It seemed like such an easy and pleasant drive home. After the long hours of altercation and stress of his work, being alone seemed to ease the insurmountable pain from Roger Dimston's soul. Though he drove home in a pleasurable disposition, a feeling of exhaustion seemed to loom over his being. At least he was almost home.
Within a few minutes, he pulled into his long driveway. He drove up towards his house, which had nicely built brick walls. The yard was well tended and the fence was clean. Though the house itself was quite small, it seemed flawless.
He opened his garage door and quickly parked his car. After his long day, desperation for rest overpowered his soul. Once the car was turned off, he quickly entered his house.
His kitchen and living room were well kept. The kitchen floor was finely shined and the carpet in the living room was spotlessly immaculate. The furniture was made out of fine wood that was neatly crafted and sanded. His whole house had expensive decorations and furniture. Dimston considered it as a tribute to his hard work.
Within an hour, he was almost ready to go to bed. His fatigue seemed to be speaking to him as a throbbing headache. First, however, Dimston walked to his fridge for a quick snack. He was never able to sleep when he was hungry.
He quickly opened it. However, when he looked in, there was a black mouse sitting on the shelf in front of him. It had a piece of lettuce in its mouth. For a quick second, it glanced at him. Then it jumped out towards Dimston. Dimston quickly bolted backwards and the mouse plopped to the floor, dropping the piece of lettuce. It struggled to the nearest vent. Before it crawled in, it gave a quick glance to Dimston and hissed. It then ran up into the vent. Dimston heard its footsteps in the wall for a few seconds
He stood for a fleeting second, staring at the vent. Then he walked up to it for a swift glance, but saw nothing. He had seen several mice in the last few days, getting into the worst possible places.
He turned to the fridge and checked for mice. There were none. He reached for the lettuce that the mouse was chewing on. Without much thought, he opened the back door and threw it out onto the previously flawless backyard. He did not really care at the moment.
As he walked back to the fridge, the phone suddenly rang. He slowly walked to it. He picked it up.
"Hello?" he asked, a little annoyed. "Who is this?"
"Hello Mr. Dimston," the voice on the other started. "It's just me, Robert. I know I asked you if I could take my free day off work next week. However, something just popped up. My wife just ended up in the hospital today and I need to see her tomorrow. I'm sorry about this being such short notice."
Dimston stood for a moment before replying. Then he answered back, "Sorry Robert. Your wife will just have to wait. I need you at work."
A few seconds seemed to pass before Robert answered back. While Dimston waited, he noticed a couple more mice crawling around in front of the open fridge. He almost did not hear Robert.
"But please Mr. Dimston. Please reconsider. She needs me with her. I have be with her to make sure she's fine." As Dimston listened to Robert's plea, he could not draw his attention away from the mice in the middle of the fridge. He decided that he quickly had to end this argument.
"So Robert," he started, "do you like your job?" he asked. "Do you want to keep it?"
"Well yes, but…"
"Then you had better show up tomorrow if you want to keep it." Before Robert had a chance to argue back, Dimston quickly turned off the phone and tossed it onto the table.
'He's just like the mice,' Dimston thought to himself about Robert. 'No matter how I treat him; no matter what I give him, he always wants more. In my opinion, all mice should be wiped out. Every last one of them. Wiped out.'
With these last thoughts, he turned his attention back to the mice crawling on the floor. They were starting to get into the fridge. Dimston slowly tiptoed to his sink and opened the drawer under it. He pulled out a spray can of cleaning detergent. Then sneaking back up behind the mice, he held the spray can behind them. He then sprayed it up into their faces.
Blinded and poisoned, the mice tried to crawl away. They hissed as they painfully struggled towards the middle of the kitchen. However, seconds later, they dropped dead. Dimston grabbed both dead mice by the tails and walked to the sink. He then turned on the faucet and dropped the mice into the drain. After turning on the garbage compactor, he grabbed a spoon and prodded them both down. He listened until they were completely dissolved into the pipes before turning the compactor off.
