Roll for Initiative
By Andy Morris
Michelle was thinking about fishing nets for some bizarre reason when the piercing chime of her phone jarred her into full wakefulness. She must have been dreaming and the noise was so loud and unexpected it felt like an electric shock. Her heart hammered madly as she sat up straight, staring ahead at the unfamiliar living room and, for a few moments she wondered where she was. Then she smiled at her silliness – she was such an idiot! She must have nodded off on the Peterson’s oversized sofa. She’d never fallen asleep while babysitting before and she looked around self-consciously.
Her history revision book lay open on her lap with a bright pink post-it note in the shape of a hand doing a thumbs-up sign. All of Michelle’s books and study guides were festooned with colourful sticky notes. This was how she lived her life. They decorated most of her bedroom walls and the back of her door displaying reminders; thoughts; ideas and; to-do lists. She always carried a packet of funky post-its on her. Her classmates liked to keep notes on their phones or tablets, but Michelle preferred the snazzy individuality of post-its’. It was her thing! They were invaluable when it came to revision and she had a feeling she’d need a lot more when she started her journalism course at university. She already wrote articles for the school newspaper and she’d even had a piece published in the local Daily Echo.
Smiling proudly at the bright future ahead of her Michelle rolled her shoulders and rubbed her eyes. As she became aware of the time she yawned loudly. The clock on the wall – designed like an old ships wheel, and totally in keeping with the Peterson’s nautical theme of the house – showed it was just past midnight.
The Peterson’s were late; they’d been due back at eleven.
Maybe they got held up somewhere and that notification was a message to say they were on their way?
It wasn’t!
The message was from her friends; they’d arranged to continue their Dungeons & Dragons game online at midnight. The party was searching for a magical artefact shaped like an hourglass. They had to find it before Vol’teetch; a wicked half-human half-rat sorcerer found it first. If he acquired it he’d have the power to manipulate reality. He’d create portals into other worlds and capture more victims to fuel his dastardly experiments. The last time Michelle and her fellow adventurers had played, their characters had entered a cemetery, so they’d decided to play this part of the story at the witching hour to make it more atmospheric. There was no school tomorrow, so it didn’t matter if they stayed up late. Michelle had hoped to play it at home in her bedroom, not at the Peterson’s house. She sighed a ‘what-can-do’ sigh and decided to check on little George.
As she picked up her homework a wave of deja-vu washed over her. She tried to recall her earlier dream, but the details were gone – just like the chapter on the industrial revolution that she’d been reading. The pages of her book had flipped over in her sleep and were now open at a section on the black death. She grimaced at a drawing of a street filled with rats streaming through gutters and sitting boldly in people’s doorways.
Disgusting!
Michelle shuddered as she tried to get off the sofa. It was very soft and low-down and designed to not let you up once you were seated. The cushions were really comfy which was probably why she’d fallen asleep earlier. She shuffled her bottom to the edge of the oversized seat and placed her book on the coffee table. Mrs Peterson had built the table herself using driftwood that she’d collected from the beach at Key Haven. Several mouse-shaped post-it notes were stuck on the unique piece of furniture. It was quite random because Michelle couldn’t remember putting them there. What was even more strange was they were each marked with one word: ‘Upstairs’, ‘Go’, ‘Out’, ‘No’ and one with ‘Don’t’, scribbled in her spidery short-hand.
Who’d written these? And don’t what?
The page with the rats was still open so Michelle closed the book to hide the horrible images. As she did so there was a sharp pain on the side of her index finger.
“Damn it” she hissed. It was a deep papercut from one of her mouse-shaped sticky notes. She glared at the offending memo and noticed – from this angle – it looked more like one of those plague-rats than a cute little mouse.
Her phone beeped again.
Maybe this was the Petersons?
No, it was another notification informing her that her storage was almost full. It shouldn’t be; there was loads of memory on her phone. With a couple of nimble swipes, she saw that it was her media files that were taking up all the room. She opened another folder as she blindly wandered into the hallway passed pictures of old sailing galleons and black and white photos of Lymington Harbour from days-gone-by. At the foot of the stairs, she paused. Her phone said she had 164 videos stored on it! She hadn’t taken them! Yes, she liked recording videos for her YouTube vlog, but she always uploaded them onto her laptop before deleting them from her phone.
