The Christmas Rat

by Avi

  My parents always take the elevator and I like to race them using the steps. Sometimes I push the buttons on each floor so the elevator keeps stopping. That way I always beat them. Once—before they got on—I flipped the OFF switch. The elevator didn’t go at all. That made them mad.

  Anyway, I sat in one of the lobby chairs, checking my watch a lot. Mostly I kept thinking about the exterminator, what he had said. The more I thought about him, the weirder he seemed. But, you know, interesting. I mean, I sort of liked him.

  I guessed it was a good thing he was doing. But were all the vermin so bad that it had to be—like he said—a war? I wondered if the vermin felt the way he did.

  Before five minutes were up I was so restless I decided to go outside. Not that I had any particular place to go. I hadn’t brought any money. But hitting the street seemed better than sitting in the lobby doing nothing. I told myself the fresh air would be good for me. But when I stepped out through the front doors the cold hit me so hard, I gasped. My lungs actually stung. Like, the cold was totally worse than I’d expected. Still, I buttoned up my coat and set out to walk around the block.

  I plunged my hands deep into my pockets and felt the key my mother had given me for our storage bay. Moving into the wind, I kept my head bent, eyes down, listening to the crunch my feet made as I walked in the snow. Some places where people had shoveled were okay, but narrow. Other places were bumpy with ice.

  I walked as fast as I could. There was no one else on our block. The further I went, the more I thought how great it was going to be to get inside again. I promised myself another hot chocolate and a thick comforter. I’d be glad to be home. I mean, in a way, I wasn’t sorry I’d come out because now I knew how good it would be to stay in.

  I was just about back to our building when I remembered the Christmas decorations. I figured I could kill some more time by getting them from the basement.

  Rubbing my icy hands I pushed through the back lobby door and headed down.

  In the public places of our building, which is called The Eden Apartments, there’s all this soft lighting on walls painted light green, pink, and blue. In the basement there’s no color at all. Just cement, plus a couple of places with dirt. They must have poured the cement wrong or something. The light comes from weak, bare bulbs that dangle from black wires. The air feels chilly and dank and there’s this white, chalky dust all over. Anytime I’d been there it made me think of a place where people are buried. A crypt. I mean, if our building was named after the Garden of Eden, what was this place?

  Actually, I had been in the basement only a few times since we moved into the apartment three years ago. That was when we were in and out of our storage bin. To tell the truth, I felt a little nervous being down there. It’s pretty depressing.

  The thing is, the whole area is mazelike. Corridors lead every which way and the ceilings are low, crisscrossed with white pipes and electrical wires. Along one wall is a row of big metal cans full of incinerated garbage.

  There are a few solid doors. I think they’re made of steel. One is labeled ELECTRICAL. Another is TELEPHONE. A third says FURNACE.

  There are all these storage bays built into a wall. When you move into the apartment you can ask for a bay. That’s what we did. They each have steel screen doors with locks. Makes ’em look like cages. You can see through these doors, but you can’t get in without a key. Or out, I guess. Most of them were full. There were cardboard boxes in one, trunks in another, lawn chairs in another. I even saw a cool kayak.

  Feeling slightly nervous about being there, I walked slowly and softly to our own bin, #13. My steps sounded pretty loud on the concrete.

  I used the key in the lock on the mesh door. It swung open stiffly and I stepped inside. The place wasn’t much more than a big closet. There were stacked and numbered cardboard boxes. That was my dad’s neat way. There was also a baby’s high chair and a folding bed. Mine, I guessed.

  As for the cardboard boxes, the problem was you had to know what the numbers meant to know what was inside.

  I pulled open one box. I found a lot of baby clothes inside. Another box had what I think were old checks and papers. A third had nothing but photographs. I kept looking.

  I think it was the ninth box. When I opened it I saw our Christmas decorations—bulbs, electric lights, decorations, other stuff. And right in the middle of it all was this huge rat.

