The Christmas Rat Read online

  “Not bad,” Anje said. “You had him cold. Good strategy, bad tactics. I mean, you got him where you wanted him, up against a dead end, but you didn’t have the right firepower.”

  “Firepower?”

  “If you had an M-16 assault rifle, hey, no problem. Blast him to nothing. Wouldn’t be a hair left. Not a smear. He’d be in rat hell right now. Burning.”

  I glanced up at Anje. He was so huge, with that long blond hair and mustache. I was glad he was there, but at the same time he was making me suddenly feel uncomfortable.

  “Failing firepower, there’s always my crossbow,” he went on. He removed it from his box.

  Fascinated, I watched as he positioned a brass bolt with an iron tip—it was like a small arrow without feathers—into a slot along the top of the weapon.

  I automatically stepped away.

  He cocked the thing by pulling the bow back. It made a distinct click. Then he aimed the weapon at the concrete wall and pulled the trigger. The bow made a high-pitched twanging sound.

  Thwack.

  “See,” Anje said.

  I looked where he pointed. The bolt was sticking right out of the wall. I mean, it had gone into the cement about an inch. Awesome.

  At the same time, I began to feel a little sympathy for the rat. I mean, Anje was right, that shot would have turned him into a bunch of nothing. All I said, though, was, “What do we do now?”

  Anje yanked the bolt from the wall and put his crossbow back in his box.

  “Traps,” he said. “Traps will bust his back. Or maybe poison, which is cleaner. Look here.” He pointed to the floor. “That rat found a weak spot and was trying to dig a hole.”

  “Maybe there’s cement under the dirt.”

  “Nothing stops a rat. Come on, let’s inspect some more.”

  He led the way, his powerful beam poking and probing like a light sword into dark corners. I came along cautiously, looking around him, trying to see what he was seeing.

  When we reached the elevator again, he paused.

  “Difficult terrain,” he said. “But not impossible. Got the flashlight I gave you?” he asked.

  “In the apartment.”

  “Hey, you want to keep it with you at all times. If you don’t have the right equipment—we call them assets in the military—you never can win.”

  “Win?”

  “Got to get our Christmas rat, don’t we?”

  “I suppose . . .”

  “The thing is,” he said, fixing me with an angry glare, “you tell someone he’s dead, and if you don’t follow through, he’s gonna live forever.”

  “Someone?”

  “The rat, bud. Who’d you think?” He looked around, waved his flashlight. When he caught sight of the door marked ELECTRICAL, he pulled at it. It was locked but that didn’t bother him. He dipped into a steel box again and pulled out a big ring of maybe a zillion keys. He studied the lock, flicked through his keys and had the door open in seconds.

  “See,” he said, “I can open anything.”

  I looked up at him.

  “Yeah,” he added, with the closest thing to a smile I had seen from him. “Even your apartment.”

  Inside the electrical room—which was small—there were three walls covered with switch panels.

  Anje probed them with his flashlight beam. “Okay, here we are. See,” he said, pointing to a label that read BASEMENT LIGHTS. He reached out and flicked the switch. The basement lights went on.

  “What you need to do is turn the overhead stuff off,” Anje explained. “Rats like darkness. So, make the enemy think you’re meeting them on their terms. Then overpower them where they think they’re strong. It doesn’t just flatten them, it demoralizes them. Get it?”

  “I think so.”

  “Fine. Okay, Eric—do I have the name right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Still with me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bored?”

  “Not now.”

  “Here are your orders. Get yourself down here in the middle of the night. Say, two A.M. Rat time. Turn off the lights. Here.” He touched the right switches. “Head back into that dead end area where the rat was digging and set yourself up. Keep that flashlight I gave you at hand. Then wait. Be patient. Make sure he’s really trying to dig in. Report back and, trust me, that rat’s standing in front of his god awaiting judgment. Remember our mission: a dead rat by Christmas. We together on that, dude?”