Was someone pranking her tonight?
She was about to check the videos when George began crying in his sleep. He must be having a bad dream and couldn’t wake up. Poor thing!
The nightlight on the landing was still on, casting its warm glow to allow just enough light to show where the bedroom doors were and the spot where the stairs began (or ended, depending on where you were standing). Michelle considered switching on the main landing light but decided against it. Nightlights were nice! Plus, if she turned on the brighter light it might wake George and if there was no one there when the four-year-old woke from his nightmare he might be even more frightened.
Her footsteps were loud on the wooden stairs. It reminded Michelle just how still and quiet other people’s houses could be, especially when everyone else was asleep. At the top of the stairs, she turned right. Suspended from the high ceiling was a blue fishing net. It contained several decorative floats made of purple, pink and green glass. They probably cast pretty patterns on the walls in the early morning sunshine. Below the netting, the landing stretched out before her. Two white doors on the right-hand side and one on the left. They were all closed but Michelle knew the first door on the right was Mr and Mrs Peterson’s bedroom. The next one along was the bathroom and the one on the left was George’s room. That was where the creature was lurking.
Michelle froze, more in surprise at first, before realising she was staring at a giant rat. Only, it was standing on its hind legs like a person. It faced her as if it had been awaiting her arrival. The monstrous rodent was just a little shorter than Michelle but the two long horns twisting upwards from behind its ears made it look taller. Another pair of horns curled downwards on either side of its face adding to its demonic countenance. There was a small squeak and Michelle wasn’t sure if the sound came from the creature, or her.
She must be dreaming. She had to be dreaming!
The rat-creature’s long nose twitched as it sniffed the air. Its beady red eyes shone with keen intelligence and just for a moment, they seemed to widen as if in recognition.
The rat-monster-thing’s head was hideous enough but then she noticed its tail, which resembled a monstrously long pink worm. She grimaced.
The dreadful being eyed her curiously. Time slowed down and reality seemed to melt away. The ticking in the ships wheel clock downstairs became muted and the silence thickened all around her. The rodent inched forward. Michelle tried to back away but was unsure where the stairs were.
With one hand on the wall to steady herself, she fumbled for her pad of post-its and a pen. She had to write down what she saw – that’s what a journalist would do. They’d document what was happening and share their story. Her fingers found her phone instead. Even better!
Unable to tear her eyes away from the horned rat she swiped at the screen, instinctively accessing the video app and switching on the camera.
The intruder seemed unconcerned with this.
“Roll for initiative,” It whispered in a harsh rasping voice which seemed to echo in the sleeping vacuum of the landing. Then it tossed a small round object on the floor. A whimper escaped Michelle’s lips as a 20-sided die rolled to a stop at her feet.
“You weren’t successful,” hissed the scratchy voice. Suddenly the rat sprang towards her down the hallway. She barely registered it moving before it was upon her. It grabbed the wrist – the one she was using to prop herself up against the wall. For a moment she feared it would throw her down the stairs. It held her in a painfully tight grip, but it didn’t shove her backwards. Instead, the rodent lifted her hand to its mouth. Michelle shrank back, trying to fight it but it was too strong. She couldn’t break free, even as its grey tongue uncurled from between its long front fangs. Michelle gagged as its fetid breath blew into her face. She was helpless as it took the finger with the papercut and slid the digit into its open jaws. Her finger was enveloped in warm slimy mucus. A rough tongue caressed the slit in her skin and her stomach knotted. The vile rodent was lapping at the dried blood on her finger. She tried to pull her hand back, but it was no good. The oozing silence around her was now punctuated by the wet sucking of her assailant. Michelle would have screamed but her parched throat had constricted, and she could make no sound. Eventually, her tormentor withdrew her saliva covered finger from its jowls. It was then Michelle noticed the scar in the centre of the rat’s forehead between its horns. It was in the shape of a horizontal figure eight; like the symbol representing infinity. It was the same scar worn by the rat-sorcerer from their Dungeons and Dragons adventure.
