Microstory 1570: Vatutotew

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Prompt

Some tiny little creature has been living in my utility room, and I know it’s not a mouse. I got a good look at it once, and I saw intelligence behind its eyes.

Botner

I think I’m scared to look at it again, because I don’t want to see just another grisly rat corpse on my kitchen floor. Or to know what it is that has been chewing up my animal crackers. The rats in the basement have been a constant thing. I’ve bought things that deter rodents, and I put small amounts of poison in the walls and floors. It’s always the same: for three weeks, they are gone. Three weeks. Then they come back. The wads of mouse poop in the utility room? I’ve never seen that before. I know I haven't been in the basement for a while. There are doors in the walls leading into the house, I think to keep me from getting killed. I think I should have all of my meals in the kitchen. Not so much for convenience’s sake, but because there are mice. I can’t find my glasses. I have one set, and one set that I am pretty sure they aren’t in. I’m pretty sure that they are in the damn utility room. And, you know what? I know my husband bought another pair of glasses, and I...

Conclusion

...have to wait until my birthday before he’ll give them to me. He probably hid them in the utility room too, which means, if I want to get a better look at the weird creature living in there, I’ll have to go in there first to retrieve the glasses. Even though I won’t be able to see very well, I can still protect myself, with a long-sleeve shirt, and elbow and knee pads. I look like an idiot, but I’m not taking any chances. If it turns out to be a mouse, then fine. If it’s a rat, then not as fine, but I’ll still probably survive. If it’s an evil alien bent on the destruction of the human race, then...then I don’t know, but I’m not going in there unprepared. I have a bat. I slowly crack the door, but then throw it open. It’s easier to see tiny animals when they move, so I would rather it scurry away fast than sneak behind me so I can’t even tell it’s there. Nothing. I see no movement. I lift the laundry basket, nothing moves. I open all of the cabinets, and shine a flashlight in them. Not there either. I open the dryer, but it’s insane to think something that small would exert enough force to get inside. I bend down to check the washer too, confident in the same assessment. It’s in there, staring at me, not like it’s scared, but confused as to why I’m in what it must think is its territory. It looks like a little furry human, gray, with a tail. It turns its head slightly, and looks at me more with one eye, which is something a person would do when sizing somebody up. It is as smart as I thought, or maybe even smarter. Finally, it extends an arm. “My name is Vatutotew,” it says politely. “Have I misidentified this room as abandoned?”

Microstory 1024: Rufus

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Most kids in my class think that I was held back in school, but that’s not what happened. I was just born at a weird time of the year, and missed the cutoff date by this much. So I’m really only a few months older than everyone else. Despite what they believe, I’m not dumb at all. It is they who are dumb. I can’t tell you how many of them ask me to buy beer, and not ironically either. Anyway, I live alone. My parents took a vacation in Seattle a few years ago, and fell in love with the place. They wanted to move there pretty much right away, but two things were holding them back: my grandparents, and me. One of those problems was solved when my uncle retired, and agreed to take over the caregiving duties. The other was solved when I became an adult. We had a lot of long conversations, but I adamantly encouraged them to follow their dreams, which they had done for me faithfully my whole life. They finally agreed to it, and left. Meanwhile, I’m still here, finishing my schooling. I’ve applied to a couple colleges in the Northwest, but haven’t heard back from any yet. I don’t need to move back in with them, but I would like to be close. There’s nothing keeping me in Blast City, that’s for sure. But you don’t want to know about me, you asked after my relationship with Viola. Well, I do have one pretty good story. As soon as my parents left, the house turned to crap. I had always been the one to do most of the basic chores around the house, and never had much problem with it, but I didn’t realize until then that I was really doing for their benefit. I suddenly had little motivation to keep the place nice and tidy. But now there were dishes piled up in the sink so high that I couldn’t reach the faucet. It was really bad, and the worst of it was the little mouse that kept leaving presents for me at night. I got this crazy idea to catch it, and keep it as a pet. I bought a little plastic cage for him, and everything, which he seemed to like. Our life together was going great until I had clean said cage, and he scurried out. No problem, I thought, I’ll just catch him again. Except that mice are like the people of the tiny world. They’re incredibly smart, and incredibly good at learning. He somehow figured out how to keep his hind legs planted outside of the trap, and lick the peanut butter off the back plate, so the lid wouldn’t be able to close on him. Either that, or he made friends with the cricket that’s been misguidedly trying to serenade me to sleep every night, and convinced it to haul the peanut butter out for Peanut Butter. Oh, I named the mouse Peanut Butter, by the way. For whatever reason, I felt put on the spot when it came time to come up with a proper thing to call him, and a jar of peanut butter was logically sitting in front of me.