  “Yes . . . sir,” I said, a little unnerved.

  -7-

  In the apartment again I sat at the kitchen table and ate my lunch, a ham sandwich, soda, and a bag of chips. I could still smell some of that poison fog. Even a whiff of it made my nose itch. The exterminator’s white flashlight was on the table before me. When I picked it up it started to glow like it had before. I put it down and the glow faded. Loose connection, I figured.

  As I ate, I thought about Anje’s orders. I mean, the guy was really determined. But I allowed myself to admit that he was a little spooky too.

  The phone rang.

  “Hi, sweetie.” It was my mother’s cheerful voice. “How you doing?”

  “All right.”

  “The exterminator come yet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Place smells kind of funny.”

  “I know. Wish they hadn’t come just before Christmas. They never did before. What are you doing, hon?”

  “Just hanging around.”

  “No friends?”

  “In Florida. Or busy. Or sick.”

  “Christmas in four days, sweetie. Think presents!”

  I remembered the wrong radio-controlled car they had gotten me. “Yeah,” I murmured.

  “You sound bored.”

  “A little.”

  She sighed. “Eric, honey, read a book. Watch television. Video games. Draw pictures. This is vacation time. You can do whatever you want. I’ll tell you, I could go for a little of that.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s frantic here. Don’t know when I can get to lunch. Did you remember to bring the decorations up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll do the tree tonight. What would you like for dinner?”

  “Macaroni and cheese.”

  “You got it. Have to run. Love you, sweetie.”

  “Bye.”

  I went into my room and found a book to read. It didn’t interest me. I came back to the living room, switched on the TV. Everybody was stupid. I calculated how many hours till Christmas. Something like eighty. How many minutes. Four thousand, eight hundred. Boring!

  I sat for a while but got uncomfortable with the stillness. My mind kept turning to the rat. And Anje. Feeling a little nervous, but also figuring I should do something, I picked up Anje’s flashlight and took the elevator back down to the basement. I mean, I knew I was supposed to go to the basement at night. Two A.M., he had said. Except no way I was going to do that then.

  On the way down I had this weird thought: I had never seen anyone else there. It was like going down into the land of the dead. Then I reminded myself that I had seen Anje down there. And he was alive, right?

  -8-

  When I stepped into the basement, I found the lights on. That was good because the place felt deserted. Then, as I stood there, the elevator doors slid shut behind me. It began to clank up and the familiar noise slowly drifted away. All that was left was me with a heart beating too fast.

  I stood still for a long time, Anje’s glowing flashlight in my hand. Part of me wanted to go back up and forget the whole business. The other part kept me there. I mean, this was the most boring week in my whole life. Okay, I told myself, go find the rat. I mean, it was something to do and if the rat could do harm . . .

  I went to the door marked ELECTRICAL, and just stood there like a jerk, asking myself if it would be locked. But when I finally tried the door, it opened. I was sure it had been locked before. Was that Anje�
�s doing? I wondered. I mean, he said he could open any lock in the building.

  Anyway, I pulled the door wide and looked into the small room. I had been there only a short time before but the walls seemed covered with more switches than I remembered. After some searching I found the three labeled BASEMENT LIGHTS. And flipped them.

  The lights all went out. I flicked the flashlight on. The whole thing glowed again.

  Cautiously, I began to wander about, pointing the light beam on the floor, the walls, even the ceiling.

  Somehow the basement seemed bigger than I had remembered it. I mean, it was totally quiet. More mazelike, too. A whole lot of emptiness. So there was nothing to do but wander.

  I found myself in the same dead end where I had cornered the rat. I knew this was the place because I found the hole the rat had been digging. The thing is, it looked bigger. Maybe he was making a home for other rats. Or then again, I suppose he could have been just trying to get away. The point is, I didn’t know what he was doing.

  I examined the hole close up but since I was nervous about putting my hand into it, it was hard to tell how deep it went. The real question was, would he come back to this spot?

