The Candlelit Attic

I glanced at Monsie for a split second before my eyes darted back up to the only window in the house that ever glowed. Against a navy-blue backdrop spangled with stars, the illumination flickered as gusts of summer breeze played across the windowsill indicating the window was open, the light, candlelight.

Monsie was fat. He’d grown up under the floorboards of Gilly’s Sweets. I had not been so fortunate and had spent my first couple of years in a barn. Not only were scraps hard to come by, but my siblings and I spent a great deal of time fleeing from the monstrous barn owl pair that lived in the rafters.

“James, you up for it tonight?” His pale whiskers quivered excitedly.

The home looming above us now was an entire universe of space- black, silent, and eerie. And just like every night we contemplated breaching the cellar’s wood-rotted baseboards, only the single window in the highest turret room glowed with warm haze.

Neither of us understood why we had refrained night after night from entering the mansion but we both agreed on our feelings of foreboding.

I said, “I don’t see why…” the reply caught in my throat.

Monsie shivered, his shiny onyx eyes wide and his tufty fur standing at extra attention all over.

I said, “You feel it too. I can see that quite plainly.”

Monsie nodded. “I am afraid. But I don’t know why…”

“I was taught to trust The Pulse.”

“As was I. And I can say for sure it’s saved my furry butt more than once.”

“Indeed. If it wasn’t for heeding that God-awful feeling, I’d have been owl poop long ago.”

The tingling sensation that set our fur on end I’d learned was akin to what humans called a sixth sense. We were taught from the time we learned to crawl to heed the warning; no wasting time looking around for danger, just HIDE quick as you can.

“C’mon mate,” I said, and started around to the back of the house. When out of sight of the attic window my fur settled, and a pleasant warmth nestled in my skin.

Monsie sighed, “Ahhhh.”

The back of the mansion was dark. We reached the cellar door that lay at an angle from the grassy yard to two feet up against the siding of the back wall next to the kitchen door.

Monsie began scratching with both paws in a whirling motion in the spot we had discovered a patch of crumbling wood rot the night before.

“Wait!” I whispered.

“What? The Pulse?”

“No, but I heard something.”

Though my legendary ears were larger than most mice’s, Monsie’s obsession with food lent him an overly sensitive sniffer. “Oh James…I smell fresh cornbread. Right from the oven…fresh churned butter and clover honey.”

By the dim light of the moon and stars, I saw drool glisten on his chin. He slurped it up. “Yup. Slow roasted ham shank with beans and just the right amount of maple syrup. Oooo, and just a hint of cloves.”

I said, “Odd though. There’s no light in the kitchen windows.”

Crrrrrreeek. The window on the other side of the door opened. We goggled with wondrous curiosity as two thin and gnarled hands, white against dark fabric towels, placed a pie on the sill to cool. The ragged fingernails were long and black.

While curiosity killed the cat, it downright toyed with, tortured, and dismembered the mouse.

“Did I mention sweet potato pie?” Monsie grinned at me. In the dim light his sharp pointy teeth shone.

I said, “Well…here’s our chance to get inside without having to claw through the wood.”

Monsie’s eyes were wide with fright, but he sniffed the air and eyed the pie. He shrugged and said, “We may be mad as hatters, mate, but I’ll have me a gander at that cornbread.”

“Okay. One pulse and we tickety-boo, outta there, agreed?”

“Right-o ole mate.”

The old wood planks were easy for mice to scale, in seconds we made the sill and paused at the threshold. Silence. And pitch blackness. We made our way across the soapstone countertop, careful to avoid the deep pit of the sink. We’d heard stories growing up, about mice falling into sinks; it was the death of them, they were inescapable traps with no footholds and sloping sides.

A voice suddenly cried out, “I heard that!” An old woman’s voice, shrill and deafening in the cavernous kitchen. A sudden rush of air, displaced by the woman’s rapid approach washed over us. I ran smack headfirst into a faucet tap. Only the wealthiest had faucets, I had stupidly forgotten about them. Monsie ran into my back and fell towards the chasm! He spewed a shrill shriek as I caught his haunch with my teeth and mustered enough strength to pull him up beside me.

“Agnes! Get down here! Quickly now!” the old woman screeched.

Her ancient lungs rattled as she sucked in air, but her movements were quick and light-footed. 

“Mumma! What’s the fuss? Sounds though you fell off the back-a lorry!”

“There! By the sink…a stinkin rat! Ohhhhh my lords…”

A light entered the kitchen, wavering and flickering, then steadying as it was placed on the table across the room. Monsie and I huddled behind the ham dish, not daring to breathe. The pan was hot enough to emit a singed fur smell.

“Mum. Calm down. There’s nothing there---”

“I heard it! Nasty dirty thing. Comin to infect our food…”

“Now stop.” The girl, Agnes, calmed the old hag then inspected the sink. She said after a minute, “Mum. It’s not a rat. Just a wee mousie …perfectly harmless.”