Back to the story, my former pet continued to torment me over the course of the next few weeks. I found more presents on the counters, and could hear him rustling the newspapers in the middle of the night. I cleaned my house like no one has ever cleaned before, I tell ya, but nothing would get Peanut Butter to leave. Well, Viola came over one time to borrow a yarmulke—ya know she never told me why she needed it, and she never had the chance to give it back. Hm. That’s fine, because she managed to find a bag of mouse feed I had forgotten I was storing in the very back of an old cupboard I don’t use for anything else. I was feeding Peanut Butter the entire time! That’s why he wasn’t leaving! What a relief, right? Well, that’s not the end of it. A few days pass, and everything seems fine, but I walk downstairs to get some water one night, and there’s Peanut Butter. He’s just sitting on the tile of my kitchen, chillin’ like a villain. I know the trap won’t work. Even if I set it back up, I have little guarantee he’ll decide to climb into it after all this. So I grab a little plastic bowl I used to eat cereal from as a child, and hover over him for, like, five minutes. I just keep thinking that, no matter how fast I go, he’ll be faster. He just needs three centimeters before he’s under the oven, and gone forever. But eventually, I swing my arm down, and plant it on the floor. He’s in, good. I start to slide a piece of cardboard under it to keep him from escaping again, but I see red. There’s red stuff on the floor. Oh no, I’ve injured him; badly by the looks of it. Afraid of what I’ll find, I carry him out the door to the blistering cold—in nothing but my underwear—and open the bowl. He’s seemingly alive, but he’s not running away. In fact, when I try to walk back to the house, he follows me. I think he grew quite fond of me, and probably didn’t realize what he was doing when he escaped. It didn’t matter, though. The blood loss, and the cold cold; it was too much for him. I watched him fall to his little chin, and stop moving. Still half naked, I find a shovel in the toolshed, and dig him a little grave right there. Viola, like a psychic, randomly shows up, and says a few words in Peanut Butter’s honor. Then she leaves, and I go back to bed. The next morning, I wake up to the news that Viola’s body was found facedown in Masters Creek. She was killed before sunset the day before. I still don’t understand how that’s possible.

Microstory 898: Gerrafy and Nanomouse

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Research log, July 31. A lot of people know that only one species of giraffa exists in modern day, but what I’m the only one who knows is that that is not true. There is another, extremely rare, but very much alive species that I have named the gerrafy. The few I’ve encountered were seven meters tall, but they were all female, and—based on giraffe sexual dimorphism—I believe they can reach upwards of eight and a half meters. I discovered the first specimen living in the depths of none other than the Amazon rainforest. If ever you were going to find an animal no one knew existed, it would be there, so I was not surprised. What I was surprised to find was a second hitherto unheard of species of mouse that I believe to now hold the record for the smallest in the world. The African pygmy mouse comes in at a length of only a few centimeters, but the shipayan nanomouse is barely one centimeter long, and I do not currently possess a scale sensitive enough to measure its weight. Even more interesting, these two phenomenal species seem to enjoy a symbiotic relationship between them. The gerrafy protects the nanomouse from predators, while the mouse rids the gerrafy’s fur of parasites, and other pests, which seem to be particularly fond of the oils its skin excretes. I’ve by now found a couple dozen specimens of gerrafy, and I’ve yet to find one that does not keep a nanomouse with her at all times. I’ve also never seen one of the mice away from its gerrafy companion. One would think there would be a population discrepancy between them, but I have not seen evidence of that yet. I will continue to study these beautiful creatures. I’ve taken one pair of them to the abandoned Museum Salinas, which was the only location I could find large enough to accommodate the beast. They have broken free of their cage, and are racing down the hallways. I believe they have made their way into my colleague’s truck. I will update tomorrow.

