In the Walls
By
Mari Mitchell
It was a cold night inside the tiny trailer that Johnny Lemuel called home. He swore if it wasn’t for his cat, Rufus, sleeping with him under the covers they’d have both froze. If he could, he’d have run the heater. Propane was expensive, almost five dollars a gallon, and he needed what they had for cooking. Wrapped in every blanket, he could still feel the chill. Johnny considered getting up and making hot coffee or tea but the caffeine would keep him up even longer and he was out of sugar. It was time to pick up another handful of sugar packages from work, some ketchup too.
Rufus watched intently at the vent under the stove. A rustling of movement came from within the wall. After some consideration it sounded more like gnawing to Johnny. Like something was eating wood. Then it occurred to him that it sounded more like bone. 'One too many horror movies,' he told himself.
The chewing really worried Johnny. He knew nothing about repairing electric wiring and there was no way he could afford to have it done.
Finding a butter knife he tired to unscrew the bolts of the vent. No luck. Johnny took the knife and shoved it through the slits in the vent. He didn’t want to stab anything alive either flesh or electric. Nothing came from the random pokes. After more thought and some hot but bitter coffee, Johnny was glad he hadn’t been able to achieve his foolish goal.
He decided whatever it was couldn’t be a snake, way too cold for them. No way was it scorpions or spiders. They don’t make that much noise. In his library of experience, that left out all of the really deadly stuff.
After the sun rose, there was enough light for Johnny to finally go outside and get the proper tool. What he needed was one of those Phillips heads. It came off easier than he thought. A large hose was exposed and it must have either put out warm air or suck in the cold. There was more than enough room for a rodent to make its way around. Hell, there was enough room for an army of them. Johnny laughed at the thought of an army of mice, a tiny general squeaking orders to its troops, toy tanks lined in a row.
“I must look like King Kong to them." He glanced at Rufus he said, “and you like Cat-zilla.”
Johnny hoped that Rufus would be able to get at it while he was away at work. “Okay, Rufus. I’ve got to go to work and so do you. I expect to see a corpse when I come back tonight,” he said firmly.
Johnny rethought what it was he'd just said to his small black cat. “I mean the thing in the wall, not you.” The cat blinked his green cameo eyes and went back to sleep.
It was a great day at work. Kate, the manager bought Johnny lunch. He had the biggest burger they had with everything, but pickles. Johnny hated those things. She let him have fries and onion rings too. He thought his belly would burst but it was so good. A hand full of sugar and ketchup went into his backpack before he went home. Small things like that can make beans or hot dogs taste a whole lot better.
After Johnny got home he asked Rufus, “So did you get him, boy?” He meowed back, but Johnny was unable to break the cat code of speech. Everything was given the once over to see if there was any blood or even better, an ex-mouse. Not a damn thing.
That night the two had a feast; it was the paycheck in the middle of the month. Rufus got a fresh can of cat food, which he ate, with more relish than usual. His bowl of crunchies was empty. Johnny was sure he'd filled it the day before. It usually took the cat more time than that to go through his bowl. Perhaps he had a guest?
Johnny had spaghetti with meatballs and garlic bread and chocolate cake. It was much better than beans and rice.
Johnny had even rented some movies. "I got Willard. I thought we'd enjoy it.." He half thought it would inspire Rufus. Boy was he wrong. The rats won in the end of the movie, bad choice on his part. "It's only a movie. It’s all made up,” he said trying to reassure his cat as he stroked the cat's soft warm fur. By the way Rufus' tail twitched, he did not appear to buy it.
Another cold night in Mojave, the winds blew hard and shook the trailer as if it were a boat on rough waters. Next paycheck he was gonna get either an electric blanket or a space heater, whichever was cheaper.
The gnawing came back right before Johnny was about to fall asleep. Maybe he could make up some kind of poisoned cookie or see if there were any traps at work that he could acquire?
The next morning when he was getting dressed, Johnny found that one of his socks was missing. How on Earth would he have only put one a way? When you only have six pairs of socks you keep track of them. Two of his shirts had huge ragged holes in them as well.
Johnny worked a double shift that day, one at his regular job and another at the bookshop. The best part, other than the extra money was that he got paperbacks they did not sell. Of course they didn't have their covers but he tried to never judge a book by its lack of cover anyway.
When he got home his door was open. Johnny never left it open before. With trepidation he entered scanning for any signs of an intruder. He found nothing amiss but Rufus was gone. He decided to go over to George Martin's trailer where the rock music was blaring to ask him if he’d seen anything or knew where his cat was.
