Nighttime Terror in Darkest Darwen: Part 1

Now the topic of this blog is something I did internally debate whether to blog on.

Part of me said, ‘No topic should be out of bounds in an honest and open blog’…. The other, Smeagol-like part of me responded ’This is shameful. You should tell no-one. They will laugh and scorn you. You will be publicly shamed’

Yes. This problem I have is one that we should only talk of in whispers, to our bestest, closet friends and family…if at all.

In the end, of course, my renowned inability to keep a secret inevitably led me to the ‘open and honest’ corner of the ring. (Or perhaps, my ‘open and honest’ principle is responsible for my inability to keep a secret … oh chicken and egg!) That, and a comment by an esteemed gentleman colleague that even the most good and respectable of Victorian ladies will have suffered great difficulties with this matter at one time or another, and so I should embrace the problem as yet another example of my 19^th century lifestyle.

I found his argument both succinct and persuasive. So here goes:

Last night, I did repose at an early hour due to my decision to cease inhaling foul pestilences of noxious fumes.

At around eleven and thirty, my ears were enlivened by an unholy racket which did reluctantly and fearfully raise me from my bed to creep down my creaking, wooden stairs to the lower echelons of the house.

At the bottom of the staircase, I was greeted by Miss Padme, who did by cunning use of her whiskers and tail, convey to me her desire that I should follow her into the cold, stone-floored lounge, in which place I was accustomed to passing my evenings.

With faith in the trustworthiness of my first-adopted, I did devotedly follow her short and gentle path into the lounge. There she did, with a sweep of her black paw, motion my eyes to the far right corner of the room.

Quite still and statue-like in that very corner, was the crouched figure of Mr Darcy, my second-adopted and by far the largest and bravest of all my feline-brood.

With frozen feet and bare legs did I hesitantly move towards the concentrated figure of Mr Darcy. No acknowledgement of my presence nor welcome at my approach did he make. His stare was undeviating…and I did follow the path of his stare with own, curious eyes.

Along the stone flooring and up to the grey television stand did they sweep. From there did they observe a two inch gap between the stand and flooring.

It was at this gap that our gaze did halt and centre.

For several unending moments not a sound was heard within the walls of the room. Miss Padme, Mr Darcy, a cowardly Puck and I all did stand in breathless silence.

Then, seemingly to me, with no rhyme nor reason, did Mr Darcy become most agitated and his breathing did become most heightened. His whole body did crouch more keenly and his paws began to dance up and down as if upon a scorching surface.

It was in the moments that ensued that I first began to comprehend.

It was now that my suspicions became keenly raised, for then…a shadow did fall out from the gap whereupon our eyes were fixed. Motion occurring under the stand was without dispute… for the very agent of that motion did cast his black silhouette upon my floor.

Ever so slowly I began my descent towards the tomb-like ground. First, my knees did make bare contact with the chill, hard rock… and some moments later, warm palms. Lowering my entire body against the floor, I turned my head to rest upon it.

Nought stood between the two-inch opening and my crouched, unprotected figure.

With trepidation I did open the lids of my eyes and peer inside the very bowels of the television stand.

From there I did suddenly, sickeningly grasp what terrible agent did so hypnotise Mr Darcy’s gaze, did make tremble young Puck and seek comfort besides the warm fur of his adolescent mother.

From there did the flesh and blood owner of that terrible silhouette reveal himself in all his pestilent horror to me.

For peering straight at me were the fat, glittering eyes of that most rancid, scuttling being……..

Rattus Norvegicus.