Loretta

Part One: Frances

Tick. Tick. Tick. The rats scraped the glass enclosure methodically. Where did they think they could go? I often ask myself the same question. Always sitting here in my room, you would think I was in some sort of a delinquent's prison. I certainly am not. In fact, I choose this existence of sitting here listening to the white, static sound of my rodent friends planning their escape. Tick. Tick. Tick.

A lot of people ask me why I keep such company. Out of the six hairless little devils, I love Loretta the most. She reminds me of myself. She's already decided that it's frivolous to try to escape, so she wisely just goes about her business. She makes the most of her little space. I've never seen such extravagance as is Loretta's little burrows. The reality is, I envy my rats. Sure, they're there and I am here. My justification of their enclosure is simply that if they knew the reality of here, they would much rather be there.

The slam on the door and the gruff "School!" is my signal to snap back to the present. Every single week day is the same thing. And, every single week day means another endurance of taunting or being invisible. There isn't an in-between. I pull my boots on, grab my bag with Loretta stuffed safely inside, and off we go. "Where are you going?" I stop dead in my tracks. Every fucking morning, I think to myself as I turn on my heels. "School, Mom. It's Tuesday. You just knocked. Remember?" She looked into her coffee cup that we both knew was not coffee. No reply, as usual. "Bye, Mom." Loretta scuffles about in my bag as I hurry out the door. It isn't a long walk, but I have found a quieter way to go. Up past the roundabout and behind the grocery store. It means I leave a little earlier, but it's worth the time I have to myself. Typically, Loretta and I stop in the store and grab a honey bun. Her subservient nature has earned her these little trips and sharing pastries. And this is exactly what we do, and have done, for a year now. I pull her slick, fat body from my bookbag and we sit together with our morning treat. Her tiny little front paws, like embryonic hands, working as she spins her morsels around and around. It is almost hypnotic.

It was the crack of a twig that alerted me to the daunting shadow of Frances. Fuck Face Frances. She really is such an asshole. Normally, you would think that the beautiful people would be the ones highest on the totem pole in middle school. Perhaps she has bought or bullied her way to the top. Either way, this greasy gob called the shots at River Cross Middle school. And, here she was with her slicked-back brown hair and her whole self rolling out of her expensive trousers. "Rat girl! It's Rat girl!" she screeched as she took a swipe at Loretta. I snatched my little friend into my bookbag, "Fuck off Frances. Seriously", I mumbled as I walked up the path. With the pounding of her hooves behind me, struggling to keep up, she gasped, "When are you gonna just step on that thing, TABEETHUUUUUHHHHH?!". She loved to make a mockery of my name. "Or, maybe I'll jus' tell on ya' for bringin' your twin to school with ya?" I walked on. Eventually, as we encountered the uphill portion of the hike to school, she fell back. Cardio was not her strong suit unless she was yelling, or punching someone.

The day was uneventful. Unusually so, actually. I should have taken that as a sign, but I didn't. Walking back home, Loretta made a fuss in my bag. Strange. As I unzipped to peek inside, BAM. The book to the back of my head hit like a piece of lead. My vision blurred and corrected itself just in time to see Frances, with Loretta in hand, rummaging through my bag. "Stop it! I don't have anything edible in there, Frances." I am such a smart ass, no wonder this shit happens to me. I jumped to my feet and made a failed attempt at grabbing my rat. In her twisted game of gleeful keepaway, I could see her squeezing poor Loretta tighter. "What do you want this bald little beast for, anyway??" She laughed "Maybe we should just play a game of 'stomp the vermin, eh boys?". Lovely. As if this idiot wasn't bad enough, she had brought her two cross-eyed besties along to torment me. The two of them, tall and pimple-ridden, laughed in agreement.

The tears began to build in my eyes as they passed my bag to one another, swinging my tiny friend around by her tail. I had to do something. In one big, brave breath I lunged at Ben and swung my fist into the side of his head. At that exact moment, Loretta took a chunk out of Frances and bolted for the woods. Eddie lurched after her. And the first of many strikes hit across my face. All was dark.