“I can’t say I did, man. But I’m sure as hell heard something. The next thing I knew, your cat was under my trailer.”
Johnny was relieved to see that his cat was okay. He tried to get him to come home but it did no good. It's hard to make a cat stay when all they want to do is leave. After the third attempt one that ended with a scratch across his gut he gave up and let Rufus go where he wanted. He hoped that after he deposed of whatever it was that had frightened his small cat he would move back. He did not want that guy to have his best friend for long.
Small clumps of fur missing, no wonder Rufus moved in with George. The rat-mouse must have gotten the best of the poor cat. He gave George all of Rufus’s things and promised to pay for all of the cat's needs if he could come over and visit them both.
“Cool with me.”
George said he had no problems with mice.
"Not me, but Mary across the way has."
This was not surprising she had problems with everything from toothpaste to UFOs.
The night was long and lonely with no Rufus at his side. At some point sleep over came him. Johnny woke to an odd feeling that his hair was being pulled out. Not handfuls but it was several strands. At first he thought he had gotten his hair caught in the zipper of a pillow, but just as he was getting ready to turn to free himself, he felt scraping on his scalp. Not with an overly sharp instrument but it was quite real. Johnny sat up hurriedly and shook out all of the blankets and pillows attempting to remove that feeling of willies and it. He felt where his scalp stung to see if there was any blood.
Johnny didn't go back to sleep after that. He couldn't read either. His mind was too dim to make out the meaning of the words. The TV flicker, showing nothing he wanted to see.
All morning he could feel where his hair had been pulled. After Johnny had gone to work, he asked if there was any kind of mark where it had been pulled. He did not tell of his experience the night before. He was sure he'd have been heavily kidded, to say the least. To his dread, there was a red mark and hair was missing. This meant that it was not all in his head. Some of it was at least on his head.
As he opened the door of the trailer, Johnny heard scurrying of tiny feet with tiny nails. His cupboard, where he kept most of his food, was open. This was no small feat. The latch was strong. In a trailer, they have to be so that nothing falls out when it is moving. And living in a trailer even when it’s not on the road means it moves. It had to be something like living on water.
Johnny was glad that he had a left over salad from work to eat. Salads are only good for twenty-four hours so at closing instead of placing them in the trash they were sometime given away to whomever was there. It was one of the few small perks you got for working graveyard shift.
As he slept, he dreamt he was standing at a pulpit. Johnny awoke to something akin to music. It reminded him of the Gregorian chants sung by the Benedictine monks. He lay still trying to discern where the sound was coming from. The church down the street must have been having a late night rehearsal.
When Johnny rose he went to gather the sundries for his morning grooming. The hairbrush was gone. His last pair of clean underwear had a hole you could ride a moose through. He noted that it was not a good morning.
That settled it; tonight he'd have to take action.
At the library there were computers. He wanted to see if there was an anti-mouse cookie recipe. It quickly became apparent there was no such thing in all of Google-dom.
Johnny would be bringing home something from work to help take the bastards out. There was some stuff listed as poison amongst the cleaning products. He hoped that he'd be able to come up with a concoction that would be appealing to them but deadly.
Johnny stopped by George's to see Rufus and to make up the Cookie-of-Doom. Rufus was out of food and there was stuff in his water. 'Poor guy, but he must feel that it is better than what he'd have to put up with at my place.' Johnny thought to himself.
Inside George's trailer it smelled like burnt rope. Rufus didn't seem to mind. In fact he seemed happy about it.
"Here man, have some suds and pizza."
"No, I'm okay."
"No you're not. You've got dark circles under your eyes and I swear you look like nothing but skin and bones. For the love of Henrex, eat something."
"Thanks."
A store bought pizza had been popped in to the oven. It wasn't as good as the one from the local pizza joint but bad pizza was still pretty good. A couple of beers helped their creative juices start to flow as the winged the recipe.
Johnny shared his crust with Rufus. The strange black cat loved the crust, growling as he ate it. His ex-cat didn't much care for pepperoni though. Johnny suspected it was because of the heartburn it must have caused.
"Who is it that said necessity is the hobgoblins of invention? They may have been on to something?" Neither George nor Rufus gave a reply.
Johnny mixed peanut butter, oatmeal, crushed Advil and something that was used to clean the toilet in the Cookies-of-Doom. One of the batches caught on fire. Another wouldn't hold together, it was just crumbs. The third one fell into the sink, but the fourth one seemed fine.
"Thank you," Johnny called half way home.
"Here mousy, mousy," he sang as he entered the front door. "Johnny's got something for yea. You little shirt-shit-eaters." With the exaggerated care of drunken man he placed the Cookie-of-Doom into the wall.
