Samantha Brittain

Fiction 1

Brenner

"Palace of Rats"

9-17-06

I am in a hallway with a 1950's checkerboard floor. Vases stand a foot apart all along the walls of the corridor, filled with dead, brown flowers. On the walls, packed as tightly as possible, are cat clocks, the kind with moving eyes and tails. The kind you see in every horror movie ever made. Their incessant ticking reverberates through the hall, but slower than normal, slowed by the icy quality of the air. I can see my breath in front of me, and everything, including my skin, has a fine sheen of frost on it. I am running, and I can hear my ragged, shallow breathing, even over the cat clocks.

I can hear my footprints hiss upon contact with the cold floor; my tracks are hot, fresh blood. I am secure in the knowledge that it is not my blood, but rats' blood. The blood of every rat I have ever killed is in my footprints, as it always is here. Unfortunately, it makes me easier to track.

The hallway seems to stretch on forever, but my footsteps make no sound but the hissing as I run down it. It doesn't matter, they can still find me. I don't have to think about who they are. I know instantly they are wererats. They don't care whether I am alive or dead. I don't bother screaming, although I want to. It would take more oxygen than I care to waste.

There is a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the end of the hallway and I slam into it, my palms making a soft thudding sound as I hit it. Instantly, my hands start going through the glass. I walk through the mirror and step out on the other side. I am now in a ballroom, and the temperature has dropped at least 20 degrees. This would not be a problem if I was

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wearing warm clothing, but the billowing shirt, tunic, thin leggings, and leather boots do little to protect against the bitter cold. The floor is covered in ice, making walking difficult. As I take my first few steps into the room, a strange music fills the air. It sounds like a sting quartet, but there is something slightly off about it, as though the instruments are just the tiniest fraction out of tune. I look up into one of the galleries. Sure enough, there are the instruments, but they are playing themselves. Quickly, I scan the room, my eyes darting. They have to be here.

I take in the room. It is at least three stories high, with galleries along two of the walls. There are gold moldings on the ceiling and walls, that glint in the strange, half-light. This place has held many balls in its time. I know that this is the palace of a certain queen, whose name I do not know. She is human, yet she rules the rats. I try to picture rats dancing, and find that I cannot. Do they dance in their human forms, then?

The thought seems to conjure them, because instantly five of the wererats come racing at me across the floor. They have no trouble on the ice, but I know if I tried to run, I would fall instantly. I have to try anyway. I break into an unsteady run, slipping as I try to get away. The rats are closing the distance. A thought hits me. If I can just reach the tunnels…I think desperately. Somehow I know they are there.

Suddenly I skid and fall, hitting heavily and sliding. A rat is but a foot from me and advancing. I place both feet squarely in the center of its chest in a hard kick. It reels backward. I AM NOT RAT MEAT! My brain screams. I pull myself up slightly and start crawling, finding it easier to stay up. I see it! I place my hand on a small tile and shove downward. A trap door springs open and I dive into it, hitting the button that closes it as I

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enter. It slams shut before the rats can enter. I am safe for the time being, but it is pitch black down here and I couldn't see my hand if I were to hold it an inch from my face. I hold out my hand and concentrate. Sulfur-colored flames appear, lighting my way. It is still freezing in here. The place is familiar; I've been down this passage before. It leads into a labyrinthine system of tunnels that would drive someone who didn't know the way mad. But I know my way.

I make my way through twisting passages until I come to a collapsed tunnel and have to backtrack. This worries me. The more time I have to waste, the less time I have before the rats find me. And just as I think it, I see one.

It comes toward me, slow and malicious, its beady eyes gleaming in the fire light. I reach for a holster on my thigh, which up until now I hadn't noticed I had. I draw a gun. The rat licks its lips and forms on odd parody of a grin, the kind it would make if it were in human form, perverted by the facial structure of a rat. I point the gun at it, my aim steady. It continues to advance. It must not have heard that I carry only silver bullets.

Suddenly, it stands on its hind legs and the fur dissolves off of it in rippling patterns. Its bone structure alters. It is fast becoming human; a solidly built man who has to be a foot taller than me. Scars line his arms, marks from fights with other rats in his clan.

"Come now, missy, I ain't gonna hurt ya." He says in a low voice that I can still hear the rat in. "Queen says she wants you alive. Far be it from Thomas to disobey his lady."

He's still coming closer. I fire the handgun, not aiming to kill, and hit him in the abdomen. He swears profusely and doubles over in pain. I turn and run as fast as I am able, not stopping to holster my gun.

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My fire has not gone out and I hold one hand ahead of me, lighting my way. Suddenly, something strikes me hard in the back of the head and I fall to the floor, my vision going dark. The flame goes out and my gun flies out of my hand; I can hear it skidding down the passage. I try to get up and am struck a second time, and I can see bright flashes of light that are not really there.

"That wasn't very nice, missy." Thomas the Rat Man chuckles. I have never known a wererat to recover that quickly from a silver bullet, but for some reason, this one has. "I don't think you'll be able to stand anymore, so I'll be carryin' ya." He throws me over his shoulder and the pain in my head from the sudden movement causes me to lose consciousness completely.

When I come to, I am on the floor in front of a dais, on which sits the queen of rat kind. I hastily pull myself to a sitting position, though the pain prevents me from moving any farther. I am surrounded by rats; some in human form, some still in their rat state.

"I see we've finally caught you." The queen says in a hushed, hard tone that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. "Did you really think you could get away? You've been destroying my rats for too long now. Hasn't she, everyone?" This last is directed at the assemblage around me. They either yell out various forms of agreement or produce high-pitched squeaking. "Yes, I think something has to be done."

She pulls my gun from her billowing sleeve and aims it at my chest, saying "Too bad. We could have used you." A hear a shot ring out and feel excruciating pain. Then I know nothing more.