  I moved along the wall a few paces then sat down, leaned back, and turned off the flashlight. I was real glad then for its faint glow. Made me feel better.

  But only a little. I hugged my knees close to my body, keeping a finger on the flashlight switch, just in case. I mean, that dark beyond the glow was really intense.

  As I waited I got to thinking how, outside, it was white with snow and cold. Inside, it was black and warm. Still, I shivered. What would I do if I heard the rat? I reminded myself that my job was only to find out where he hid. No more. Then Anje could take care of . . . killing him.

  The words—which I had heard in my head—sort of echoed and re-echoed along the corridors of the basement. Killing him. Killing . . . I began to wonder how come I got into this thing. Because the rat was bad, an enemy to humans. Because it was Christmas vacation and I had nothing to do. Then I thought about it being Christmas, and you know, all that stuff about Jesus being born, and there I was, trying to kill a rat. Something was wrong.

  With a sigh I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Compared to the basement darkness, I liked my own shut-eyed darkness better. I got to thinking I needed to know more about rats. Maybe, I told myself, I should go to the library.

  I let my mind go blank.

  Except, the next moment I heard this faint noise. Or had I? Holding my breath, I listened to the stillness. I mean, it was really still. Was someone else coming down into the basement?

  “Hello!” I shouted. “Hello!”

  No answer. I waited some more. I don’t know how long, but sure enough, the first sound came again. It was tiny, like the sound of little feet scurrying. Was it the rat? My heart began pounding again. I think it was then that I had this thought: Maybe the rat is hunting me.

  The sound came again, closer, louder. I couldn’t be sure where it was coming from. But I positively heard the squeaking sound. Sort of like small rusty wheels turning, turning, rolling toward me.

  I looked down. The flashlight was glowing. It was then that I wondered: What if the rat was moving toward that glow? You know, maybe it was attracted to the flashlight.

  I quickly stuffed it under my shirt, but small as the flashlight was, the glow came through. I put my hand over it, but what happened was, my hand turned red—bloodred.

  And the squeaky sound kept coming closer.

  Beginning to feel panicky, I shifted my head, first one way, then another, trying to track the sound. When the squeaking grew louder, I was convinced it was off to my left, where I had seen the rat before. Hands shaking, I aimed the flashlight toward the sound and flicked the switch.

  The beam of light punched a hole in the darkness. At the very end of the hole was the rat. His head was up, sniffing. His eyes appeared to be on fire.

  I freaked. I mean, I really jumped, making a lot of noise. When I looked again, the rat was gone.

  Pushing myself against the wall, I swept the beam of light back and forth, trying to spot him. I couldn’t. I didn’t care. Wanting to get out of there, I stood slowly and began to back away toward the electrical room.

  Once there, my fumbling fingers turned on the overhead lights. Dazzled by their brightness, I hurried to the elevator, and the apartment. But even there, I didn’t feel completely safe. I got into my bed and burrowed down under the blankets. The truth is, I felt sick, cold, and really scared.

  It took a while but I calmed down and tried to decide why I felt so bad. Had the rat frightened me? Yeah, sure. That was obvious. But there was more. At first I couldn’t get it right. I kept asking myself, was there something wrong with me? I mean, was it wrong what I was doing? I really wished Pete was around.

  I called his house, thinking maybe his mother would tell me how I could call him. But the phone rang and rang until I finally hung up. Usually the answering machine was on, but not this time.

  I think it was about three in the afternoon when I made up my mind that I really had to find out more about rats. Like, maybe the exterminator was wrong. Maybe rats weren’t so bad. Anyway, what had the rat done to me? Just because Anje said they were bad didn’t make it true. I mean, who was he to say, you live, you die? Some god or something?

  -9-

  I headed for my computer, thinking I’d look up some stuff on rats on the Internet. But then I realized I really wanted to get away from the building.