"Fuck me runnin" I mumbled as I got to my feet. My head was throbbing. Shit. It was nearly dark. For a moment, I was not exactly sure what had even happened. Then the realization hit me at once. Where was Loretta? Surely my rat would be long gone now. Could she even survive? I needed to get home or face the wrath of my mother. But, how could I not at least look for her? Frantically looking at the footing below for even a hint of a tiny print, I quickly realized this terrain was not familiar to me at all. In fact, it was also getting unusually cold. Where had Fuck Face Frances and her cronies drug me to? A few cautious circles and I quickly realized my worst fear, I had no idea where I was. Forget the rodent, how would I get home? What if I was relocated hundreds of miles away? Surely not. Frances doesn't have a car. Right?

Part Two: The Gnome Hole

The sun was quickly vanishing behind the foreign tree line. If there was ever a time I wish my mother was here, it was now. Maybe I just wanted someone, anyone other than me by my lonesome. Squinting in the dimming light I scoured for anything familiar. Ok. I have to go somewhere. Anywhere but here. I found the most visible space of remaining light and made my way in that direction. I wish I had my bag but, what's the point? My bitch of a mother won't let me have a cell phone. That bitch. I walked on. The darkness crept in and I found myself deep in conversation with nobody in particular. Is your mom really a bitch? Or are you just a rotten kid? I scoffed at myself. I'm lost, who knows where with no light or phone. She is definitely a bitch. I agreed with myself and trudged on until it was just too blackened around me to continue.

In the distance, there was a flicker of something. Paper? A grocery bag? I picked up the pace toward this fluttering ghostly little mass bouncing off tree limbs and tufts of weeds. Then, it was gone. Shielding my brow as if it was bright out, I struggled to view out into the distance.

Squeeeeeshfttttttt

What the- I shook upward to find myself face to face with some kind of a person like I had never seen. The darkness made it difficult for me to clearly see its face, but it was surely a weathered human being.

Peering into the wrinkled, hollowed face, I managed to squeeze out a single word. "Hi." Silently, it reached out toward me. I took a startled step backward. In its hand was the wrapper to mine and Loretta's honey bun. Puzzled, I carefully removed my litter from its textured hand. "Sssorry, I don't know-" I gasped for words. "Sorry". Still, it stood silently. Glaring at me with a slight set of eyes. It turned to walk away. Fuck. Do I follow this, or sit here to die by a serial killer? I hurried after, stumbling over roots and my own feet. "Hey. Hey. I am really sorry but clearly, I am lost. I'm a kid, you know? Well, a young adult.", I reasoned through panting words. Nothing. Still, I followed. After what seemed like an eternity, a small light opened up a patch of the pitch blackness. Some sort of cave? Hut? I didn't care. All I knew was I wasn't sleeping out here, and my new friend hadn't murdered me yet. I had to weigh my odds.

We made our way to the little gnome hole in the woods. As we approached, it most definitely was some sort of home. Finally, it stepped into the light of the entryway and turned toward me. I waited like a good dog for my command until it motioned me inside. Looking around, there wasn't much here at all. A few hanging lanterns that must have been a hundred years old, a hay pile of a bed, and us. When I turned around to speak, I saw it. I saw her. What seemed like such a terrifying giant of a monster in the dark, was actually a frail-looking old woman. Her skin was wrinkled but shined like pearls. She had a beautiful, hard face and dark eyes. I raised a hand in a friendly gesture of thank you and spoke again, "Do you know where we are? I really need to get home. My mom is probably worried and I have pets to feed and homework. You know?" She quietly pointed to the entrance, to the darkness. She then turned away and sat down by herself. Ok. I sat down, as well. And that's what we did. That's all we did.

Part Three: Dad and the Rats

I woke suddenly. For a few seconds, I didn't remember my predicament. By a small light, there sat my silent friend. She was sleepy but awake. Staring at me with her black eyes. It was still night but it felt like I'd been lost years ago. The frail woman rose to her feet and motioned for me to follow. She took a small woven bag and a stick and set out the door of her little mole hole. I quickly followed.

