Musophobia

David does not like rats. He hates them; despises them even. That are such disgusting creatures; vile, nasty little varmint that must have been created Satan himself. The sneak into houses and lurk throughout the houses of unsuspecting humans, snatching their foods, gnawing at meat with their grotesque teeth, tearing up clothing and leaving little messes and diseases behind. Such disgusting animals! If there would ever be a way to rid of every single one of those foul being David would do it. Oh, how he hates them so!

His first encounter with these devilish fiends had been many years ago back when he was still a rather small child. It was during late winter, and his father had left him home alone in their small, shack of a house, relying on the boy to take care of his ill mother. Soon after he left, the mother died and David was left in the cold house with his mother's corpse. He could not go to his neighbors because surely, he feared, they would blame him for letting his mother die. There was no father to comfort him; no one in the house besides a boy and his dead mother. Although it was a bit lonely, David found his situation to be quite comfortable and perhaps even a little pleasant. There were no more terrible coughs or low, painful groans coming from his mother that would keep him up at night. There was no drunken father raging and tossing thing about. The only things to exist in the stiff winter silences were David, his mother and the quiet sound of falling snow.

Around two days, or as David guessed considering he had lost sense of time, after his mother's passing the boy awoke from his spot on the floor to the sound of a strange rustling noise. Cautiously, he pulled himself off from the cold floor by the bed where his mother rests and peered up at her. There was something moving about underneath the blankets. Is his mother alive, David wondered. Had she only been sleeping? Perhaps it was only sleep that had taken her, not death. He watches intently, waiting for something to come forth, a hand or even a finger; anything to prove that his mother is alive. His heart sped up with each second ticking by, but David makes no attempt to move the blanket himself. He is frozen in his uncertainty for his mother may very well be dead and all of this was only an illusion, delirium caused by lack of food and sleep. Also, he did not want to touch a dead body, especially if that dead body was that of his mother's.

The woman did not raise a hand or finger. She remained still in death, her skin starting to sag so that she resembles a slightly melted wax dolls, and though she did not move, the blanket still continued to stir. Whatever that was causing the disruption moved about in a confused pattern, looking for a way out. Out came a rat, an abnormally large rat whose plump body was covered with a thick coat of matted dirty black hair. David gasped at the rodent scampered across the body, stopping on the woman's face; it's long, fat tail dangling in her slightly opened mouth. It blinks its beady, greed-filled eyes at the staring boy. David notices the animal holds something in its mouth, a small bit of food; a piece of meat, perhaps. This puzzled David. It cannot be meat. They have not had any sort of meat even before his father left. A thought dawned on him and David realized that the meager pieces of flesh that the rat held in its sharp teeth must belong to his mother. Human meat! That vile little creature was eating his mother!

David screamed in horror and ran to retrieve the fireplace poker. He must kill that tiny beast. No rat shall eat his mother! David took a wild swing at the rodent but the rat moved quickly and was able to escapes with the piece of flesh still in its mouth. The poker hit his mother instead, creating a slightly disfigurement to her decaying skin. David released another scream. He just hit his mother! That stupid rat just made him hit his mother!

David spun around, tightly clutching onto the poker so that his knuckles began to white, ready for another attack. He spots the animal sitting on the floor, watching him. He was sure it was laughing at him, he could tell by the patronizing way the rat was staring at him. It doubted David's capability of murder. Oh, how he will prove it wrong! The boy's nostrils flared out like an enraged dragon, releasing hot and angry breaths. Stupid rat, ugly little monster. It needed to die.

"You stupid cunt!" he bellowed at the creature as he brought the poker up over his head. David had heard his father yell this at his mother many times. The rat was not bothered by the insult. It continued to stare at the boy, still holding onto its prize. David makes another violent swing at the animal. The rat let out a high pitched squeal of pain as it made contact with the iron. The piece of mother fell from its mouth, but that was not enough to satisfy David's need. The rat was still alive and he needed it to be dead. It pulled its lips back to reveal its gnarled teeth and hissed bitterly at the boy before making a dash to the door. David took after it, poker once again above his head, and tries for another blow. It missed, only barely, and the rat was sent flying up. It quickly regained itself and managed to squish its fat body through the gap under the door. David threw back the door, running barefoot outside into the snow covered streets to look for that damned varmint. He swiped at the snow in hopes of knocking it out from hiding.

