The October Music: Third Verse - Day 8

​Stupid Intruders
The door is left unlocked. On purpose, of course. Have to entice the rats to enter the trap after all. It does not take long. Three little mice, dressed all in black, try the doorknob and find that it opens. They swing it open with a creak and they freeze before they high-five one another. A fist bump, perhaps. A golden opportunity, they believe. The three of them sneak inside and shut the door behind them as quietly as possible. It is a nice touch. They do not notice that the door has now locked behind them. Pity. The panic will have to come later.

This is not their first time. It is obvious. The ease with which they creep around and try to avoid making noise is practiced and commendable. Any other house would have been cleared out within minutes with none of the occupants being any the wiser. This is not any other house, though. And they are being watched. The cameras that have been installed see every movement, every twitch, every single step they take. The cameras watch and wait. Patience is the key here.

Soon, the rats make their way to the center of the house, wherein lies the cheese. The promised reward for the exercise of skill waits for them. The largest one opens the door to the den and creeps in, motioning for the others to join. The room is completely dark, devoid of all light. That is by design for, once all three have entered, the inevitable occurs: one of them tries the light switch. And then the trap is sprung.

The light flares to life, illuminating the room. The door slams and locks. The surge of surprise from all three of the intruders is glorious and, when the door is tried, there is no response. The cameras see them yelling at one another. The body language is aggressive and frightened. Natural, of course, but entertaining all the same. The trio is so caught up in blaming each other that they do not notice that the light is shifting from brilliant wide to a deep, angry red. Only when the floor begins to shift do they realize that the bar of the mousetrap is swinging down. So to speak. The furniture, cheap and replaceable, falls away into darkness before splintering on something sharp and violent down below. 

The panic begins in earnest and it is delicious. The rats scratch at the walls, try to latch onto something - anything - to keep them within the room. It will be to no avail, however. This has been tried over and over again. Rehearsed. Perfected. They will fall, as all the others have done. That is why the lights down below were installed. The bulbs ignite and show the extent of the horror. Bones. Bodies. Decay. Rot. Blood. All the intruders from before wait below on the spikes. They await their newest friends. 

The men struggle. They always do. They will fall. 
​
They always do.