But, that was just a game – Vol’Teetch wasn’t real.
Michelle pressed herself back against the wall but there was nowhere to go. Her grotesque foe leaned in closer, his whiskers tickling her cheek.
“More, later,” he promised. “Tasty.” He licked his diseased lips and made an awful screeching, chittering sound, which Michelle realised was laughter. She held her finger wet finger protectively in her other hand trying not to think about what may happen next. She caught sight of something clutched in its furry grey paw. It looked like a silver hourglass, extravagantly designed and a perfect match to the one her party had been searching for in their quest!
Vol’Teetch raised the artefact and studied the white sand in the bottom jar before turning it over. He watched curiously, almost mesmerised as the fine granules trickled through the narrow neck and collected in the lower chamber once again.
Michelle hoped the Peterson’s would hurry up and come home but, she realised with deepening horror that they wouldn’t come home. They wouldn’t come home, and this wasn’t a dream. It was worse. Despite the impossibility of the notion, Michelle realised what was happening: The rats in her history book; the post-it notes; the videos on her phone! None of those warnings had helped her because she’d hadn’t recognised their meaning. So what else could she do? Looking around in desperation her gaze reached the ceiling. The fishing nets were hanging above her.
Could she grab them before her captor could stop her?
Vol’Teetch seemed to sense what she was thinking, and he laughed another harsh cough. He turned around and began skulking away with the magical artefact. As he did so the nightlight began to dim. The shadows on the landing elongated and stretched towards her. Darkness closed in around her like a black glove. She had to escape; had to remember…
The notification jolted Michelle awake. She looked around half-expecting someone to be there standing over her, but she was alone. She must have been dreaming. The details were rapidly fading, which was probably a good thing because it hadn’t felt like a nice dream. She let the thought go as her attention was drawn to a scattering of post-it notes on the coffee table. That was strange; she hadn’t stuck them there.
Then she noticed the time – nearly midnight. No wonder it felt so eerily quiet – it was really late! She checked her phone but there was nothing from the Peterson’s, just a message from her friends. There was also a second notification saying the memory was almost full. Somehow, there were 165 videos stored on the device. Before she had a chance to investigate further George began crying in his sleep.
Her history revision book lay open on her lap with a bright pink post-it note in the shape of a hand doing a thumbs-up sign. All of Michelle’s books and study guides were festooned with colourful sticky notes. This was how she lived her life. They decorated most of her bedroom walls and the back of her door displaying reminders; thoughts; ideas and; to-do lists. She always carried a packet of funky post-its on her. Her classmates liked to keep notes on their phones or tablets, but Michelle preferred the snazzy individuality of post-its’. It was her thing! They were invaluable when it came to revision and she had a feeling she’d need a lot more when she started her journalism course at university. She already wrote articles for the school newspaper and she’d even had a piece published in the local Daily Echo.
Smiling proudly at the bright future ahead of her Michelle rolled her shoulders and rubbed her eyes. As she became aware of the time she yawned loudly. The clock on the wall – designed like an old ships wheel, and totally in keeping with the Peterson’s nautical theme of the house – showed it was just past midnight.
The Peterson’s were late; they’d been due back at eleven.
Maybe they got held up somewhere and that notification was a message to say they were on their way?
It wasn’t!
The message was from her friends; they’d arranged to continue their Dungeons & Dragons game online at midnight. The party was searching for a magical artefact shaped like an hourglass. They had to find it before Vol’teetch; a wicked half-human half-rat sorcerer found it first. If he acquired it he’d have the power to manipulate reality. He’d create portals into other worlds and capture more victims to fuel his dastardly experiments. The last time Michelle and her fellow adventurers had played, their characters had entered a cemetery, so they’d decided to play this part of the story at the witching hour to make it more atmospheric. There was no school tomorrow, so it didn’t matter if they stayed up late. Michelle had hoped to play it at home in her bedroom, not at the Peterson’s house. She sighed a ‘what-can-do’ sigh and decided to check on little George.
