Lily and the Rat Pact
In a quiet town surrounded by dense woods, 12-year-old Lily was known for her peculiar habit of hoarding. Her room was a labyrinth of stuffed animals with missing eyes, tattered books, broken electronics, and crumpled candy wrappers. Her parents, Mark and Sarah, had reached their limit.
“Lily, if this mess isn’t cleared by tonight, you’re grounded for a month,” her mother said, arms crossed.
Reluctantly, Lily began sorting through the chaos. She grabbed an old cardboard box filled with clothes from when she was much younger. As she opened it, a faint, putrid odor hit her. Among the faded fabric, two crimson eyes glowed.
A rat.
She screamed, and the rat darted out. But then, more eyes appeared—dozens of them, gleaming like rubies in the dim light. Lily stumbled backward, screaming for her parents.
When Mark and Sarah rushed in, they found only the box of clothes, undisturbed. Lily frantically explained, but they exchanged skeptical glances.
“No more stories, Lily,” her father warned. “Get to work.”
Angry and frightened, Lily turned her attention to the magazines piled under her bed. As she pulled them out, she froze. The rats were there again, this time gnawing on the cords of her bedside lamp.
She screamed louder this time, but by the time her parents arrived, the rats were gone.
“Enough!” Sarah said, exasperated. “We’re not falling for these tricks. Clean. Your. Room.”
Lily was left alone, her fear mounting. By nightfall, she had barely touched the mess. Exhausted, she climbed into bed, clutching a flashlight. The faint sound of scratching and clicking echoed through the room. She aimed the beam across the floor but saw nothing.
Morning brought no relief. When her alarm rang, she swung her legs off the bed—and froze. Spelled out on the floor with candy wrappers and shards of broken toys were the words: “GET OUT.”
This time, her parents were furious. “If this room isn’t spotless by tonight, there will be no dinner for you!”
They stormed out, leaving Lily in tears. As she sat on her bed, the rats emerged, their beady eyes fixed on her.
“What do you want from me?” Lily whispered, her voice shaking.
The rats moved as one, scurrying around to spell out: “YOUR HOME.”
“What do you mean, your home?” she asked.
The rats began shifting debris, crafting sentences with terrifying precision:
“OUR HOME. TAKEN. BURNT.”
Piece by piece, they told a chilling story. They had once lived in the woods, until their burrows were destroyed by developers. Displaced and desperate, they wandered into a research facility, where scientists subjected them to cruel experiments. The experiments made them smarter, stronger, and vengeful. They burned the lab down and sought refuge—Lily’s cluttered room was the perfect hiding place.
“You can’t stay here!” Lily pleaded.
The rats’ final message was simple: “THEN IT BURNS.”
Before Lily could react, the rats darted out of her room. Moments later, her mother’s scream pierced the air. Racing to the kitchen, Lily saw the rats swarming, chewing wires, and gnawing at the gas line of the stove.
“Mom! Dad! Get out now!” Lily shouted.
Her parents hesitated, but the desperation in her voice spurred them into action. Just as they reached the front yard, a deafening explosion tore through the house, flames consuming it in seconds.
The fire department later attributed the blaze to a gas leak. But Lily and her family knew the truth.
Weeks later, as they settled into a new home far from the town’s edge, Lily kept her room spotless. She never hoarded again. But every now and then, she thought she heard faint scratching sounds in the walls.
And she wondered if the rats had found a new home.
