Page 4 of The Shape of my Scar
Tap. Tap. Scrrrch.
A rat?
Her stomach turned.
She hated rats. Hated how they moved without sound until they were right next to you. Hated how they stared with those beady eyes that didn’t blink.
She stayed still, waiting.
Quiet.
Then…
Scratch. Scratch. Tap.
She crawled forward slowly, barefoot on the cold concrete. Her eyes was adjusted to the dark. There, on the wall opposite the door, was a hairline crack. No, a line. A spiderweb that hadn’t been there before. A finger traced it slowly.
The scratching continued.
Her breath caught as a small flake of plaster fell away.
Then, without warning, something sharp poked through.
A stick.
She recoiled, ready to run. But the stick only wobbled, then went back out.
“Hello?”
A boy’s voice.
Her chest stuttered. She pressed closer, cautious.
“Hello?” he whispered again. “Is someone there?”
His voice was like the boys in her class, but not much like her brothers’ when she last saw them. The way he whispered “hello” made it sound like a secret.
Then another voice—deeper, rougher—muffled from somewhere nearby. “Keep it down. I’m trying to sleep.”
Faolan didn’t speak for a second.
She didn’t move, either.
The first voice tried again. “Hello? Anyone?” He pushed the stick through again, this time faster, too fast.
It darted in, nearly poking her eye out.
She yelped, more in surprise than in pain, and scrambled backward, hitting her shoulder against the water pipe.
Silence.
She waited, her heart hammering.
The other voice laughed faintly on the other side. “Maybe it’s just a mouse.”
Maybe it was.
Maybe she was.
