Last night should have been just another normal night. If these events had not transpired, then it - like many nights before - would have passed out of memory and become nothing more than part of the humdrum backdrop of my life.
Last night, however, was no normal night.
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I’d settled down in one of the armchairs that, Chandler and Joey style, dominate the centre of the living area in the flat that i share with my best friend. The place was a bit of a mess but nothing excessive - just the standard level of untidiness that you’d find in any place which boasted two twenty-something blokes as its occupants.
My housemate had already gone to bed as it was gone eleven and we both had work the next day. Normally i’d have been thinking about making the trip to Bedford too, but i’d noticed that The Golden Child was on and i couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch a decent Eddie Murphy film (all too rare these days).
It was about half way through the movie before the rustling started.
At first i thought i was hearing things, or that maybe it was the TV. After a while though, i began to realise that neither was the case. It was definitely real and it was definitely happening in the room.
I glanced around cautiously, trying to determine the cause of the complaint. It wasn’t loud but it was slightly annoying and by now my curiosity had been raised. A quick look around the room revealed a number of carrier bags - empty now of their Chinese content - on the table.
“Ah. I thought - that’ll be it. It’s the breeze from the window.”
Satisfied that the mystery had been solved, i went back to watching the film. Okay the noise was still there, but at least i now knew what it was, and my laziness levels far exceeded its annoyance factor.
About ten minutes later i realised that all the windows were shut. There was no breeze.
My blood froze and i could almost feel the adrenaline starting to flow into my system.
Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.
Cautiously i scanned the room. Looking, for any signs of movement. A pizza box lay abandoned and empty on the floor beside me, but it was silent. So were the magazines on the sofa, and the newspaper on the table. The only other thing it could be was the empty crisp* packet on the floor by the other armchair. I’d forgotten to put it in the bin earlier and…
…and it was moving.
Shit.
I stared at it - unsure what to do. It was definitely moving.
After what felt like a minute, i pulled myself together and started to assess the situation. Could it be some kind of spirit or poltergeist? No. We’d asked the landlord all of our standard zombie and ghost check questions before moving in (“Is this house built on an ancient burial ground?” “Has anyone ever died in this house?” “Have you ever opened a door and been swept away by a wave of blood?” etc.). I could also rule out monkeys - as the bag was too small. Similarly nano-bots were unlikely, as they were far too expensive for someone to waste on something as mundane as stealing an empty crisp packet. Soon i’d narrowed it down to two possibilities. It was either one of those robots from Batteries Not Included and i was about to embark on some wacky disney-esque adventure…
…or it was a mouse.
Within seconds my suspicions were confirmed. The rustling stopped and, out of the open end, appeared a small head.
“Well hello there mickey.” I muttered under my breath.
The mouse glanced up at me, and we locked gazes. It twitched its nose at me. I smiled grimly back. Our eyes met.
Without breaking his gaze i constructed in my mind a mental image of the room and at once i knew where he must have got in - the gap between the washing machine and the floor.
The mouse tensed and in that second i realised that i knew exactly what my furry foe was thinking - this fight was one that he could not win. He knew that he had to flee and to do so he had to return to the hole from whence he’d came.
He had to run.
Suddenly he made his move. Quck as a flash he darted out of the crisp packet and headed for safety. I threw myself sideways out of my chair reaching out as i fell for an object, anything, that i could throw at the escaping enemy. My hand brushed against something - it was the Scarface poster that my housemate had bought earlier that day, still rolled up and encased in a polythene cover. My hand started to close round it and then…
…and then something strange happened.
Time seemed to slow. I could clearly see the mouse, running for cover, and the hole that it was running towards. Still Skimming backwards slightly across the wooden floor i raised my new-found weapon like a spear and, as i did so, i felt thousands of years of genetic heritage kick in. In that moment i stopped being Garius the Web Developer and became Garius the Hunter-Gatherer. I felt the poster leave my hand and, guided by instinct alone, fly straight and true towards its victim. As it flew through the air generations of race-memory forced their way to the surface. Images flashed before my eyes. I saw a man, clad in fur, standing high upon a dead mammoth, his spear raised high in a gesture of victory and defiance. I saw a young boy moving silently through the woods clutching a rudimentary bow and following a herd of dear. As i saw the poster make contact with the mouse’s head i let forth a cry of victory, brutal, primal and ancient.
And then the world returned to normal. After a few seconds i got up and steadied myself against the table. My heart was pounding and my right arm was slightly sore from where i’d hit the floor. I looked over and saw the mouse, motionless, in the far corner. It had come within inches of safety before being felled by my make-shift weapon.
As i walked towards it i realised it was still breathing. It seemed the blow had merely rendered it unconscious. Picking up the poster i realised that i was going to have to finish it off. My grip tightened and i began to raise my weapon when suddenly, something inside me snapped.
I realised i couldn’t do it. My foe had fought well, he had made his run and he had come close to succeeding. He had been dishonoured in defeat - who was i to dishonour him further through death?
I realised what i had to do.
I lowered the poster and, carefully, picked him up by his tail. I would drop him out of the window onto the ground outside. When he woke up, he would realise what had happened. He would remember that he had been bested in battle and even if he could find a way back into the building he would not return.
“Perhaps” I thought to myself as i raised the window slightly and carefully dropped him out of it, “He will even tell his tale to other members of the mouse community. Perhaps over time a legend will grow, a legend that tells of one of the big-folk. A fierce and able warrior who bested one of the smartest and fastest warriors in the rodent kingdom yet who, unlike many of the big-folk acted with honour.”
I smiled to myself at this thought and was about half way back to my chair before that smile froze.
I suddenly remembered that our apartment was two storeys up :smack:
*thats “Chips” to you ungrateful ex-colonials