'That's what should happen to all mice,' he then thought to himself. He decided against having a snack before bed; his fatigue seemed to be impaling his entire body. He closed the refrigerator and walked off to his room at the end of the short hallway.
However, as he trudged to his room, another mouse ran out in front of him. It squealed as it ran down to the other end of the hallway. Dimston was petrified at first. However, he quickly regained himself.
"Damn mice!" he muttered to himself out loud. "I've been haunted by mice like ghosts lately. Wish they'd all burn in Hell!" He turned back towards the kitchen after the mouse, which stopped in the middle of the floor. He grabbed the cleaning detergent from the table where he left it. As he did this, the mouse ran off the corner of the kitchen. It seemed to know he was after it. A couple more mice appeared to be waiting in the corner. They all looked at Dimston, but his disposition did not change. His look of hate only grew stronger upon seeing the two extra mice. He walked up to them.
'Now to take care of you,' he thought silently to the mice. They backed further into the corner. He held up the spray can and squirted the toxin right into their eyes. They hissed and cried out in piercing screams that almost seemed to petrify Dimston to stone. A second later, he sprayed them again, silencing them. They lay on the floor limp.
Dimston grabbed all three by the tails at once. He walked to the sink, started the faucet, and turned on the garbage compactor. He then shoved them all in. He listened to them grind in the pipes. A few drops of blood popped out of the drain but were quickly washed down by the water. Dimston felt contempt at their disposal.
After turning off the sink, he walked back down the hallway, hoping to finally sleep. Once he entered his room, he turned off the light and plopped himself into bed.
After he covered himself up, however, he felt something. There were warm lumps moving around in his bed. He felt them moving about his legs and feet. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his foot. He thew the covers off his body and quickly jumped out of bed. When he ran towards his door, he felt his foot as it started to bleed. He flicked on the light switch and froze in place at what he saw.
In his bed were several black mice. They were crawling around and nibbling at each other. He noticed several spots of blood on his sheets and the floor, presumably from his cut. As he looked at his foot, he realized that one of the mice must have bit him. The mice seemed to stare back at him with beady black eyes. They hissed at him and almost seemed to be laughing at Dimston.
He quickly ran out to the kitchen and grabbed the spray can. He calmed himself down and walked back into his room where the mice waited. He held the spray can in front of himself and squirted the bed as if in a frenzy. All the mice hissed loudly, sending paralyzing chills down Dimston's spine. Still he sprayed at them. Minutes seemed to pass yet the mice still did not seem to die.
After a while, they quieted. Once Dimston could not here them squeal, he looked down to his bed. The mice still twitched and tried to move, despite being soaked in detergent. They looked like dyeing fish out of water. He counted the mice. There were eleven of them. That meant eleven less mice in his house.
Dimston quickly threw the cover and sheets off his bed. He then wrapped all the mice in them. He rushed out of his room and to his back door. After tossing it open, he threw the bedding with all the dead mice out into his back yard. It landed on the old lettuce.
As he walked back in, two more mice ran out in front of his path. They quickly bolted across the floor and up a vent in his living room. Dimston quickly ran to his phone. After looking in his phone book, he quickly dialed a number. Once he received a reply from the other end, he started mumbling into the phone.
"Hello, is this the exterminator?" he asked, breathing hard.
"Yes," the man at the other end replied bluntly. "You should really try to calm down. Maybe take a chill pill."
"Don't give me any of that crap," Dimston retorted abruptly. "I just need you to come down here immediately. I am having a serious mouse problem."
"Oh, sorry," the man replied in a taunting voice. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until morning. Good luck though." Dimston stood at the phone in disbelief at first.
"What do you mean I have to wait until morning?" Dimston inquired harshly. "You idiots had better get down here now! You here me?" With those last words, however, Dimston heard a click at the other end. The man had hung up on him.