It was not as cold as it had felt before and somehow I could see a bit better in the darkness. She walked funny. Her gait was shuffled as if she had been injured and never healed properly. I thought to ask her, but I knew I would get no answer. We walked and we walked. The silence was deafening. I began telling her about what happened with Frances. Tearfully, I told her about poor Loretta and how I was certain she had become snake or bear food. Then I spoke about my mother. Sometimes I felt guilty for hating her so much. But, she had changed since Dad died. My mother used to be loving, giving, and kind. When Dad had the accident at work, she became some sort of a monster. We walked on. There was little reaction from my friend. Occasionally, she would stop and glance at me. And then we would carry on, and I would talk her ears off. If she had any.

We got to a point where I truly felt she was walking me in circles. Maybe this was like a fairy tale horror and I was being led to some cauldron in a candy house. I decided to talk about my Dad. Why not? It's better than my current situation of pondering my own demise. I took a deep breath and began to tell her about how me and Dad used to go to the local pet store on Saturdays. It was also the hardware store, so Dad would get things he needed for work while I would check out all of the animals. They always had cages filled to the brim with feeder rats. The poor souls had no idea what their fate was. Every once in a while, they'd have a hairless one hiding in there. Even though these would surely also become the snack of some hungry serpent, the store associates would title them "fancy rats" and add two dollars to their price tag. It was total bullshit.

Dad always thought they were pretty adorable. He knew I wanted to save all of them, but we had made a deal that we could at least save the baldies when they popped up at the store. And that's what we did. The very first rat we got was my Loretta. When I first brought her home, she became my only friend. And she appreciated the attention.

I recalled the day Dad died with the same emotion as if it had just happened. Probably why I don't really talk about him much. School had been the usual mix of being antagonized and trying to disappear. I walked the normal way home back then. The eyes on me as I passed small corner stores and familiar houses still burn the back of my head. It seemed everyone knew already, but me. When I turned the corner to my house, Mom was sitting on the steps. Her face buried in one hand, her purse in the other. Dropping my bag, I hurried to her. "Your dad has had an accident, Tabitha." Quickly, I assumed he was hurt. Maybe fell and broke his leg. My mother, suddenly a zombie, stood up as a car pulled up for her. She turned to me and put one hand on my shoulder. "Dad is dead, Tabitha." With that, she got in the car and was gone.

That day still hits me slap in the face. It was a mix of the shock of my Dad being gone and the shock of my mother so coldly delivering the news. Maybe I stood there, staring at the place my mother had stood, for hours. It is hard to say. Eventually, I went inside and up to my room. There was no friend to call or person to console me or even tell me what the fuck was happening. I scooped Loretta up from her now filled to capacity enclosure. And I told her every bit of my feelings. Every morsel of anger, sadness, the confusion I fed to my little bald rat. Because there was nobody else to tell it to.

As the realization of Loretta being alone, or dead, somewhere in the woods hit me. The tears continued to flow as I walked on into the night.

Thump

Somehow, the woman had stopped and I had smashed right into her. Shockingly, she did not even waver as a frail old woman should. She had the stability of a flag pole.

Part Four: The Smell in the Woods

Just as I opened my mouth to ask, she pointed toward a scene of people I had somehow missed. Suddenly, the scene was familiar. This was my walking path home. It was dark, but flashlights and frantic people filled the space. Police!! I began waving and jumping around like a mad person. One step toward them and her hand grabbed me by the shoulder. Angry, I snatched away from her. "Look lady, thanks for all of your help but I want to go home!" As I approached the group, a smell overtook me. The same putrid smell I remembered the time we had a feral cat die under Dad's old project truck. The half dozen officers seemed to be searching under and over everything in sight. "Here! I'm here!" I was screaming. Nobody looked up. Nobody saw me. Fuck. Even when I'm missing nobody cares. The silent hand rested on my shoulder again. Tearfully, and resentfully, I looked back at the old woman. This time, she pointed past the scurrying officers to a woman pacing beyond the clearing.

"MOM!" I screamed. I broke free of my companion and rushed to her side. She was crying. I suddenly realized Frances's father was there, also in a state of complete despair. I swiped a hand toward my Mom in an attempt to grab her. To hug her. OH my God. I am dead. Looking back at the old woman I questioned "Am I dead?" She pointed to the space an ear would go on her head. Listen? Does she want me to listen?