  Bundling myself up, I set off for the library, glad for the excuse to get out. I did leave a note for my parents saying where I had gone in case they got home before I did.

  It was a long walk to the library—twelve blocks—and the air was colder than before. It was darker, too, but more people were out on the streets. I could hear them saying, “Merry Christmas!” After twelve blocks my teeth were chattering.

  The library was an old building built of red brick and covered with city grime. It wasn’t very nice-looking. Inside, though, it was warm and calming. There were only a few people there—except for the children’s room where there was this circle of little kids listening to a reading of ’Twas the Night Before Christmas.

  I made my way to the information desk and told the librarian at a terminal there that I wanted information on rats.

  She looked up and smiled. “Laboratory rats? Pet rats? Street rats?”

  “Street rats . . . I guess.”

  “Ah!” she said cheerfully. “The nefarious brown rat. I think I can help you.” She pushed herself away from her desk.

  She went along some low shelves—me following—and grabbed hold of a large volume. “Encyclopedia of Mammals,” she whispered. She lay the book down, opened it, flipped some pages, and stepped away. “There you are.” She went back to her desk.

  Left alone, I examined the color plate in the center of the page. It sure looked like my rat. Brown, with a naked tail. A fast reading told me that full-grown rats could be twelve to eighteen inches long. They could weigh more than a pound. They ate, the book said, “almost anything.” They were smart. They bred fast. They were born naked, blind, and helpless.

  My rat wasn’t helpless.

  Then there was this whole page about rats and history. Like Anje had said, they really were important. Rats and people seemed to go together lots, sometimes in good ways, sometimes bad. The worst was something called the Black Death, which happened in the thirteen hundreds. You’d get lumps on your body. There were spots, boils, and pain, too. You’d stink, then die, fast. Millions of people did die all over the world. And rats brought it. Made me sick to read about it.

  But even though rats brought diseases they were used—in laboratories—to learn how to fight diseases. Made me wonder: Did they fight the diseases they brought? I mean, how could they be both things at once?

  I read a little more but it was too creepy. I left the library and headed back. It was nighttime now and there were more peopl
e on the streets. Coming home from work, I figured, trudging through the snow, heads down against the cold. Were they going to find rats in their buildings? Were those rats connected to my Christmas rat?

  Though what I had learned disgusted me, there was this big question that kept going through my head. Did I want to kill my rat or not? At the moment all I knew was that I wanted to be home.

  I started to run, almost slipped on some ice, made myself slow down, but still walked as fast as I could, hands deep in pockets, my breath steaming in front of me. I actually found myself wishing there was school tomorrow.

  To my relief my mother was home and busy in the kitchen. The apartment was full of cooking smells. They made me realize just how hungry I was—and, finally, safe.

  Not that I knew exactly what I was feeling safe from. Was it the rat? Or—I kept asking myself—was it Anje, the exterminator?

  Then my father came home with a nice Christmas tree and a wooden stand. The tree was taller than he was, and so plump it was hard to see him behind it. Made me laugh. I was feeling better and better. This was what Christmas was really about, like the Christmases I remembered. The ones without Anje.

  -10-

  During our dinner of macaroni and cheese I wanted to tell my parents about the rat. But I didn’t.

  Finally, my mother said, “What were you doing at the library?” I realized she must have found my note.

  I shrugged. “Looking for a book.”

  “You find it?”

  “It was out.”

  She didn’t ask any more.

  Later on, I asked myself why I hadn’t told them about the rat. I decided I needed to figure out what I thought of it all first.

  We decorated the Christmas tree that night. It wasn’t as big as some years, but my father still needed help setting it on the wooden stand. It slanted only a little bit. I helped him drape the lights, too. A few bulbs were out, but the whole thing looked cool.

  With Christmas carols playing, my mother made popcorn. She had gotten some cranberries, too, and we strung them into long Christmas necklaces and draped them around the tree.