  -4-

  The rat was about a foot long and totally scrawny. He was gray-brown in color, with a long, thin, naked-looking tail. I could see his bristling whiskers. His eyes were bright and black. As I looked at him, he looked right back at me, his snout sniffing the air. Like, checking me out.

  Right beside him was this old-fashioned pasteboard angel we always put on the top of the tree. Something my mother had saved since she was a little girl.

  The rat had been eating it.

  When I opened the box I almost died. Seriously. See, I remembered what the exterminator had said, that rats were “the absolute worst. Human enemy number one.” I felt really freaked.

  As I jerked away from him, the rat ran up against my side of the box, one little paw on the box edge. Facing me, he stood up on his hind legs, clawing the air as if in a rage. He suddenly jumped up and out. I staggered back while he scrambled down the side of the box and took a flying leap to the floor. Then he raced for the open bay door, and whipped down the corridor.

  I ran out after him, just catching a glimpse as he disappeared around a turn. I didn’t follow. Couldn’t. I was too scared. I just stood there, heart pounding like crazy.

  After a bit I went back to the bay, nervous that maybe there were more rats. I jiggled the decoration box, waited, looked. Nothing. Finally, I picked up the box, shut the bay door, locked it, and took the elevator up to the fifth floor. When I got there I checked my wristwatch. The twenty-five minutes weren’t up, so I put the box down and sat up against the wall, glad for the moment to calm my jitters. But I kept thinking about that rat. I mean, how did he even get into our stuff?

  Hearing a sound, I looked around fast. It was the exterminator. He was staring down at me.

  “Hey, kid,” he boomed, “it’s okay now. You can go back inside. You’ll be fine.”

  “Mr. Anje . . .”

  “What’s up, kid?”

  “I . . . I saw a rat.”

  His face turned red. His eyes narrowed. His mustache ends seemed to stiffen. It was as if I had just insulted him. “You telling the truth?” he demanded.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “In this building?”

  “I just saw it. In the basement. In our Christmas box.”

  To prove it, I stood up, opened the box, and held up the angel the rat had been chewing.

  Anje took it from my hand, gazed at it, examining it on all sides as if he were checking out what had been eaten away. He didn’t look too happy.

  “We need to talk,” he said, handing back the angel and peeling the masking tape off our door with a sharp ripping sound.

  I led the exterminator back inside. The apartment air stank of the poisonous fog. He marched right down to the living room and opened a window. “Might be cold for a bit,” he said. “But that stuff can kill you.”

  I left the box of decorations in the living room, and the two of us sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Now the thing with rats is,” he began, flipping back his long hair away from his face, “you have to know where they live. Their nest. No point in getting just one. They breed like bandits.”

  “I don’t know anything about this one,” I confessed. “When I first saw him, he was in that box of Christmas things. Like I said, eating that angel.

  “I was supposed to bring up the decorations,” I went on. “So we can do our tree tonight.” Then I said, “Maybe the rat was just getting out of the cold.”

  “Exactly,” Anje agreed. “A rat is a creature of opportunity. He would head right for the basement. Where it’ll be warm and dark. Maybe a little d
amp. They store garbage down there?”

  “It’s burnt. So it’s just the ashes.”

  “Hey, any way they can get it. They thrive on the stuff. Okay. Here’s what you need to do. Get back into the basement. Like I said, that’s where he’ll most likely stay. Reconnoiter. Find where he’s hunkering down. Are the lights always on down there?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. This time, when you go down, get the lights off. Use a flashlight. You got one?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll lend you one.” He dipped into one of his metal boxes and handed me what looked like an ordinary, cheap white plastic flashlight. It was small. Not much bigger than my hand. On its side, in gold letters, was his name: Anjela Gabrail.

  I took it.

