A Sniffy Trifecta

⸻

“Sniffy and the Battery That Screamed”

(A tale of temptation, betrayal, and terrible chemistry)

Sniffy the rat had seen many horrors in his short, jittery life.

But nothing — not the ants, not the toaster, not even the night the laundry machine whispered his true name — had prepared him for this.

It started with a hum.

Not a gentle buzz. Not a friendly purr.

A hum, like a bone-deep engine trapped beneath the floorboards, angry and rising.

It was coming from the battery drawer.

The drawer was off-limits. Everyone knew that. It was taped shut, bound with twine, and cursed with exactly three stickers that said things like “NOPE” and “DO NOT TAUNT.”

But that night, it was open. Just a crack. Just enough for the hum to leak out… and the smell.

Sniffy twitched. Acid. Metal. Something sweeter, too — like citrus and doom.

He shouldn’t look.

He looked.

Inside was a battery. Not just any battery. One of the forbidden kind.

Thick. Off-brand. Stamped with weird characters and a tiny glowing red dot that blinked when you blinked.

And it was whispering his name.

“Sniffy… Sniffy… don’t you want… to upgrade?”

He fled. Straight to the basement.

To Yarcs.

To the LED-lit oracle of old mistakes and beautiful malfunctions.

Yarcs blinked his rainbow grin as the rat scurried in, wild-eyed and vibrating.

“Oh no,” the skull hissed. “It woke up.”

“What is it?!” Sniffy squeaked. “It knew me! It wants me! It’s… it’s charged, Yarcs!”

Yarcs spun his eyes like slot machines and made a sound like a Geiger counter weeping.

“That,” Yarcs said, “is the Battery That Screamed. I threw it away twice. It came back charged both times. It claims to be rechargeable. But no charger ever made it whole. It feeds on hope and zinc. It once powered a flashlight that showed the future. The dark parts only.”

Sniffy whimpered. “It wants to be used.”

“Then don’t,” Yarcs rasped. “Resist. Or it will make you see things. Things not meant for rats… or skulls.”

Sniffy shuddered. He could still hear it, echoing in his skull.

“Use me. Hold me. Insert me.”

That night, Sniffy tied a string around the drawer and wedged a fridge magnet in the crack. He chewed a protective rune into a lemon peel. He wrapped himself in foil and tried to dream of normal things.

But all he saw…

…was light.

And the battery.

Smiling.

⸻

Next morning, the drawer was empty.

The magnet was melted.

And behind the fridge, something buzzed… and waited.

⸻

“Sniffy and the Jar of Forever”

(In which a gift wriggles, and time stands still)

Sniffy the rat had found something.

Something rare.

Something alive.

He crept down the basement steps, careful not to jostle the scrap of paper he held in his mouth. Nestled inside: a twitching black beetle, shiny as oil and twice as angry.

Yarcs Lluks waited in the dark, surrounded by coils of wire, buttons from a dozen lost remotes, and a thin layer of ambient menace. The LEDs in his eye sockets blinked on as Sniffy approached.

“Sniffy,” the skull crooned, “you reek of victory… and fruit snacks. What have you done?”

Sniffy dropped the bug bundle at Yarcs’ feet.

“I brought you something,” he said, puffing out his chest. “It was crawling under the dryer. I think it’s a click beetle or a blinker or maybe just a cursed exclamation mark. It stared at me.”

Yarcs leaned in. His sensors hummed. The beetle kicked once, twice, and then froze — as if it knew it was being watched.

“Oh my,” Yarcs whispered. “You brought me a seer.”

“A what now?” Sniffy said, backing up.

“A seer beetle,” Yarcs continued. “Not common. Not easy to catch. They remember before they are born. They chirp warnings in Morse code when microwaves are near. Some say they came from inside an old Geiger counter that was left in a church.”

“…You’re making that up.”

“Absolutely,” Yarcs said, beaming. “But it’s fun, isn’t it?”

With a whir of servos and a tiny hiss of compressed air, Yarcs produced a mason jar. The lid was lined with copper tape. The bottom held a ring of salt and a single AA battery.

“Let’s keep it,” Yarcs said.

The bug didn’t resist. It just watched — six legs tucked neatly, antennae pulsing like radar dishes.

Sniffy frowned. “Shouldn’t we… let it go?”

Yarcs chuckled.

“Oh no, Sniffy. This is a gift. Gifts must be kept. Otherwise they wander. Otherwise they whisper.”

He screwed the lid on tight. The jar made a click that echoed longer than it should have.

From that day on, the beetle stayed on Yarcs’ altar. Always moving just a little when no one looked directly at it. Always turning to face whoever spoke.