After dropping the phone on his table, Dimston looked around his room. Four more mice gathered right in front of him, glaring at him. With a feeling of overwhelming anger, he stormed at them. Ignoring the detergent on the table, he lifted his foot over them and crashed it down. He crushed two of the mice. Their bodies were flattened with blood flowing out of the sides and mouths. The heads were crushed like acorns with bits of their skulls showing through the skin. The other two mice ran away into the living room towards the far wall.
He grabbed the spray can and pursued after them. Once he had them cornered, he sprayed detergent into their faces, leaving them squealing. Within seconds, they died. As with the other mice, he grinded them into the garbage compactor.
As Dimston maniacally watched the mice dissolve, the phone suddenly rang once again. He quickly jolted around and walked to the phone. He lashed his hand out to it and almost threw it up to his ear.
"Hello Mr. Dimston," the voice started. It was Robert. "Mr. Dimston, I'm afraid I have to take that day off tomorrow. And since you won't let me, I'm afraid that I will have to quit my job. I'm sick of you treating me like crap all the time. I hope you can run the office without me"
"Sorry Robert, but you can't quit," Dimston spoke softly into the phone.
"And why not?"
"Because you're fired, you worthless son of a bitch!" Dimston cussed into the phone. "Now get the hell out of my life!" With those last words, he slammed the phone back onto the table.
As he did this, a couple more mice ran across the floor and up the vent in the kitchen. He noticed another mouse in the same vent waiting for them.
"Worthless mice," he complained to himself. "Just like the people in my life." Suddenly, several more mice ran out in front of him and up the hallway. Dimston looked down the corridor. He saw all the rodents conjugating at the entrance to his room. He looked to the vents in the kitchen and living room. There were at least three mice in each. He looked to his phone once again. He picked it up, hoping for the exterminator to reconsider. He dialed the number.
"Hello," came the voice of the exterminator in his same apathetic tone. "Who is this?'
"It's Mr. Dimston," he answered. "You know, the guy who called earlier. Anyway, I really need you to come down here. It's really getting bad."
"Oh yeah, I remember you," the exterminator replied. "You're the guy who needs to chill. I said I would come in the morning. So please, stop calling me." With those last words, Dimston heard a click at the other end of the line.
He stood there almost petrified at first. He looked out at the living room floor. Filthy masses of mice dirtied his carpet. They were all hissing in his direction. Every mouse almost seemed to be staring at him. They glared at him and encroached towards him ever so slowly like a deadly pack of wolves.
He picked up the phone again. This time, however, he did not dial the exterminator. He dialed 911. He held the phone to his ear, but no reply came. He tried again but nothing came.
He looked down. He saw at least ten mice chewing on the phone cable. They were tearing it up into pieces. Suddenly, they turned towards Dimston. Dimston quickly raised his foot and stomped as many mice as he could, creating a puddle of blood on the floor. He stomped them down one by one, crushing their skulls and bodies like flowers. Though their bodies lay limp on the floor, they instantly vanished beneath more deadly rodents. The more he killed, the more the demons seemed to flood him out.
Suddenly, he heard the sounds of footsteps in the walls. They seemed to be getting closer, and closer, and closer. He picked up the can of detergent. The noise now seemed to be right beside him, getting louder. He looked to the closest vent. Nothing came out. He got in for a closer look. The noise continued to grow, but still nothing came out. He held the can up by his face and backed away from the vent.
Suddenly, a large swarm of mice stampeded right under his feet from behind. He quickly glanced to the living room. Mice were flowing out of the living room vent like a venomous river. Then, out from the vent he just checked came another toxic stream of mice coming out in what seemed like hundreds. They swarmed around him like killer bees. Dimston sprayed at them causing some to drop dead. He desperately fount against them for precious life. But they kept coming.
Within a minute, his spray can went dry. He quickly glanced around his house. Mice were swarming from every vent and from under every door. They stampeded from the hallway and thronged Dimston like witches in deadly masses. They crawled towards him with venomous foam forming at their mouths.