Voyage to Saga: Right in Front (Part VII)

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The first thing that Vearden could feel was the pain. His head felt like someone had cut an ever-delicate slit over the tip, and then pulled the two halves apart just a little. He tried to reach up and massage it, but could not. They were trapped behind his back. Even lifting his chin had painful consequences, but still he did. Across the room was a woman who was tied up too. There was no one else, not even a guard, in this small dungeon-like room. It was all metal, with two metal hatches on either side of them. It was very clearly a ship. It didn’t feel like they were on the water, though. All he could hear was creaking. The most important things to figure out now was why they were tied up, and how they were going to get out of it.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty terrible, actually,” Vearden replied. “Where are we?”

“In an abandoned something or other. Though, I suppose everything’s been abandoned these days. With what religion did you identify?”

“What? My religion? That’s the first thing you ask? Not my name?”

“What’s your name?”

“Vearden Haywood.”

“Imelda. I was a deist.”

“I’ve never believed in God, but I never gave it much thought either.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If you were an atheist, you would have been sent to hell.” Then she got a little excited. “Unless you were sent to hell, and then you escaped. Are you part of the resistance? Is that why they captured you?”

“What? No! How dare you say I belong in hell. Where I come from, we respect each other’s beliefs.”

“Oh, I do. It’s just...you’re completely unaware of what’s going on, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, let’s just say that I’m not from around here.”

“I hope it’s nicer there than it is here. Maybe you could take me there...someday. Maybe.”

“Imelda, explain to me what’s happened. Why were you so confident that I should be in hell?” More creaking from the walls.

“That’s just the way it is now. All atheists were sent to hell...all at once. Over half of people were sent to heaven, and the rest of us stayed here. We call it the rapture.”

“So, the Christians were right.”

“They weren’t, no. They were wrong. We were all so very wrong. And now the demons have taken over. It is my position that we were all in such a hurry that we hastened our own demise. We should have been more patient.”

Vearden struggled to get out of his restraints, but not even his chair would move. It was bolted to the floor. Hers wasn’t, however. “Hey, I can’t move, but you can scoot over to that twisted metal conduit over there. Use the sharp edge to cut through your ropes.”

“No need, we will both survive this.”

“What? Imelda, we have to go. I don’t know what happens when whoever took us comes back.”

“They will try to kill us.”

“Then we definitely have to leave. Come on, please! It’ll just take a second.” Each time he got a little worked up, the creaking would intensify.

“I wish not to waste my energy.”

“If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. Please!” he begged.

“You just need more patience.”

“No, what I need is to survive, so I can go save my friend.”

“I have faith that you will find her in time.”

“I never said she was a girl.”

“Hm,” was her only reply.

“Imelda. I’m asking you nicely, and slowly...with patience, to please help me get out of my ropes.”

“Just wait.”

They waited for a few moments before hearing muffled voices from the other side of one of the two hatches. Vearden couldn’t really hear exactly what they were saying, especially with the creaking, but they were clearly angry with each other, and he did catch something about gold.

“No, you little imp—!” was the last thing one of them said, fairly clearly, before the gun went off. Then they heard a body drop.

“Is he...an actual imp? As in the demon.”

“Well...” Imelda answered vaguely. “No.”

The person—or demon, as it were—left standing tried to open the hatch. They could hear the latch jiggle a few times. Then they could hear what sounded like little beeps. Then bang, bang, bang! Then creak, creak, creak.

“I guess the guy he killed never gave him the code.”

