Rat Song

Chapter 1

Pastor Abrams approached his podium with his head bowed, silencing hushed conversations as surely as autumn snuffed out summer's warmth. The Book of the Lord sat unopened before him. No words, holy or otherwise, could hope to capture the depth of their loss, but he still faced his congregation as solemnly as he did every Sunday. "We are gathered today to honor the lost lambs who wandered from our pastures," he began, his voice crackling like fallen leaves. "Though we do not know where they are, I have faith our Lord will return them to us or else welcome them into His kingdom."

A chorus of amens rippled through the crowd. The word caught in William's throat, deadened by hundreds of unanswered prayers.

"Though they are no longer with us in body, they remain with us in spirit," Pastor Abrams continued. "Who else but little Peter Farnsworth could fill our hearts with joy over something as simple as a breeze?"

"He'd get so excited whenever the wind started picking up," his mother said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "He just about tripped over his own feet every time he ran to get his kite, always skinning his knees."

"Yet he still kept running," Pastor Abrams said with a chuckle. "And who could forget Matthew Cunningham? Well do I remember how he would share his pockets full of candy with his classmates once they'd finished their lessons for the day."

"Hard to forget when he'd always leave my store with sticky fingers," Mr. Stein grumbled good-naturedly. "By the time he was done rummaging through the bins, he'd fill his pockets more than my till!"

"Can't fault him too much," Mr. Cunningham said with a shrug. "Not when he'd spend hours smelling your caramels when he helped you haul in firewood all winter."

With each child the town reminisced about, guilt struck William as strongly as Father hammered iron in the forge. He'd been asleep. Every single child in Hamelin had disappeared overnight, and he'd been asleep. If he'd just woken up sooner, maybe he could have stopped them from leaving. Instead, all anyone had found the next morning were empty beds and trails of footprints leading to the Tantalus River.

Father squeezed William's arm. "Pay attention," he hissed as he tightened his grip.

"Yes, Father," William whispered. He met his father's eyes for only an instant, just long enough to show he'd been listening. Any longer than that, and the anger burning in Father's gaze would singe his soul.

That moment of distraction was enough to catch the pastor's attention. "Would you like to say a few words about your sister, William?"

William sank into the pew as everyone stared at him. "Emma was one of the kindest people I've ever known," he began, casting his gaze to his hands as he blinked back tears. "When the rats forced us to ration our food, she wouldn't say a word against them because she thought they must have been starving to eat so much."

The congregation murmured, shifting in their seats at the mention of the vermin that had plagued the town years ago. The swarm had left as quickly as it had come, but not without devouring that year's harvest. None could forget the sea of squeaking, the barren fields, or the cold bite of winter gnawing on their empty stomachs.

"We were truly fortunate to have such a compassionate child who cared for all the Lord's creatures," Pastor Abrams said. His smile stretched thinly, straining at the edges. "And we are also fortunate to still have you, William. Have you decided which song you will play to honor the children?"

"Yes." The word escaped William's lips as little more than a squeak. His back ached with the memory of how Father had reacted when he told him he'd been practicing instead of delivering horseshoes to Mr. Farnsworth. One false note, and he'd both dishonor his sister's memory and earn his father's ire. "But may I please go outside to tune my guitar?" he asked hoarsely. "I meant to do it earlier, but..."