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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Death · #2269153
A dead rat creates issues. 460 words.


He knew that smell. Unfortunately.

Another rat had crawled behind the bookcase after eating the Rodent-Bait poison and had died. As usual, before its life had left it, it had evacuated its bowels and let out a bladder-emptying pool of urine. Those body expulsions were putrid enough; the malodorous rotting carcass only made it that much worse.

He put on his gardening gloves before he stretched his arm in and reached back as far as he could.

His fingers found the body and he dragged it closer to himself before he gripped it.

His fingers sank into the carcass he could not yet see, as if the flesh had become spongy, losing its form. That wasn't right. This was fresh enough for him to smell it; he should be feeling a normal rat or one starting to undergo rigor mortis. This was like a jelly mold of a rat, lacking bones and integrity.

No, that did not matter; he had to get rid of it.

He held it as well as he could and dragged it slowly out.

He stared at the disgusting object in his gloved hand. Much if the fur had fallen off and a great deal of the skin with it, the red body barely recognisable. Worse, it fell apart under his fingers. That was not right. The meat was falling from the rubbery bones, revealing the muscle and internal organs beneath.

Muscles and internal organs that were still pulsing.

He could see the blood coursing through the veins and arteries at a slow but constant rate. He was sure he could even hear the coagulating blood as it struggled through, squelching and forcing its way along, tearing at the structures holding it in place as it thickened.

He wanted to throw up.

And then the head of the animal darted sideways, the sharp teeth penetrating the material of the glove and entering his flesh, a point of pain that ran through his nerves into the back of his skull.

He cried out and jerked backwards, holding his hand close to his chest, dropping the thing to the floor where it exploded on contact, spraying the carpet with blood, guts and the putrid contents of its stomach and intestines.

He moved his arm and watched in mute horror as the glove slid off his hand as the fingers and palm flopped downwards, unable to hold it up any longer.

There was no pain, just a tingling sensation that ran up his arm like a constant bolt of electricity.

And he watched as the skin sagged and flaked, as the bones lost all their structural integrity, and as he could see his own blood pulsing through his arm with every beat of his panicking heart…

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