Mouse Under the Bed

As I sank into the couch, I took comfort in the familiar feeling of the worn cushions and I took great pleasure in running my fingers along the grooves of faux leather I often picked at. It had been another long day. There was nothing like letting my eyes glaze over while something was on the tv, just anything to get my mind off of how much my feet hurt and how spent my body felt. Just a few more days and I’d be able to pay the month of rent off and then I’d worry about the utilities. I looked over to the front door and double checked that I’d slid the metal chain lock all the way through before I let my sentience float away. 

THUD

A sound emanated from the bedroom and I hoped it wasn’t another mouse. I’m so tired of mice. I stretched my arms out and used them to push the rest of my body up off the old couch. My legs almost felt unwilling to move again after the long day, but if I didn’t at least check out the noise, I’d be too paranoid to nap on the couch.

The dresser on the far side of the wall contained all the memories of my past.

My brother and I at the lodge, my sister with her partner, and my – The photo I hated. I walked over and flipped the picture back up onto its stand, it was my father and I, standing side by side at my graduation. He looked so proud of me. I’ve not seen the creases of smile lines in a long time, and it’s been longer since I wore that cap and gown. A lot of time and money for nothing. 

I put the picture back down for a moment before the guilt swept under my heart and I placed it back upright. 

Maybe going straight to bed was better. 

—--------

That night I could hear the faint but persistent sound of nibbling echoing from beneath the bed. A tiny scratch-scratch that made my jaw tense. I knew I needed to get up and at least scare it away, but I was just so tired. I convinced myself that it didn't really matter anyways, the mouse would just run off back into whatever hole it came from. The landlord said they’d have a person out to take care of the problem soon, but I knew it wouldn’t matter even if everyone in this building complained until they were blue in the face. Even though it was making my teeth grind into dust, I decided to just try and fight my way into sleeping. I closed my eyes. 

                I had a 

            dream that

               night, a

stranger stood at the foot

of my bed. I couldn’t move, I

could barely blink. I could barely

see the outline of a shape in the

room. They were on the taller

side, broad shouldered, I had

thought it was my pa, but they 

didn't move an inch. As I tried

      to focus my eyes, the

      figure leaned forward,

      as if they were on the

      cusp of speaking with

      me, but chose to keep

       their words secretive.

The AC wasn’t on, but the room felt like winter, and this man’s torso held its shape, leaning in a hunched manner. I wanted to speak but my lungs and mouth betrayed me. He moved forwards once more and reactively, my eyes shut. The muscles in my body remained wound tight and while my breath held in my chest, I could still hear breathing from someone else in the room.

                                              zzy and was met again

                                       lt di                                       with      ound   

Panic                   t.   Fe                                                    the s             s    

     Clawed     ear   I                                                                                  of 

           At my h                     gnawing beneath my                 scratching 

                              and                                                 bed.       

The next morning I’d tried to forget the dream, but it had left me with a sliver of fear in my chest I knew I would have to carry to work. Of course I still had to go to work. Bad dreams don’t pay bills and they certainly aren’t anything I can call out over. I needed to get ready, and I needed to call the landlord again and complain until I was blue in the face.

The next night I trudged in, my back still felt tight and sore from when I’d lifted wrong. I wanted to go straight to bed this time, but paranoia dictated that I lock both of the front door’s locks, both the deadbolt and the chain, before hauling myself to the bedroom. I had the habit of closing my doors before I left a room, not being raised in a barn or something akin, so I felt a great deal of unease to find my bedroom door ajar. 

Scratch-scratch

I heard a skittering sound from the kitchen and hobbled as fast as I could to

investigate–

– SNAP

Turning the corner, I could see the culprit of the noise. They lay on their side, mouse trap squeezing their body too tight with a final goodbye hug. Good riddance. I disposed of the rodent crime scene and waddled to the bedroom, changing from the greasy clothes into a well worn set of plaid my mother purchased several Christmases ago. At least it was payday soon. Something about the second Friday of the month made the back pain ache a little less. I popped in some earbuds and cozied up to my usual true crime podcast, it wasn't the best but I'd been listening to it for a few years now so I almost felt a sense of obligation.

“...just a neatly made bed and a phone left on the kitchen counter. Could Emily have walked away from her life, or is something far more sinister at play? Stay with us as we connect the dots on this case that has left both investigators and her family with more questions than answers....” 

My eyes closed.

—------------------

When I’d awoken again, something felt wrong—off in the way the air pressed down on me, heavy and cold. I tried to breathe evenly, but every inhale was a slow struggle against the tightness in my chest. My chest locked at the rise of a breath – 

Another breath. Not mine. It came from above me. 

Slow and damp, with the hint of a rattle in the throat. 

The scratching from beneath my bed picked up, rapid and desperate, the sound of tiny teeth gnashing carpet, picking and scratching furiously. The urge to move built in my limbs, but fear pinned me down. The nerves in my body screamed and the rising panic drew upon me once more, curling and snapping down onto my body. I swallowed hard, my pulse thundering in my ears as the seconds dragged on. The breathing above me was steady, the rattle harsher when the figure breathed in. 

I held my breath again and the rattle ceased. 

Slowly, I forced my eyelids open, inch by inch, heart hammering as my vision adjusted to the dark. I was met with a gaze that stared intently, unafraid and very willing to confront me. 

He has my father’s nose and chin but it is not him.

He has my mother’s eyes and her cheeks, but he is not her.

He has a scar on his chin from fall when he was five but I know he is not me. 

His hands trace my neck.

.ʞɔɘn ɿυoγ ɘɔɒɿt ƨbnɒʜ γM