  “Okay,” the exterminator said. “Use this. But when you’re down there, just make sure you keep your eyes open. Walk quietly. Stay alert. Work out the lay of the land. Remember, they are really nasty. If cornered, a rat will attack. But that light should protect you. Okay, can you do all that?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll be my deputy. What’s your name?”

  “Eric. Eric Andrick.”

  “Okay, Eric, you really with me on this?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said, adding, “got nothing better to do.”

  He stiffened and looked at me hard. “Well, you got something now. Raise your right hand.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was getting at but I did as I was told.

  “Do you swear to oppose and attack all rats in your vicinity, so help you God?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Or pay the penalty?”

  “What’s the penalty?”

  “Just say it, kid.”

  “Or pay the penalty.”

  He glared at me. “Buddy, you’re supposed to say, ‘So help me God.’ ”

  “So help me God.”

  “You’re in.”

  I thought of asking, “In what?” but I didn’t.

  He stood up. “Okay, Eric. Don’t worry. Hey, you still got my business card?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Forget sir. Call me Anje. When you get more information, call me. Day or night. For rats, I’m on twenty-four hour alert.”

  “Cool.”

  “We’ll get him.” He held out a hand. I felt I had to shake it. His grasp was cold and even hurt a little.

  “Let’s see,” Anje went on. “Christmas is Friday. Okay, that’s our target date. Our mission is to make sure that rat doesn’t enjoy Christmas. Yeah, he’ll be our Christmas rat. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I let the exterminator out. Before leaving, he saluted me. “Code name . . . this building have a name?”

  “The Eden Apartments.”

  “Okay, code name for the operation is Eden . . . trap. Got it? Eden trap.”

  “Yes, sir. Eden trap.”

  “Roger and out. I’ll expect a report this evening.” He marched off. Before turning a bend in the hallway, he saluted again. It was like I’d been taken into the army. His army.

  -5-

  I double-bolted the door. The stink of the poison fog still hung in the air. Bitter. And it made my nose itch. Still, the apartment was so cold I shut the living room window.

  I went into the kitchen and, with a comforter wrapped around me, I thought over what had happened.

  That rat was so creepy. Just to think about him made me a little queasy. And when I thought about Anje . . . I mean, the guy was really fierce. Sort of angry. When I had told him about the rat he, like, took it personally. As if I insulted God or something. But, as I thought about it, I sort of agreed with him. You had to get rid of rats. You couldn’t have them where people live, right? Besides, I didn’t have anything better to do. In fact, I got to thinking that there was no point in waiting until nighttime to reconnoiter. I liked the word. It sounded strong, full of action. What I needed.

  Making sure I had the apartment key in my pocket, I grabbed the little flashlight Anje gave me, clicking it on to see if it worked. It did, but in an odd sort of way. It wasn’t just the front part that shot a beam and all. The whole thing glowed. Cool.

  I took the elevator down to the basement.

  When I got there the lights were off. I mean, that sucker was dark, totally dark. I did wonder for a second how come the lights had been on before, and were off now. But I didn’t spend a bunch of time thinking about it. Besides, Anje had said it would be better if it was dark. So I just flicked on the flashlight. There was a beam all right, but like I said, the whole thing glowed too.

  I started off down the corridors, past the wall of storage bays, then around what I remembered was the turn the rat had taken. In all that dark, it was really confusing. So I moved slowly, poking the beam of the flashlight into any corner I saw, almost scared about what I might find. The glow of the flashlight case made me feel like I was in some sort of cocoon. Made me feel safer.

  Then, suddenly, I saw the rat on the top of a large canister labeled CLEANING SOLVENT.

  He was up on his hind legs like a dog begging, those tiny, pink-clawed paws of his waving in the air. All the while he was squeaking, opening and closing his mouth wide so that I could see his chisel-like, yellow front teeth. It was like he was making a speech. Not that I understood anything.

  I stared at him, fascinated and, you know, scared. From my light I guess he knew I was there because he seemed to be looking right back at me with those bright black eyes. At the same time he kept clawing the air as if he was pulling in invisible threads. Or climbing a net.