As she picked up her homework a wave of deja-vu washed over her. She tried to recall her earlier dream, but the details were gone – just like the chapter on the industrial revolution that she’d been reading. The pages of her book had flipped over in her sleep and were now open at a section on the black death. She grimaced at a drawing of a street filled with rats streaming through gutters and sitting boldly in people’s doorways.
Disgusting!
Michelle shuddered as she tried to get off the sofa. It was very soft and low-down and designed to not let you up once you were seated. The cushions were really comfy which was probably why she’d fallen asleep earlier. She shuffled her bottom to the edge of the oversized seat and placed her book on the coffee table. Mrs Peterson had built the table herself using driftwood that she’d collected from the beach at Key Haven. Several mouse-shaped post-it notes were stuck on the unique piece of furniture. It was quite random because Michelle couldn’t remember putting them there. What was even more strange was they were each marked with one word: ‘Upstairs’, ‘Go’, ‘Out’, ‘No’ and one with ‘Don’t’, scribbled in her spidery short-hand.
Who’d written these? And don’t what?
The page with the rats was still open so Michelle closed the book to hide the horrible images. As she did so there was a sharp pain on the side of her index finger.
“Damn it” she hissed. It was a deep papercut from one of her mouse-shaped sticky notes. She glared at the offending memo and noticed – from this angle – it looked more like one of those plague-rats than a cute little mouse.
Her phone beeped again.
Maybe this was the Petersons?
No, it was another notification informing her that her storage was almost full. It shouldn’t be; there was loads of memory on her phone. With a couple of nimble swipes, she saw that it was her media files that were taking up all the room. She opened another folder as she blindly wandered into the hallway passed pictures of old sailing galleons and black and white photos of Lymington Harbour from days-gone-by. At the foot of the stairs, she paused. Her phone said she had 164 videos stored on it! She hadn’t taken them! Yes, she liked recording videos for her YouTube vlog, but she always uploaded them onto her laptop before deleting them from her phone.
Was someone pranking her tonight?
She was about to check the videos when George began crying in his sleep. He must be having a bad dream and couldn’t wake up. Poor thing!
The nightlight on the landing was still on, casting its warm glow to allow just enough light to show where the bedroom doors were and the spot where the stairs began (or ended, depending on where you were standing). Michelle considered switching on the main landing light but decided against it. Nightlights were nice! Plus, if she turned on the brighter light it might wake George and if there was no one there when the four-year-old woke from his nightmare he might be even more frightened.
Her footsteps were loud on the wooden stairs. It reminded Michelle just how still and quiet other people’s houses could be, especially when everyone else was asleep. At the top of the stairs, she turned right. Suspended from the high ceiling was a blue fishing net. It contained several decorative floats made of purple, pink and green glass. They probably cast pretty patterns on the walls in the early morning sunshine. Below the netting, the landing stretched out before her. Two white doors on the right-hand side and one on the left. They were all closed but Michelle knew the first door on the right was Mr and Mrs Peterson’s bedroom. The next one along was the bathroom and the one on the left was George’s room. That was where the creature was lurking.
Michelle froze, more in surprise at first, before realising she was staring at a giant rat. Only, it was standing on its hind legs like a person. It faced her as if it had been awaiting her arrival. The monstrous rodent was just a little shorter than Michelle but the two long horns twisting upwards from behind its ears made it look taller. Another pair of horns curled downwards on either side of its face adding to its demonic countenance. There was a small squeak and Michelle wasn’t sure if the sound came from the creature, or her.
She must be dreaming. She had to be dreaming!
The rat-creature’s long nose twitched as it sniffed the air. Its beady red eyes shone with keen intelligence and just for a moment, they seemed to widen as if in recognition.
The rat-monster-thing’s head was hideous enough but then she noticed its tail, which resembled a monstrously long pink worm. She grimaced.
The dreadful being eyed her curiously. Time slowed down and reality seemed to melt away. The ticking in the ships wheel clock downstairs became muted and the silence thickened all around her. The rodent inched forward. Michelle tried to back away but was unsure where the stairs were.
