I live alone on the same rat-infested property where my mother raised me. My panic disorder completely prevents me from leaving the house, as well as from forming relationships with anyone except Mom. The anxiety wasn’t always this severe, but like the rat problem it has steadily grown for decades. My mother is now quite elderly, and lives in a small apartment nearby. It’s been a longtime dream of hers to sell this verminous square of land, but whenever I think about being relocated I can’t help but start screaming and wrenching at my hair. She doesn’t mention selling the house around me anymore.
Mom decided to move out a few years ago, after she found a litter of rats nested in one of her wigs. When we were both younger she would have the house fumigated twice a year, but nothing ever seemed to solve the problem. The rats would always return within a week, as if they were flooding in from some secret reservoir underground. It became too much for my mother, but I simply couldn’t fathom ever leaving. It was the first time I had ever lived alone, but I’ve begun to grow used to it. Mother brings me groceries every Sunday, and usually stays to visit with me for a short while after she drops them off.
I haven’t told Mom, but I’ve been starving for a few weeks now. The rats eat ravenously, and they find every bit of food no matter how cleverly I try to hide it. They’ve gnawed through all the plastic containers I have in the house, and once they even pried apart the metal of an old lunchbox with their teeth to reach an apple inside. The rats have chewed out burrows through the insulating panels of my refrigerator, and often make their way up into the freezer. Sometimes I’ll open the door and find nothing inside except the corpses of rats that froze to death.
Things are even worse after the food is finished for the week. The rats grow brazen with hunger, and soon I begin to feel them nipping at my feet and ankles as I walk around. If I sit in a chair for too long, they’ll creep cautiously from the corners of the room and attack me from all sides. At night they wake me incessantly by nipping at my exposed face. No matter where in the house I sleep, they find me. I’ve taken to drawing hot baths and dozing in the tub until the water grows cold. I’ve seen the rats swim, but most of them don’t make the effort.
Today is Sunday once again. I’ve been waiting eagerly by the front door for a sign of my mother. My flesh aches from countless bites, and my hunger pangs are almost too intense to bear. My growing discomfort has made me tense, so when the phone rings I flinch and swear loudly before moving to answer it. A stranger’s voice on the line tells me my mother passed away peacefully last night, and that she will be interred in accordance with her wishes on Tuesday. Before I even realize it, I am sobbing uncontrollably into the phone.
“Now, now,” says the stranger. “Your mother lived a long, happy life – and she passed quietly in her sleep without any suffering. We should all hope to be so fortunate, don’t you think?”
“That’s not why I’m crying!” I scream in desperation as a bulky rat nudges the cuff of my pant leg with its snout. “Who the fuck is going to bring me my groceries?!”
Submitted April 12, 2015 at 02:05PM by DHF_Dissociations http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/32bf3x/theyre_starving_and_growing_impatient/ nosleep
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