"I can't believe this is happening to me. Where is my daughter?", Mom cried into her shirt sleeve. "Why can't we go over there?" Frances's father, who was clearly where she inherited her tall and terrifying demeanor, threw his arms upright in pure anger. "Fuck Tabitha, Cheryl!" His voice boomed, then quickly shifted to a high-pitched mocking, "Oh no! Where's MY daughter? Doesn't matter yours is over there in a heap of guts!" My mother flinched and turned away, sobbing harder she meekly whispered, "I'm sorry Alan. I'm so sorry" Was Frances hurt? Was she dead? Had I beaten the shit out of her worse than she beat the shit out of me? I bolted back toward the cluster of uniforms where three men were standing, looking down. As I approached, the smell was almost unbearable. My invisible self slipped between them and stopped dead in my tracks. It was Frances. Or, what was left of her.

Part Five: What's left of Frances.

"I have no idea what could have done this" One officer muttered. "There is no way I am believin' them boys story, Larry." A taller, heavier officer insisted, "I have a feelin' once we find the other gal, we will have two boys and a murder charge. I bet my job on it, Larry." At their feet, the third man worked over the remains of Frances. Let me tell you when I say "remains" that is the only way I can describe what I saw. In an almost perfect circle of disturbed footing, a lumpy and half-clothed mass lay sprawled out like a starfish. Her clothing was ripped and tattered in a million, tiny tears and her face matched. I looked to her left to see my book bag, and all of its contents, strewn around.

What the fuck happened here? Surely I didn't do this.

Larry, the shorter and quieter officer, spoke, "Has anyone seen any other signs of the missing girl, Frank?" Seriousness fell over the face of giant Frank, "Only those drag marks up the hill. And this." He held up a plastic wrapper. A honey bun wrapper. Quickly, I checked my pocket for the one given to me by the old woman. It was gone. Suddenly, all of the conversations in every visible space of that clearing poured over the top of me like boiling water. Alan screaming at my mother, "Your weirdo kid probably killed my baby! Maybe if you were a mother and not a drunk whore!" My mother screaming back, "Bull shit, Alan! How many more times was that fat brat going to beat and attack my daughter!?" And the officers, all of their speculations at once. A blur of accusing Eddie and Ben. A few officers speculating there was a serial attacker on the run. I put my hands over my ears and screamed louder than I ever knew I could.

Was I dead? Was I a murderer on the run? Why couldn't anyone see me? All of the questions I wanted to scream at that silent, evil old woman. Standing there, staring at me with no explanation for any of this. But, there was no point because she wouldn't answer me. My rage engulfed me at that moment. I turned it all onto that lump of a geriatric, useless old hag and began throwing my hands in any direction. If she wasn't going to talk I was going to make her talk. I hit and pulled and screamed. And suddenly, everything was quiet. All of the police, the arguing, the searching frozen before my very eyes. I looked up at the woman and she glared down at me. Slowly, she turned me away from her and placed her hands on either side of my face. I hadn't felt her skin yet. I hadn't realized how smooth, cold, strange she was. How familiar the texture of her skin was. My eyes widened at what happened next.

Part Six: All the Rats.

Have you ever listened to the sound of overdue brakes on a large truck? That long-winded, high-pitched screaming across asphalt?

That was all I could hear. The woman held my face to the tree line firmly and the sound grew. I felt as though I was trapped in a glass jar, with the sound-amplifying all around me until my ears would surely bleed. Through the trees, a dark mass moved across the grass like liquid. Flowing and bending with every change in terrain. Blinking my eyes clear, despite the static noise, a thousand rats were moving toward us. It was a mischief of thousands upon thousands it seemed. I struggled to pull away, but the noise and the sight overpowered me.

Suddenly, every memory of every moment was right there. Dad at the hardware store. The rats. Bringing home Loretta and setting up her cage together. Laughing together while we hid our latest, hairless purchases from Mom. Yes, Mom. Smiling at me from the third row of my talent show in Kindergarten. Laughing with Dad. Then crying. All she did this last year was cry since Dad died. Violently I shook to get out of this fucking grasp. To make this stop.

Then Frances. Fuck Face Frances. Those memories rushed in the hardest. The time she cut a chunk out of my hair. She, Eddie, and Ben passed it back and forth. Making a mockery of me in the lunchroom. All the times she beat me to a near unconscious pulp after school. Her dead, bloated body laying in that strange circle of earth.

