Where The Killers Dwell

Disoriented

    Regardless of what happened in his dreams, waking up in the basement, in the furthest corner of his laundry room, in between the boiler and the cold brick wall, was what initially frightened him the most.

    It was pitch black down there, and though they'd never had a real rodent problem in their two story house, they did have the occasional mouse or two. And who wanted to wake up in so strange a place; not in the soft, warm, bed he had fallen asleep in, but on a cold concrete floor? Where his fluffy goose down pillow had been replaced​ by the four dead mice which had chosen that particular corner to die in?

    He awoke with a gasp, his utter horror far beyond screaming. Had he been facing outward, towards the washroom, his outstretched hands would have touched nothing. His senses may have recovered quickly, allowing his mind to figure out due to the scent of Tide and bleach, exactly where he was and what had happened.

    Instead, his trembling fingers only brushed the solid brick, translating the word trapped to his already frantic mind. Being stuck in the wedge shaped corner, on both sides of him was brick. Stone. Prison.

    He had been completely turned around; the comforting scents of all laundry rooms and laundromats, he barely noticed. The blood that squished out of the overly plump dead mice, he did notice.

    And his mind went to RATS, an incredible documentary on the vile rodents; and it went to the people in Vietnam who paid 25¢ per kilo of live rat, and to the people who collected them and would get $1.75 for fifty squirming field rats because some people in Vietnam ate them. Ate them fried, boiled, barbecued. And since there was nothing in his stomach to throw up, he could only gag...

    And then he pushed backwards in his blind terror, and fell into blessed open space and struck the concrete on his back. He hit his head hard and saw stars, and suddenly found his ability to voice pain. But he was free at least.

    And then he could smell the laundry room finally---the comforting aromas, and he lay there panting.

    How the hell did I even get here? he thought to himself. But the darkness didn't reply. Still panting harshly, he could feel the wetness on his left hand, the dead mice, and tried to ignore it.