  The next second the rat leaped off the canister, landing close to where I stood. I jumped back.

  He stood up on his hind legs, then dropped to all fours and began to scurry along the floor at the base of the wall. After a brief moment of being shocked, I ran after him.

  Let me tell you something. That rat was fast, a lot faster than me. But my flashlight gave me enough light—and the corridor was long enough—so that I could follow him, catching glimpses of that long naked tail of his as he zipped around corners.

  All of a sudden I was facing a dead end. The rat was at the far end, sniffing frantically along the walls. He was squeaking too, like he was searching for an escape route or something. I mean, real panicky. He even began scratching at the floor. At one of those dirt spots. Suddenly he stopped, looked up, fixed his beady eyes on me and just stood there, absolutely still, except for his quivering nose. Once, twice, he let out sharp squeaks.

  The thing is, I had trapped him. He must have realized it, too. But I didn’t know what to do about it.

  All of a sudden, he dove at me. Like he was attacking me. Freaked, I leaped back and pressed myself against the wall.

  The next instant he was on me. I mean, I could feel his small feet galloping over my sneakers. Then he was off in a shot, and, as my flashlight beam played about, I watched him dash along the corridor and vanish into the dark.

  I didn’t follow. I couldn’t. My heart was pounding too fast. I was finding it hard to breathe. I had to lean against the cement wall for a minute. As I did I had this feeling come over me, like I had failed at something because, I have to admit, I was really glad he was gone.

  After I calmed down, I made it back to the elevator, the flashlight marking my way. The beam was still working. But the flashlight case had stopped glowing. Not that I cared. I was just glad I didn’t see the rat, not one sign of him, as I inched back to the elevator. Once I got to our apartment, I made sure I locked myself in. Tight.

  -6-

  Sitting on our living room couch, I thought over what had happened. I mean, I was pretty upset. I kept wondering what the rat was doing in the building. Was he just getting out of the cold? Was there such a thing as a homeless rat? Was he alone? Or would there be more of them? Did he have family? Was he intending to stay? Was he as bad as Anje the exterminator had said?

  Then I got to thinking about how brave the rat ha
d been. After all, I was probably huge-looking. Maybe he thought I was coming at him. Which in a way I was. I tried to imagine how I might have looked, like some giant, I suppose. Was he scared? I wondered. Did he know I was? And, I asked myself, what did being freaked by a rat say about me, an eleven-year-old kid? Was I normal?

  I mean, I had all these questions but no answers.

  Still, I kept coming back to the main question: What was I supposed to do about him?

  That’s when I fished Anje’s red business card from my pocket and called his cell phone number. A recorded message told me to leave my phone number and a simple message. I did. My message was, “Eden trap.”

  I don’t think it took five minutes before a call came in.

  “Gabrail here!”

  “Anje?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s me, Eric, the boy from the Eden Apartments. Five-B. You know, the one who saw the rat. I went to the basement like you said. I found him.”

  “Good job!” he cried. “You kill him?”

  “I . . . chased him but he got away,” I said apologetically.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. They’re scary.”

  That made me feel better.

  “Look,” Anje went on, “I’m still around your building. Meet me in the basement.” He hung up.

  I don’t know where Anje had been but he was waiting for me when I got down there. He was holding one of his steel boxes and this humongous black flashlight. Which was a good thing because the lights were still off and I forgot to bring the flashlight he gave me. As I stepped out of the elevator, he offered a crisp salute. “You did good, kid!” he snapped.

  I smiled stupidly. I really didn’t think I had been good but I was glad he thought so.

  “Show me where you saw him,” he said.

  It took a while to find the place where I had cornered the rat. But being with Anje made the whole scene less scary.

  When we got there I pointed to the dead end area. “There,” I said. You could see where the rat had been at work in the dirt—except the hole was bigger than I had remembered.