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"Um, little brother?"
"Yeah, Cletus?"
"Why'd you take that money I stuffed into my backpack yesterday?"
"Now, Cletus, why would I take your money when I got me a whole satchel full of it myself?"
"Well, it ain't here no more, and between you and the rats, I'd say you had more use for it."
"Maybe it blew out the door or something then."
"Maybe it found its way into your backpack, is what I'm thinkin'." Cletus lunged for his brother's pack,
but Jeb was too quick. He held it in a vice grip and wouldn't let go. Eventually, Cletus gave up and stormed back
to his cot.
"Fine, Jeb. But if I find out you took my money, you're a dead man."
"I didn't and I ain't, so cool off, Cletus. The money will turn up."
The brothers lay down on their respective cots and used their backpacks as pillows. Each felt safer that way, safe
enough to close their eyes and take a nap. During the day the rats were, for the most part, quiet, so that Jeb
could finally fall asleep. Even his brother's snoring couldn't keep him awake. Exhaustion had, at last, consumed
him.
Jeb awoke sometime later, though, to the familiar sounds of scurrying, grating claws. The sun had nearly vanished
into the horizon, and an eerie orange glow filled the tiny cabin. He was surprised that the rats were up and about.
They seemed to lay dormant during the day, hidden from the light. But now Jeb could easily hear dozens upon dozens
of sharp claws and shrieking squeaks. What he didn't hear was his brother's raucous inhaling and exhaling.
"Cletus, you awake?" he whispered, with his head still resting on the backpack. "Cletus?" There
was no response, just the sound of the rats as they came and went. "Cletus?" he tried again, louder this
time. Still nothing from his brother's side of the cabin. Jeb's heart quickened and he struggled to catch his breath.
He bolted up from his bed and shouted at the very top of his lungs, "Will you rats shut the hell…up."
The last word barely escaped his mouth as he spotted the teaming mass. A brown and gray swirling confusion of fur
swarmed over his brother's backpack. The head that had once rested on it was still there, but gone was the face.
Shreds of bills and flesh mixed together in a sickening slurry. Blood-splattered rats ran up and down the side
of the cot with bits of currency and meat firmly clenched in their toothy jaws.
Jeb rushed to the door and flung it open. The frigid air blasted his face as he vomited into the pristine winter
snow, which had piled several feet at the foot of the cabin since their arrival. The rats looked up at him, twitched
their noses and whiskers, and then proceeded to devour what was left of the backpack and Cletus's homely face.
Jeb ran at them in a mad, frenzied dash. He stomped and kicked and crunched several of them beneath his boots,
but they, like him, were fast. They instantly raced to all four corners of the cabin and then promptly vanished
down their tiny, little holes. Their nests, it appeared, would be richly bedded that night.
When an ominous quiet once again filled the cabin, Jeb grabbed for his backpack, tightly shut his eyes, sank to
the floor, and shivered in terror and despair. "Damn you, Cletus," he whispered. "You just had to
be a sound sleeper, didn't you?"
As the night turned black and cold, Jeb sat on the musty, wooden floor and would not, or could not, move an achy
muscle. He simply trembled and held on to his backpack for dear life. He heard the rats, but they seemed not to
approach him. They were, he now knew, waiting. Waiting for him to fall asleep. Waiting for him to relinquish his
prize - and his life.
Three nights later, that's just what he did. Hunger and thirst ravaged him until he finally succumbed to the sleep
he'd so desperately been trying to avoid. What flesh remained on his skinny frame was quickly consumed, but in
his death-grip the backpack remained, uneaten and whole.
On a beautiful summer day, that's just how he was found. A heavily scarred man kicked the rickety door in. He quickly
scanned the stinking room and snickered as he did so. One bony skeleton lay on a cot, another in the dead center
of the cabin.
"Some of us die a bit easier than others, huh boys?" Sheriff Carter said with a laugh. To the figure
on the floor he gave one swift kick, sending its bones scattering all about. The backpack fell to the ground, full
as it had been six months prior. "Guess you fellers had a rough winter. While the sheriff's away, the rats
will play, I figure." And with that he took his leave. The backpack and the money, much like Jeb and Cletus,
were never seen again.
THE END
For more, visit the Author's Web Site at: TheRobRosen.com
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