“How can you tell?” her voice was raspy, like she had gravel in her throat.

“It left a tiny dropping. It’s a mouse dropping, not a rat’s.”

I cringed and looked over at Monsie. He shrugged with his paws up in a sorry gesture.

“Hmf. Still vermin---”

“Harmless.”

I peeked around the edge of the ham. I heard Monsie take a chomp of it behind me and turned for a second to shake my head at him. The elder female had a keener sense of hearing than any human I’d ever been unfortunate enough to run into. Curious. She had the hearing of a cat. Monsie guiltily licked his lips and swallowed. The girl, who looked to be about ten, picked up the lantern and turned towards the door. For a second, by the light of the candle, I saw the old woman’s face clearly; its hideousness stole my breath.

Where her eyes should have been were clawed out black pits. A fat brown mole the size of my head perched at the edge of her chin and a long white hair fluttered there with her heavy breathing.

Monsie shuddered behind me.

This house was not haunted by ghosts or ghoulies as we had believed since birth, but by a scary looking blind old woman. Odd that the pretty little girl called the old woman ‘Mum’ and not Granny or Grandmamma. But, then again, humans were such odd creatures.

The old woman was hunched and rail thin, like a skeleton with a coating of wrinkly skin. She wore rags, dark, and hole-y. Another oddity. For the young girl wore a pale blue lounging robe of whispery silk and matching pajamas underneath. Her pale hair glistened in the soft lantern light. That, too, struck me as odd suddenly- the home was wired for electricity, but they used candles for light.

“Aggie,” pleaded the old woman, “Please. It’ll bite me. I’m afraid.” The woman’s clawed hands were clasped to her boosomless chest.

The girl giggled. “Oh, you silly goose. Alright…” She came over to where Monsie and I were huddled behind the ham. Monsie, perhaps fearing this was the end, chomped another mouthful of the sweet hot ham shank. The girl came over and said, “shoo! Go on. Get!”

We bolted across the counter and scampered down onto the wood planked floor and then into a small crevasse between the baseboard corners. We had to squeeze through like a thin thread through the eye of a needle. Behind the boards we shivered and peeked out.

The girl turned to the woman and said quietly, “Bring my dinner up. Now.” She took the lantern with her, enclosing us again in darkness. Faint light from the sconces in the hall that led upstairs emitted weakly into the kitchen.

As we watched, the old woman prepared a tray and by the meager light, we saw tears streaking her wrinkled cheek. I heard the soft plop as one hit the countertop.

Monsie and I looked at each other. There was plenty to eat here. We could feast and grow fat. The young one didn’t even care that we were there. Neither human brought forth The Pulse, but the old woman would surely smash us to mush if given the chance.

Monsie said, “So much food…but that woman scares me. Do you think she’s a witch?”

“Sure looks like one…but something’s not right here…”

“The girl could be her prisoner…

“I don’t know…seems like she was the boss. Very strange.”

“I suppose you want to check it out?”

“Well…”

“Of course, you do. You’re my bestest mate …but I’m lucky to still have my tail after some of our adventures.”

“I’m going up.”

Monsie shrugged then followed.

We came upon the girl’s spacious attic suite, warmly lit by a dozen lanterns and two dozen candles. The girl was staring at herself in the mirror at a bird’s eye maple vanity. She was applying make-up suitable for a woman twice her age as if playing dress-up. Then, accordingly, she stood and placed her feet into tiny, dainty, feathered slippers. They were the same shade of powder blue as her silk robe.

Monsie and I looked at each other, hidden now behind a pair of ruby red slippers in her wardrobe.

The old woman came up and into her room with a tray laden with the foods from the kitchen below as well as a fresh cut blood-red rose from the garden in a slim white porcelain vase. She put the tray down on a table by the window then backed away quickly, turned in the doorway and was gone.

The girl clapped her hands with delight and stood from before her vanity. When she turned around her face was…changed.

Monsie squealed and the awful face whipped towards us. The little girl’s face was now a mask like that of a terrible clown demon. The lipstick was schmeared ear to ear, her eyes big black circles. She grinned, her lips parting from ear to ear.

Her teeth were long and white and needle sharp. She said, “Stupid mice. Told you to leave. Now you’ll be my appetizer.” Every nerve in my body convulsed painfully as of I’d bitten into a live wire. The Pulse buzzed a blatant alarm, and I shrieked as well.

She came at us swift as a swallow in flight and we ducked just as fast into the wall.

We sat panting as she …licked the floorboards. Whaaa the hell? She whispered, “I smell you there little ones.”

We shivered. She turned away. We were just mice after all.

When we dared to breathe again, I said, “What the hell is that?!”

Monsie said, “Don’t know Mate, but she’s seriously scary enough to chase my appetite away! Let’s get the heck out!”

As we raced down the stairs, I heard the demon’s teeth gnashing together amid terrifying high-pitched laughter. Something whacked the carpeted stair riser behind me with a heavy thud that vibrated the soles of my feet.