“God...DAMMIT!” cried the demon. He just went berserk, kicking and banging on the hatch over and over again, while screaming profanities, and sometimes just nonsense. He would not let up. He wanted to be in the room, and nothing was going to stop him, not even the creaks.

“Okay,” Vearden said, trying to take that patience thing a bit more seriously. “That hatch is not going to hold him forever, so if you could just try this. Just try it. If it’s too hard, you can give up, and I won’t be mad. Please try.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Vearden repeated, angry in his own right. “Don’t worry about it!? This is life and death! Maybe in your world, people can just come back from the afterlife, but for me, dead is dead!”

“All will work out in the end.”

“Now, you listen to me.” He stopped himself once Imelda casually pulled her arms to her front and massaged her wrists.

“What. The. Hell?”

Imelda reached down behind her chair and lifted something up, saying, “thank you” into her palms

Vearden squinted through the darkness and was able to see that she was holding a little mouse. “He’s mine, I brought him here.” It was the mouse he had incidentally picked up from the island with the plane crash in the previous reality.

“Then I thank you as well.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “That’s why you didn’t bother getting yourself free. My mouse was chewing through your ropes. You coulda said something.”

“You would have seen eventually. We could all do with a little more...”

Vearden rolled his eyes and recited the word “patience” at the same time as her. She was a broken record.

“Yes,” she said on her own, happy that her wisdom might be reaching him afterall.

He took another deep breath, trying to call himself down, despite the constant ruckus from just outside...and the creaks. “I know you’re all about patience, but if you don’t get up right now, you’re going to die.”

“Death is no end.”

“And I told you that it is for me. Now that you’re free, you can stand up and untie my ropes as well.”

“We are better off with you there.”

“What are you talking about? Is this a test? Are you actually the one who knocked me on the head? I never did see who did it. Is this some elaborate interrogation plan?”

“There is no plan but God’s.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he said, rolling his eyes again.

“He’s not very involved this time.”

“What?”

Just then, the banging stopped. But Vearden knew that this was no good sign. The demon was probably just taking a break. A few minutes later, he realized he was right. They could hear the sound of metal dragging on metal. “I have you now!” the demon yelled to them through the door. The banging started back up again, but this time, he had a tool.

“Okay, now we have to go. I can see the door move. He’ll break it sooner rather than later.”

“Patience.”

“Stop saying that! My legs are killing me, I shouldn’t have to sit like this anymore.” He stretched his legs away from the chair as much as he could, to relieve some of the pain.

With Vearden’s last word, the door broke free. It swung open a little bit on its own. They could hear the demon more clearly now. “Ha!” it said through heavy panting. It pushed itself through and immediately ran for Imelda who was standing patiently in the opposite corner, petting Vearden’s mouse. The demon had to pass in front of Vearden first, and didn’t notice Vearden’s legs. It tripped right over them and felt on its face. It fell hard, and then it stopped moving.

“Ho-oly shit,” was all Vearden could say.

“No, it was quite unholy,” Imelda disagreed. “It was the embodiment of impatience.” Ooooohhh, it wasn’t an imp. It was impatient. Haha, that’s dumb.

Just then, they could hear footsteps headed for them from down the hallway. “Can we go now?” Vearden asked.

“Of course...now that he’s finally opened the door for us. If he had just been patient, backup would have arrived with keys.”

They slunk out of the door and separated into rooms on either side of the hallway, peeking around the corner to watch as black-clothed figures ran past them, and into the hostage room.

“Where did they go?” one asked.

“They couldn’t have gone through this door. We would have seen them,” added another.

“Open that one,” a third one ordered.

As he did so, the creaking came to a head and moved the entire structure. Vearden stepped out of his hiding place due to curiosity as the entire hostage room broke away from the rest of the structure, and tumbled into the abyss below, sending all the pursuers to their deaths.

“You knew that would happen.”

“They shouldn’t have opened that other door. It was the only thing keeping the pressure balanced.”

“What are you?”