The deafening noise of the squeaking rats got louder and louder. The memories faster and faster. The rats engulfed everything around us like an angry ocean. The police, Alan, Frances, Mom, Us. There was nothing but this hurricane of screeching, squealing rats. The sights and sounds assaulted me until I heard and saw nothing anymore at all.

Part Seven - Loretta

My eyes opened to the blurred outline of my simple, boring window. The sun shining across my desk, stopping just short of the edge of my bed. Mom was there sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the rat cage on the edge of my bookshelf. I struggled to blink or focus. My head was pounding. Probably because of Frances, I thought to myself. Frances! I frantically tried to sit up, but my brain felt like a loose egg in a fishbowl.

"Lay down Tabitha. Please." Mom whispered. She didn't smell like vodka. "Where is Frances? What's happening?", I struggled to even speak. She stroked my hair away from my face as I finally was able to focus on her. She wasn't smiling, but she was different. Not drunk or angry. Concerned. Loving. My Mother. She was my Mother. "Mom, please-" She stood up and started pretending to tidy and fuss over things in the room. "Something terrible happened, honey." She started. Fuck. I was about to be healed up just so I could go to prison for murder. She sat down on the edge of my bed.

"You've been resting a few days now. Poor Frances has passed away. The Farroth boys confessed to everything. You were very lucky." She spoke so calmly and deliberately I was sure this was a prank. "Mom. What are you saying? What did they confess to?" I finally forced myself upright. "What are you saying?", I was almost screaming at her. "Tabitha, you need rest. I am not sure what all of you were doing out there. And, it doesn't matter. All we know is the boys have killed poor Frances. They would have killed you, too." My eyes widened in disbelief. No way those two confessed to killing Frances. No way they would even try, anyway. She continued, "Well, they made claims a little old woman came out of the woods and attacked all of them. Then dragged you away. The Police could only make sense of the theory that they were caught red-handed murdering her. And this mystery woman scared them off. We found you lying right next to her, still alive but badly beaten."

"Do you remember anything?" I looked around the room to see if the Police were hiding in a closet, waiting to arrest me. This had to be either a joke or a setup to get me to confess. All I could do was sit there, shifting my view around waiting for my certain capture. But, it never came. She kept talking. "Eddie has been on mental health watch at the Hospital since then. Ben now refuses to speak. But, we are confident that justice will be served. And I am so grateful you are alive." She put a hand on mine, her eyes filled with tears. "I can't live without you. I already lost your Dad, Tabitha." She wrapped her arms around me, sobbing into my neck. I struggled for words. "Tabitha, I am so sorry. Things will be so much different now. Please forgive me." she sobbed. I hugged her in silence.

The movement on the bookshelf darted my eyes to focus on the cage. Tick. Tick. Tick. That familiar sound, how did I only now notice? All of them were scratching away. Except one. There in the center of the chaos of claustrophobic rats, sat Loretta. Her black, slight eyes locked on me. Glaring almost completely through me. I am not sure if I ever blinked, or spoke a word, for what felt like hours we locked our gazes. Mom was fussing around the room again, texting updates to family members and fluffing pillows. And like a statue, glared Loretta.

"Mom. Where was Loretta when you found me?", I finally spoke. My mother looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "Who?" she questioned, "Who's Loretta?" I cautiously answered out of the corner of my mouth, afraid to look away from the pearly-skinned rat staring at me. "My rat, Loretta." My mother forced me to lay back down as I cranked my neck to keep her in my line of vision. "Honey, it was just you and your backpack. All of those things have been here the entire time." she replied as she motioned toward the animals. And with that, she left the room.

Loretta finally blinked. I felt my mouth begin to move as if I was actually going to say something to her. She began digging at the edge of the cage, never taking her gaze off of me. I tilted my head, like that would somehow help me to understand what exactly was happening here. And just like that, Loretta pulled up a clear plastic bit of packaging. She looked at me one last time, then scurried with the wrapper into her perfectly constructed little burrow. A tiny little Gnome hole. I closed my eyes.

No way.

All Illustrations were created by Dena Danzig, as Doodles by Tabitha for this short story.

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