Rat Song

Chapter 1

There were no children in Hamelin.

No footsteps pattered against the cobblestones in a rush to leave the schoolhouse. No laughter rang through the market. No cheers of merriment soared above the fields soon to come to life with the year's harvest.

In the midst of the silence stood a towering oak tree. None save the squirrels braved its twisting branches anymore, although it still carried countless mementos from the children. A kite's tattered remains flapped near its peak, impaled there when the wind had nearly carried little Peter Farnsworth away. Below that, pale nicks in the bark marked Jennifer Baker's climb to the top. Only the shoe ensnared in the gap between a pair of branches marked her fall to the bottom. The rest of her was long gone, but that fragment of who she once was remained.

So too did the memories of the other children Hamelin had lost. They lingered in the stuffed animals piled at the base of the tree, their matted fur musty with mold. They lingered in the candies left by older siblings, long since lost to the ants.

Most of all, the memories lingered in the minds of those who had been left behind.

William knelt beside the makeshift memorial. He was the youngest person in Hamelin now, yet the dark circles under his eyes showed the full weight of his fourteen years. His little sister's absence rang in his ears as he added a bouquet of dandelions to the pile of mementos. She'd loved them even before they bloomed into fuzzy puffs of wishes, yanking up fistfuls to put in her hair every time they were in bloom. He'd thought it was ridiculous to shower love onto a weed.

Now, he'd blow on a billion dandelions if it meant he could have his sister back.

With his contribution added to the memorial, William had no excuse to keep delaying the inevitable. After one last lingering look at the tree, he adjusted the guitar strapped over his shoulder and dragged himself into the church.

Even amid the sea of black clothes, it didn't take the other townsfolk long to realize William had arrived. He slunk to his seat between his parents with his head bowed, but that didn't shield him from the stares pressing down on him along with the oppressive heat. He was there, and the children were not. Hamelin's other adolescents carried that burden too, but not as heavily.

They hadn't heard the song.

It came to him in a dream, or at least part of it had. Scattered notes tugged at his consciousness as if they were tuning his soul like a guitar string. He'd longed to follow the melody's promises of eternal contentment, but he wouldn't. Couldn't. Not when that would mean leaving Emma and Mother to face Father alone.

Mother's hand found his on the seat of the pew. "Are you alright?"

She certainly wasn't. Unshed tears choked her voice until it was little more than the faintest whisper, and in the year since Emma had disappeared, she'd gotten so thin William was afraid he'd snap her in half if he hugged her.

He settled for giving her a shaky half-smile. "I'm still here."

What he'd meant as reassurance left his lips as a hoarse statement. He was here, and Emma wasn't.

William released a shaky breath. He couldn't let anyone see how much he was hurting, not when they had already lost so much.

"Quiet," Father hissed. "It's bad enough you brought that blasted guitar. We don't need you drawing any more attention to yourself."

"Yes, Father," William whispered. He wished nothing more than to join the children wherever they were, but all he could do was wait to be called on to honor their memory with his music.