“I’m God,” she said, and she wasn’t joking. “But enough about that. We ought to be going. The rest of the ship could fall at any moment.”

They ran down the hallways. She looked like she knew where she was going the whole time, like she had been there before. Finally, they made it to that ramp that people use to get on and off. It didn’t look or feel stable, but they had to risk it.

Just as they were reaching the bottom, a group of people nonthreatingly ran up to them. One of them asked, “Imelda Angelo?”

“I am,” she said kindly.

“My name is Dana. I know this may sound strange, but—”

“Yes, yes, yes. We’re hypostates, and we’re trying to save the world. Got it. We should leave.”

“I was told that you would be—”

“Patient?” Imelda asked. I am, which means I know when it’s time to act.” She turned to Vearden. “Oh, before you go, here’s your mouse.”

“No, you keep it. Her name is Monica.”

“Monica Mouse, I like it.”

Then it was over.

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Voyage to Saga: The Lost (Part VI)

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Vearden opened his eyes. Above him he saw light filtering through bamboo stalks, and other trees. He could hear lots of jungle sounds; chirping, squawking, and rustling. But the sound that dominated his ears was that of buzzing. A mouse was using his chest as a little table to eat its seeds. It didn’t seem to be bothered by Vearden’s waking up. He took the little guy and placed him in his vest pocket as he was standing up. He was wearing a vest now. The buzzing was coming from bees. He couldn’t see a nest anywhere around, or really any particularly concentration of the bees. They were just all over the place; more than he had ever seen before. Fortunately, like the mouse, they weren’t bothered by his presence, so he just started walking in a random direction.

The buzzing eventually subsided a little, and were replaced by the sounds of people. He continued to walk towards it, and ended up in some kind of encampment. A few dozen people were going about their day. Some were building shelters, others fire. Some were sorting through luggage on the beach, while others were just resting. A man came in from his flank carrying a bundle of sticks. “Hey, excuse me...” Vearden tried to say, but the man just ignored him. He wasn’t being rude, it was more like he literally couldn’t even see Vearden. Likely no one could, if that were the case. This theory required further testing.

Vearden continued to walk through the camp, quickly seeing the wreckage of a plane about a football field away. It wasn’t smoking, or anything, so it had obviously crashed some time ago. The survivors had already gotten over the shock of it, and were just trying to figure out what to do next. He tried interacting with a number of people, but none of them could see him. He even took someone by the arm. She jumped and pulled herself away, trying to figure out what had taken hold of her, but was unable to find anything. So it wasn’t just that Vearden was in some kind of other dimension, he was invisible. He could use that to communicate with people, or he could protect them emotionally, and avoid touching anything. “All right, Shepherd!” he called out to the aether, confident that no one but her would be able to hear him. “What are you having me do here?”

He looked around, searching for The Shepherd, but she wasn’t there. It was worth a shot, though, right? Then he saw it. The Shepherd never showed herself, but someone else did. A young woman was staring right at him. It was either a coincidence, or an exception. She looked around as well, possibly noticing that the others could not see what she could. She said something to who could have been her older sister. The other woman nodded and went back to threading shoelaces. The younger woman waved Vearden towards her before walking into the woods. He followed her.

Once they were far enough away from camp to be heard, she stopped and turned to him. “Why can the others not see or hear you?”

“I’m not certain,” Vearden answered.

“Were you on the plane?”

“I was not.”

“So there are others here.”

“There is at least me. I assume we are on an island.”

“We wouldn’t have set up camp if we could have walked to civilization.”

“Quite.”

“Where did you come from?”

In science fiction and fantasy stories, there’s often this concept of the “underworld”. Most people are just living in the regular world. They have nine-to-five jobs, they drink beer, and they watch trash TV. But then there’s all this other stuff going on that they have no idea exists. We could be talking vampires, aliens, people who can read minds, demons, whatever. It just has to be something so realistically hidden from the rest of the world that it’s technically possible it’s actually real for the audience, but they just don’t know it. The beginning of one such of these stories usually involves one or more characters stumbling upon the truth, and starting their adventure. While they’re at it, they’re charged with protecting their loved ones, the general population, and possibly the secret people. No one who doesn’t already know this truth can know, for it will have terrible consequences. Or maybe that’s just a load of horseshit, and these secret underworlds aren’t giving humans enough credit. Maybe they can handle the truth. Maybe this woman can too. “I’m from a parallel universe,” he said truthfully.