In the kitchen, we squeezed under the pantry door and held our breath and watched as her patent leather Mary Janes slapped against the planks. She’d taken a candle sconce from the wall to aid her search and in its light I saw the whites of her eyes as they rolled to and fro. Drooly strings from her too-wide shark’s mouth dripped onto the floor. She said in a sing-songy child’s voice, “I smell you daft wee mice…oh! Ha ha, I smell poop.”

I felt Monsie shiver a grimace. I whispered, “Bruuuv…really?”

Monsie ignored me but I heard him sniffing the air.

“What?”

He said, “Smell. Um…not good. I may be sick…”

The demon’s shadow feet stopped at the pantry door. A put a paw over Monsie’s mouth as he stifled a gag. We scrambled to the side of the door frame as the door opened, it’s hinges faintly squealing like a wee piglet’s snores. With our backs against the wall, we took in the pantry by candlelight. Shelves coruscated reflections of the yellowy light off a hundred jars with metal lids and canned goods. This sight would normally send Monsie into a trance-like state, but he was looking towards the back of the pantry to our left where a dark shape huddled on the floor.

As our eyes adjusted to the new light, I saw it was a human there. He was dressed in a mail carrier’s uniform. And very dead. So dead in fact, a leg was flayed open, the thigh meat cut out.

Monsie made an urping sound behind me. The ham had been human flesh after all. When we were wee baby mice, we’d take a pact not to eat human flesh. They provided us with crumbs and gardens and shelter. We felt it was copacetic but every once in awhile, a human freaked out at the sight of us. Don’t know why really. They are so much bigger. (Another myth is the elephant thing. Are you kidding? An elephant would simply stomp one of us.) Human flesh was just as taboo to us as eating one of our own. We may be mice, but we were civilized mice.

The demon child went to the body. She had a butcher knife in her other hand; we both pulled our tails close around us. The pantry was an ell-shape, it turned out. Behind the body, a corridor elbowed to the right. The girl bent and sliced a bloody swatch of meat from the leg and stuffed it in her maw…all in one swift, fluid motion.

We could have fled. Run out the door now her back was to us…but…a shadow appeared on the wall of shelves beyond the mailman’s corpse, mesmerizing us.

The old lady came forth from the dark, groping the shelves gently and inching around the body with head bowed over her collarbone. She croaked, “Agnes, do you need something?” There was a tremor of fear in her softened voice. “I’m sorry if I forgot the salt again…” and she flinched as if expecting a blow from the candlestick or a poke from the knife.

“No, you old bore. Have you heard the mice? I can smell ‘em here.”

“No ma’am, not a peep.” She was creepy no longer. She made me sad. I knew that she knew we were there…and oddly, I had the feeling she knew exactly where. Those amazing cat ears of hers.

Monsie dropped another poop.

The old woman turned her eyes to us just for a split second…but that’s all it took. The demon-child whipped around and saw us. She was insanely fast. She leapt to us in a single heartbeat and plunged the knife into the board between Monsie and me.

We both shrieked and jumped apart, then grasped each other again as the demon-child slammed the door and placed a foot against it, blocking our escape. We scooched around her foot, and she stomped again, blocking our way out.

The old woman had come from the back of the dimly lit room. I had not noticed the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling before but saw it now, as the woman pulled the string cord.

Bright white light flooded the narrow room.

The demon screamed so shrillily ultrasonic, I thought my ears would be ruined forever by tinnitus. Her hands curled into ironic claws like that of the old woman’s that fluttered at her sides, the candlestick fell from one, the knife from the other. As flames caught on a sack of grain on the floor next to the corpse, Monsie and I rushed over and pulled the mailman’s coat to the sack and put out the small flames.

We turned as the demon stumbled into the kitchen. “Oh, you foul bitch! Ohhhhh!”

The old woman stood erect and swift as ever, raced past the demon and flicked the kitchen light switch on. Brilliant, vibrating light filled the space and was tripled by the spotlessly clean appliances and countertops. Even the faucets reflected glints of light.

The demon’s skin had started smoking. It looked brown like a roast broiling in a stove. It was still squalling, but now not with fury but with a desperate need to escape. It flew through the open kitchen window.

From the countertop we looked out to the yard below. There was nothing left of the creature but the footprint of a ten-year-old girl in the pie.

***

As we sat, the three of us in the brightly lit dining room, we ate. Lucia was quite the gourmet chef. She said, “I had the electricity turned on about six months ago while she was out about the town in her girly disguise. But I didn’t have anywhere to go. At least here I had a roof and food... y’know?”

We let her talk as she explained. We could not speak each other’s language but were copasetic with our living arrangements and ate dinner together every night. As long as we kept electricity alive in the house, the demon would not come near.

We said a simple toast as we did every night, “To us.” She with her crystal goblet, us with a thimble each; our half tails curled safely around our feet.