"Come out you stupid cunt! I will kill you!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" someone yelled at him.

David paused and turned about, trying to find where the voice had come from. Who dared interrupt him? Can they not see he is on a mission here? He spots Don Flint, the town's matchstick maker, standing in the doorway dressed in his bed clothes. Although he appeared a furious ogre in this moment with his unshaved face and oversized stained shirt covering his potbellied stomach, Flint was actually quite a good man. He just did not approve of being awoken in the night, especially after long days of work, by some brat yelling profanities. Someone needed to teach that boy a lesson.

David slowly lowered his poker so that the point dug into the ground. The savage feeling that had taken over him began to fade and began transforming back into his scared nine-year-old self. "The rat," he said in a quivering voice. "He ate my mum."

Flint's face morphs into an expression of mixed horror and confusion as he is unsure of what the boy had said. "What?"

"The rat ate my mum" David repeated. "She's and that rat tired to eat her."

"For how long?" Flint asked.

"A couple of days. Maybe." David's lower lip began to tremble and tears began to slip down his face, nearly freezing in the harsh winter air. His mother was dead, has been for a couple of days. Now he had no one.

"Where's your father?"

David shrugged. In all honesty he did not know. His father did that, disappeared for days on end and there was no telling when he would return. When he did finally come home, the man never spoke of where he had been and they all knew better than to ask him.

Flint sighs. That poor boy; even if he is annoying little brat yelling profanities at the dead of night, there is no way he could leave the kid with his dead mother. "Come here," he said, waving David over. "You can stay here for now, at least until your dad comes back. I'll have the Mrs. fix you up something warm."

David hesitated a moment before accepting the matchstick maker's offer. He did not want to leave his mother all alone and that villain was still out that probably plotting its next attack. On the other hand he was very hungry and a warm house would be a nice. The boy wiped his runny nose across his sleeve and dragged his bare feet towards the open door. Flint took the poker from the boy's hand and showed him inside.

In the years that would pass rats continued to follow David. They were drawn to him no matter where he went. David was constantly finding them in the house, even after Flint had gotten rid of the corpse; in the cupboards, under the piles of clothing and even buried in the food. It was a continuous battle; David vs. the rats. He would kill one, stabbing it with the poker or even stomping it to death with his own boots, but only more would return. There seemed to be no escape. Even when he and his father lost their house, the rats continued to flock to David. They came to him on the streets, up out of the gutters, hissing and biting at him. Although he fought against them valiantly, David was afraid of these creatures. They were vicious and rather terrifying, sometimes as big as small cats. They would just not leave him alone.

It was not until David met a kind fellow by the name of Max did the rats began to disappear. Max took David in, pulling him out of the streets and gave him an actual home and a promise of a family. He would no longer have to fear those vile creatures that plagued him if David agreed to join his side. David did agree and Max, being an honest man, followed through with his promise. David became a nightwalker, a bloodthirsty vampire, and the rats began to turn from him. They could smell death on him, and though rats are quite fond of the stench of the deceased, they ran from him. They could feel his power, his inhuman strength. How easy it would be to kill them now!

But David did not. He didn't even fight them now as he had no need to since they, for the most part, stayed clear from his path. He did not follow Max's suggestion of starting out by drinking animal blood- Take baby steps, he had said. It was a drastic change and he did not want his new son losing his mind as he discovered his new identity- even if meant that he would now be able to consume a part of them just as they had taken a part of his mother. It would have been a full circle of revenge, but David could not bring himself to do it. He was still terrified of rats, you see, and is just as scared of them to this day. He would not admit it to his brothers, though. He is the tough guy, the leader. David would never be taken seriously again if they found out he was so easily freighted by tiny animals. So he kept this secret, only David and Max would know his hatred for rats, and did his best to keep from cringing when he saw one of those disgusting animals. The rats may run scared from him, but David fears them more.

So, it's Friday night and I decided to stay home and write because I'm cool. I've been working on this one for awhile, which you probably can't tell, but I am still not too sure about this. It was just a random idea that popped in my head. I have never written David before and probably don't know him well enough to write a good enough story of him, but, oh well, at least I tried! If anyone has constructive criticism, that would be lovely to hear.