have covered him, milling and treading. I do not dare to look. My eyes pressed closed, I hear them padding and feel their whiskers on my bare skin.

Squeaks will start only when they get very excited.

I know there is nothing I can do but wait. Even our cat knows we are underdogs, and she is a cat, for Heaven's sake. She lounges on my tummy and tries to comfort me with a soft hum. My sister, a doctor, has told me a cat purrs in a frequency that can actually ease the pain and heal you. She means good, all of them do. In a situation like this you can only hope the best for your loved ones.

The night passes by like a moth that beats its wings - no matter how fast it flutters, it still can not proceed far enough in time. The rats devour the darkness and feast with my fear. They are demons in the night that rule the after dark. I hear they are squeaking now. It is time for the celebration.

My limbs are numb. The rats are crowding on me and I wonder if I even have hands and feet left anymore. If I open my eyes, I am afraid to see only stumps. This is exactly what these little mammals do: they are creedy and they are never satisfied. All I can do is try not to breath. I constantly murmur the Lord's Prayer in my mind. It helps me to stand the tortune of the demons.

Sunbeams, so thin and narrow they are almost invisible, climb inside from the window. The dawn is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It brings tears of joy in eyes and makes me sigh in relief. I have held my breath for the whole night and it feels amazing to inhale my lungs full of brisk oxygen.

The daybreak eventually beats the witching hour always. These rodents are extremely sensitive to light. No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. I thank the Lord for another dusk to dawn that I have survived.

"Good morning, honey", my husband smiles at me weakly and lays a kiss on my forehead. The rats are gone. "How was the bedtime tonight?"

I peek under the bed before stepping up making sure they do not hide under it. "It was the usual. He didn't show up, though."