It all began when my wife told me they were back. I had just come home after a busy day and was longing for a bath. Tough luck for me though, I never had the slightest chance to even stick my big toe in the hot tub.
“Are you sure?” I asked her when I saw the worried look on her face “could it have been anything else?”
She answered she was perfectly sure and began to sob. I knew she hated those rats up there in the attic. They totally freaked her out.
“I really thought we had gotten rid of them last time when the exterminator came” I said, remembering we hadn’t heard their squeaky cries or the rattle of their fights since then.
My wife begged me to go upstairs and check things out. She was worried one of those furry monsters had made it out of its sealed prison and invaded our privacy. Her privacy, that was. I knew I had no other choice if I wanted to calm her down, so I took the broom in the closet and performed a thorough investigation of the first floor. As I found nothing, I came down the stairs and was stopped right in the middle of it by a sound noise coming from the ceiling.
“You hear that!” my wife shouted hysterically, “if we don’t have pest control come here tonight, I won’t be able to sleep. You hear me Maurice?”
Maurice, I always loathed my name. I even cursed my parents once or twice only because they had been cruel enough to bless me with this stupid, french sounding, heck of a name. My wife knew perfectly how to use it and to unleash the destructive power it raised in me. Without thinking I took the phone book on the patio table and dialed the number written under the logo of the “pest patrol”. After two or three tones, someone picked up.
“Are you sure?” I asked her when I saw the worried look on her face “could it have been anything else?”
She answered she was perfectly sure and began to sob. I knew she hated those rats up there in the attic. They totally freaked her out.
“I really thought we had gotten rid of them last time when the exterminator came” I said, remembering we hadn’t heard their squeaky cries or the rattle of their fights since then.
My wife begged me to go upstairs and check things out. She was worried one of those furry monsters had made it out of its sealed prison and invaded our privacy. Her privacy, that was. I knew I had no other choice if I wanted to calm her down, so I took the broom in the closet and performed a thorough investigation of the first floor. As I found nothing, I came down the stairs and was stopped right in the middle of it by a sound noise coming from the ceiling.
“You hear that!” my wife shouted hysterically, “if we don’t have pest control come here tonight, I won’t be able to sleep. You hear me Maurice?”
Maurice, I always loathed my name. I even cursed my parents once or twice only because they had been cruel enough to bless me with this stupid, french sounding, heck of a name. My wife knew perfectly how to use it and to unleash the destructive power it raised in me. Without thinking I took the phone book on the patio table and dialed the number written under the logo of the “pest patrol”. After two or three tones, someone picked up.
Commentaires
Très bon début de nouvelle! La personnalité des personnages se développe déjà et je suis déjà stressé. Le style est bon. Mais surtout, c'est le grenier qui m'intrigue!
Maurice... Quel nom quand même!J'ai toujours l'image d'un homme de 60 ans en tête. Je vais devoir m'y habituer. Par contre, avec Belladonna dans ton autre histoire tu fusionnes très bien prostitution de luxe à l'italienne et produits laitiers.
Non mais sans face, j'ai très hâte de lire la suite et j'ai voté pour Pests in the Attic!
You're number one fan,
Kathy Bates (Séb)