With one hand on the wall to steady herself, she fumbled for her pad of post-its and a pen. She had to write down what she saw – that’s what a journalist would do. They’d document what was happening and share their story. Her fingers found her phone instead. Even better!
Unable to tear her eyes away from the horned rat she swiped at the screen, instinctively accessing the video app and switching on the camera.
The intruder seemed unconcerned with this.
“Roll for initiative,” It whispered in a harsh rasping voice which seemed to echo in the sleeping vacuum of the landing. Then it tossed a small round object on the floor. A whimper escaped Michelle’s lips as a 20-sided die rolled to a stop at her feet.
“You weren’t successful,” hissed the scratchy voice. Suddenly the rat sprang towards her down the hallway. She barely registered it moving before it was upon her. It grabbed the wrist – the one she was using to prop herself up against the wall. For a moment she feared it would throw her down the stairs. It held her in a painfully tight grip, but it didn’t shove her backwards. Instead, the rodent lifted her hand to its mouth. Michelle shrank back, trying to fight it but it was too strong. She couldn’t break free, even as its grey tongue uncurled from between its long front fangs. Michelle gagged as its fetid breath blew into her face. She was helpless as it took the finger with the papercut and slid the digit into its open jaws. Her finger was enveloped in warm slimy mucus. A rough tongue caressed the slit in her skin and her stomach knotted. The vile rodent was lapping at the dried blood on her finger. She tried to pull her hand back, but it was no good. The oozing silence around her was now punctuated by the wet sucking of her assailant. Michelle would have screamed but her parched throat had constricted, and she could make no sound. Eventually, her tormentor withdrew her saliva covered finger from its jowls. It was then Michelle noticed the scar in the centre of the rat’s forehead between its horns. It was in the shape of a horizontal figure eight; like the symbol representing infinity. It was the same scar worn by the rat-sorcerer from their Dungeons and Dragons adventure.
But, that was just a game – Vol’Teetch wasn’t real.
Michelle pressed herself back against the wall but there was nowhere to go. Her grotesque foe leaned in closer, his whiskers tickling her cheek.
“More, later,” he promised. “Tasty.” He licked his diseased lips and made an awful screeching, chittering sound, which Michelle realised was laughter. She held her finger wet finger protectively in her other hand trying not to think about what may happen next. She caught sight of something clutched in its furry grey paw. It looked like a silver hourglass, extravagantly designed and a perfect match to the one her party had been searching for in their quest!
Vol’Teetch raised the artefact and studied the white sand in the bottom jar before turning it over. He watched curiously, almost mesmerised as the fine granules trickled through the narrow neck and collected in the lower chamber once again.
Michelle hoped the Peterson’s would hurry up and come home but, she realised with deepening horror that they wouldn’t come home. They wouldn’t come home, and this wasn’t a dream. It was worse. Despite the impossibility of the notion, Michelle realised what was happening: The rats in her history book; the post-it notes; the videos on her phone! None of those warnings had helped her because she’d hadn’t recognised their meaning. So what else could she do? Looking around in desperation her gaze reached the ceiling. The fishing nets were hanging above her.
Could she grab them before her captor could stop her?
Vol’Teetch seemed to sense what she was thinking, and he laughed another harsh cough. He turned around and began skulking away with the magical artefact. As he did so the nightlight began to dim. The shadows on the landing elongated and stretched towards her. Darkness closed in around her like a black glove. She had to escape; had to remember…
The notification jolted Michelle awake. She looked around half-expecting someone to be there standing over her, but she was alone. She must have been dreaming. The details were rapidly fading, which was probably a good thing because it hadn’t felt like a nice dream. She let the thought go as her attention was drawn to a scattering of post-it notes on the coffee table. That was strange; she hadn’t stuck them there.
Then she noticed the time – nearly midnight. No wonder it felt so eerily quiet – it was really late! She checked her phone but there was nothing from the Peterson’s, just a message from her friends. There was also a second notification saying the memory was almost full. Somehow, there were 165 videos stored on the device. Before she had a chance to investigate further George began crying in his sleep.