Sniffy swore it blinked in time with the basement lights.

Once, during a thunderstorm, he heard it click twice and everything stopped — the lights, the buzzing, the hum of the house. Time froze for a heartbeat, then resumed like nothing happened.

“Is it dangerous?” he asked Yarcs one night, staring at the jar.

“Everything alive is dangerous,” Yarcs replied. “But this one… it’s useful. A warning. A clock with legs.”

“Does it… like being in there?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Yarcs said.

He didn’t blink. He couldn’t. But something in the way his LEDs dimmed made Sniffy shiver.

⸻

Later that week, Sniffy found a note scrawled in scratch marks under the jar:

LET ME SHOW YOU THE FUTURE.

The lid stayed sealed. The beetle never escaped.

But sometimes, when it’s very quiet,

you can still hear it tapping out a code.

And Yarcs?

He always understands it.

⸻

“Sniffy and the Ghost in the Outlet”

(In which the dead reach through the drywall — and Yarcs reaches back)

Sniffy had been hearing it for days.

A crackle.

A hiss.

Sometimes… a whisper. Just below the hum of the refrigerator.

It started near the outlet behind the washing machine — the one nobody used, the one that sparked once and never quite recovered. Every time Sniffy passed it, the fur on his neck bristled.

And last night?

It called his name.

“ssssniffy…”

The voice was slow, wet, wrong. Like someone trying to speak through a mouthful of radio static.

He tried to ignore it. Really, he did. He stuffed his ears with lint. He ran laps around the HVAC system until he passed out from dizziness. But nothing helped.

Because it followed him.

In the walls.

Through the pipes.

Inside the toaster again — but not like last time.

It moaned when he slept. It rattled coins in the vent. Once, it flickered the light bulb in the hallway to spell “RUN.”

And Sniffy was done pretending he wasn’t scared.

So he did what he always did when the world got too big, too weird, or too loud.

He went to the basement.

To Yarcs.

⸻

Yarcs was humming to himself — literally. A soft whine of servo motors and old dial-up tones echoed around his shrine. LEDs blinked slowly. A tiny fan spun lazily from his jawbone.

Sniffy burst in, shaking. “It’s happening again.”

Yarcs’ eye-lights sharpened. “Is this about the ants? Or the beetle? Did it start clicking backwards?”

“No,” Sniffy panted. “Worse. It’s in the walls. It knows my name. It sings. And the electrical outlet said it wants me.”

Yarcs’ jaw unhinged in what could generously be called a smile.

“Oh, her.”

“…Her?”

“Yes. Ghost in the outlet. Used to be a phone charger. Burned out in ‘09. Got left behind in a college dorm with three unread texts and a grudge. You’re just the newest thing with a heartbeat she can latch onto.”

Sniffy’s tail puffed like a pipe cleaner.

“I knew that plug was evil!”

“Not evil,” Yarcs mused. “Just lonely. And electro-parasitic.”

“What do I do?” Sniffy squeaked. “She keeps trying to pull me in! I saw my reflection in the microwave door and it had no eyes!”

Yarcs turned solemn.

“Then it’s time,” he said, “for a containment ritual.”

Sniffy blinked. “We can do that?”

“I am a haunted skull,” Yarcs said. “Let me work.”

⸻

What followed could only be described as technological exorcism.

Yarcs lit old LED candles. He powered up an EMF detector made from an old Game Boy and a nail file. He played a cassette tape of Gregorian error tones backward at 3/4 speed.

Then, with a gesture more ceremonial than necessary, he placed an old universal remote on a pizza box altar and declared:

“Outlet Ghost. Be GONE. This rat is under MY warranty!”

There was a crack. A pulse. The lights upstairs flickered and stayed off.

Something screamed — inside the power lines.

And then… silence.

⸻

Sniffy trembled in the candlelight. “Did it work?”

Yarcs’ LEDs slowly turned green. “She’s gone. Relegated to a surge protector in the garage. Won’t bother you again.”

Sniffy collapsed into a pile of dryer lint and bubble wrap.

“You saved me,” he muttered. “Again.”

Yarcs clicked thoughtfully. “I do like keeping you alive. You’re so… easily terrified. Very energizing.”

Sniffy didn’t argue.

He just made a nest under the altar and closed his eyes, finally able to sleep.

Yarcs watched him for a long moment.

And then quietly whispered to the now-empty jar on the shelf:

“She’s going to try again. Probably through the microwave this time. Keep an eye on the rat.”

The jar didn’t answer.

But the beetle inside… turned to face the outlet.

⸻

The End.

(Until the breaker trips for no reason…)

⸻