Dimston desperately stomped on as many as he could. Several mice lay in crushed up heaps relinquishing streams of blood. However, for every mouse crushed, fifty more took its place. Mice now covered the floor, concealing it. It was like a rabid, murky ocean that attacked at anything that may try to swim out of it.
They crawled up his body and nipped at any skin they could find. They attacked like Satan's imps, trying to annihilate any possibility of hope or escape. Raving and screaming, they conjugated around Dimston, each hoping for a shot of fresh blood.
Dimston quickly gave up trying to stomp them out. They continued to flow from the vents and he was now almost a foot deep in live, ravenous mice. He bolted towards his front door like a lightening strike.
All the mice instantly pursued like an unholy army of vampires. Smelling his blood, they formed a large mass in front of him and sprang upon his face and torso. Dimston tried to turn back the other way, but he tripped over the large mass of mice.
He landed on about a hundred of them, which formed a soft, yet deadly cushion. It instantly felt as if his front torso had been impaled by millions of poisonous shots. Dimston quickly rolled onto his back. However, a moment later, his entire body and face were covered in mice. They went up his cloths and snapped at his body. As he screamed, they crawled into his mouth and bit at his tongue. Several mice got hold it and tried to yank it out of his mouth. They chewed at his eyes and ripped at his eyebrows. He realized that in that instant, he was hoping to just die.
Blood quickly drained from his face and filled his throat. The mice around him licked it off his face in contempt. Soon, his body started to grow limp. He tried once more to open his mouth for air, but he was drowning in a sea of mice. He was losing his sight as the demons began to chew at his eyeballs. All he could see was the red of the blood washing into his eyes before all went black.
Early the next morning, the exterminator walked up to Dimston's porch. With a blatant expression, he knocked on Dimston's door. He waited for a few seconds and knocked again. However, no answer came.
"Mr. Dimston, you there?" he started. "I know you're here Mr. Dimston. You called twice in one hour last night. You don't need to hide from me. I'm only here to take care of your little mouse problem." He waited a few more seconds, but no one answered.
"So Dimston, those mice were to much for ya," he started to taunt. "Did Mickey Mouse give you a rough night?" The house still remained silent. "Well then screw you, Mr. Dimston!" The exterminator walked away from his house, cussing and moaning about having to travel across town for nothing.
Inside his house, Dimston's body lay limp and lifeless on the immaculate floor. Well, it was spotless as long as the large, dried blood streaks and lakes were ignored.
He still was on his back just like the night before. Nibble and bite marks enveloped his body. His eyes were now but mere, empty holes. Flesh was visible from the large gorges in his skin. His corpse appeared to have been chewed upon by a demonic herd of vampires.
Suddenly, a small lump appeared on his torso. The lump then seemed to get larger. Seconds later, it started to move across his skin. It created a squishy sound at it advanced across his body. Soon, other lumps formed and moved with the first. They eventually met at Dimston's throat. Then something started to push through his battered skin. A hole started to form on one of the lumps and blood dripped out. The hole quickly got larger and larger.
Seconds later, a mouse crawled out. It was followed by several more. They came out of his throat one by one, then two by two. Within a minute, mice started to chew more holes from the inside of his body while more streams of blood turned the already tarnished carpet into crimson.
Dimston's mouth then opened. Mice then came crawling out from there as well. They were all covered in blood. They hissed at each other with piercing black eyes.
Soon, mice poured out of Dimston's body in deadly masses. They darted from his body in bloody heaps. Within seconds, they covered the floor of the whole house once more. The mice then became the floor and the carpet. As the original floor vanished and sank, Dimston's body quickly seemed to disappear as the ocean of mice gnawed and chewed at his dried flesh and bone.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story. Let me just say that I hurt when writing some of the imagery towards the end of this story, which brings joy to my heart at the same time. Please read and review.