She nodded, not in surprise, but with caution. “Do you mean an alternate reality, or another timeline?”

“I do not.”

“How did you get here?”

“Someone very powerful can cross into other worlds, and she sent me here to help with something. If I succeed, I might get my friend back.”

“So you want me to help you help us?”

“That’s how it’s been going for me so far. Is there anything you need?”

“Besides getting rescued?”

“Besides that,” Vearden confirmed.

“Hmm...” she said, thinking. “Well, Stuart is teaching us how to hunt. Do you speak Japanese?”

“No, sorry.”

“Oh, too bad. Kazuo seems to have a lot to say, but we don’t know what.”

“I know more of those people’s names than yours.”

“I’m Monica.”

“Hi, Monica, I’m Vearden Haywood. Why do you think you can see me?”

She shrugged. “I’ve always been able to see things others can’t. It’s just never been quite so literal.”

Another young woman, maybe just a hair older than Monica came through the brush. “Monica, who are you talking to?”

“I see dead people,” Monica whispered, jokingly.

“You’re not well, are you?”

“I’m autistic.”

The other woman didn’t know what that meant.

“It means I’m fine, Danielle. I am not the way I ought to be...I’m just the way I got to be,” Monica answered with a song lyric that Vearden recognized from his own universe, which was strange. She turned back to Vearden. “Do that thing again you did with the arm.”

“What?” Danielle asked.

“No,” Vearden said.

“Come on, this is my universe, you have to do what I say.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just do it!”

“Fine.” Vearden gently placed his hand on Danielle’s shoulder.

She freaked out and stepped back.

“Told you!” Monica cried in delight.

“I should not have done that,” Vearden said out of immense regret.

Monica shrugged again. “She’ll be all right, she’s rich.”

Danielle started backing away more, like she had come across a snake.

“Isn’t that right?”

Danielle kept going.

“I see you, Danielle! I know who you are! I know what you did! I can see into people’s souls!”

Danielle turned and ran off.

That was weird. “Why did you do that?” Vearden asked.

Monica was still looking towards where Danielle had been. “She knows why. And deep down in her heart, she knows what she must do now. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, I’m lost.”

“Yeah, I’m not anymore,” she said with relief. “I see now why you’re here, especially since you’re obviously about to leave.”

“How do you figure?”

“Is that your bed over there?” She gestured behind him.

His bed from the hotel suite was just sitting in the middle of the woods. “It is, yes.”

“Well...unless your boss wants us to have sex, I think it’s probably just your exit.”

“I guess so.”

“It was nice meeting you, Vearden.”

“You too, Monica.” He turned away and muttered under his breath, “I think.”

“I heard that,” she said flippantly.

He sort of plopped himself onto the bed and started massaging his eyes. When he reopened them, he found the Shepherd lying next to him. “What was the point of that one?”

“Danielle has a lot of work ahead of her. In order for her to get it done, and get it done right, she needs to be honest with herself. Her lies are holding her back, making her sick.”

“And Monica?” Vearden asked.

“She plays her part too.”

He knew he wasn’t going to get any details, which was...whatever. He moved on, “what now?”

“You can have one night’s worth of sleep.” She stopped, and paced. She finally spoke again after a few minutes, “nah, you’ll get more than that. This next one is going to be weird. I mean, you see magic every day, because you don’t live in linear time. The next one is going to be different, though. You won’t be able to explain this magic away, not with the toolkit you have now. It’ll also be the most...menacing.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“No, but you’ll be okay. Just, be sure not to get...” she paused for dramatic effect. “...left behind.”

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