He woke feeling like he was encased in wet cement. Johnny always was a cheap drunk. What was left of his head pounded with every beat of his heart like a drum circle. His tongue had a fuzzy, thick pink sweater.
Johnny needed to pee before his bladder burst. A flash ran through his head, ’That would be a hell of a mess to clean up.’ He tried to sit up but to no avail. "Jesus, I must have drunk more than I thought."
Much to his surprise, he couldn't move more than a small fraction. With effort he could mange to move his chin and then he saw why. It was like something out of Gulliver's Travels. Spider web-like strains ran across his whole body holding him tight to the bed. Dental floss bound his hands and feet together. At least it had that green waxy look to them, not that he could see it up close.
Johnny heard George's rock tunes screaming. That meant he was outside and close. "HELP! George. Someone. Anyone!" he called out hoping to be heard.
Before he could cry out again, there was a feeling of something sharp against cheek like a needle. "The Johnny's be the shh or sewt lips upt," it hissed at him.
Out of the corner of his eye he could make out something moving. Whatever the hell it was it was small, standing only about eight or so inches tall. The creature had two stout legs and arms that matched. The head had a pointed snout and beady black eyes much like a mouse or a rat’s.
The chanting he heard before faintly was now in the room with him and it seemed to be coming from the floor of his trailer.
More and more came on to his bed until there were at least over a dozen of the things. It was hard to know how many because he still could really only see what was in front him clearly.
Most of the Cookie-of-Doom and one of the creatures were placed on his chest. It was clearly dead. Between his legs was some sort of doll. It resembled him for the most part. Now he knew where the bits of cloth from his clothes had gone and he was sure that on top of the dolls head was his hair. Some made the doll, some made their clothing.
Johnny could make out one of the creatures kneeling beside the dead one. Her thin tail whipped with anger as it spat, "Givet whats it gavet us!" There was an unusually trilling sound to its manner of speech.
Another creature with long robes that had stood by his likeness now came forward. The chanting hushed.
"The holiest tales tell of the last supper of Lod. Before Lod was hunted givet his lifet that mrant may livet. He told ust that he wouldt come backt and that many wouldt come to provide for mrant and one among wouldt be Lod." It paused and stared at Johnny with unblinking eyes. "Not Lod. Bad provider."
His bed erupted with high-pitched squeals and clicks.
Johnny decided that he was still asleep and that this was one hell of a nightmare. "Wake up!" Now he felt three more sharp points pierce his skin: one at the other side of his mouth and the other on either side of his temples.. Warm streaks of blood ran from each of the four points. It was cold, like he'd been locked into freezer at work. Johnny screamed from the depths of his soul and lungs.
The robed creater raised its arms holding the large Cookie-of-Doom and shoved it deep into the screaming mouth, muffling Johnny's cries, making him gag and wanting for air.
Two mrants penetrated the center of his top and bottom lips together, making it impossible for Johnny to spit out the contents of his mouth.
The last word Johnny ever heard was the choir of creatures speaking almost as one, "Eucharist".
The Mrants that stood on either side of Johnny's head pushed the long knitting needles. In an instant, they were through and into the soft grey matter that lay within. Each side stirring the content of Johnny's head into scrambled eggs.
The robed one spoke after Johnny let out his last breath. "Lod gave the Mrants meat, saying 'Tis body of Lod. And Lod said, 'Tuly, tuly, say thist Mrants eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal lifet.'
Johnny did not show up for work that day or any other. On the second day of a no-show, Kate went to his trailer after her shift ended. At first she knocked on the door, then she pounded. Nothing.
There was an odd rotten smell that was apparent when you stood close the large window of his neat small trailer. That was when she went to the manager and asked her to call the police.
It wasn't hard to open the cheap lock. Officer John Peterson said that he had never seen anything like it. What was left of Johnny was found on the bed, under some kind of organic thread that held the body tight. He was now a kind of husk. The coroner stated there was a small cut on the abdomen and somehow through that all of the tissue was removed. Most of his skeleton was still intact and had been stripped clean with a small sharp tool. Traces of grey fur and cloth were found under his skin.
Mary Norten walked over from her trailer a couple of days after Johnny's body had been removed. "Oh my God, I can’t believe what happened to him. How’s his cat doing George?"
"Yeah, that was creepy. I saw him the night before you know. Ruffles is doing fine."
"I thought his name was Rustle?"
"Not any more."
"I was going to get a cat tomorrow from the animal shelter. Those mice are so bad now. I swear I hear them gnawing in the walls."