Jimmy And The White Rat

Jimmy pedaled steadily down the quiet road, his old bike protesting with every turn of the wheels. The rusty chain ground with a low, metallic rattle, as if whispering complaints in time with his movements. Each push of his foot brought a faint squeak from somewhere on the left side. Most people would probably find this noisy bike unbearable, but it was either this or ride the bus every day, and he didn’t plan on ever doing that again. The last time he had, Donnie and Jake had pinned him down and taken turns spitting on him. Even if he had to walk three miles to and from school, he’d never set foot on another school bus.

Plus, he’d worked hard for this bike. His mom always said people appreciated what they had more if they had to work for it. He had spent every morning last summer at Mike’s Scrap Yard. Mike’s longtime employee had skipped town, leaving Mike—who was getting along in years—to run the scrapyard by himself.

The day school let out for the summer, Jimmy had been riding his bike past Mike’s Scrap Yard on his way home from school and had heard what sounded like a shouting match. Curiosity got the better of him, and he went to investigate. It turned out that the “shouting match” was between Mike and a stubborn lug nut on a scrapped-out Plymouth. He was about to turn around and ride away when Mike saw him and asked if he wanted to make some pocket change.

It was the start of an unlikely friendship. Mike offered Jimmy twenty-five cents for every car he got ready for the crusher—and there were a lot of them. Mike wasn’t the only friend Jimmy made over the summer. He had been sitting on an old tire enjoying his sack lunch—a simple bologna sandwich, an overripe banana, and two of his mom’s famous cookies—when a small brown rat scurried cautiously out from beneath a nearby car frame. He was disgusted at first, but when the little rat, only a few feet away, sat up and pawed the air as if begging for a bite, Jimmy couldn’t resist. He shared part of his lunch that day with the rat, and the next day, it returned… along with a few friends. Before long, the rats were comfortable enough around him to take small morsels right from his hands.

By the Fourth of July, he had earned two dollars and fifteen cents, and by the time he went back to school after Labor Day, he had five whole dollars to himself. On his last day, Mike surprised him with the bike as a bonus for being “a real go-getter” and told him he was welcome to come back anytime he wanted to make some pocket money.

That’s where he was going now. The Bijou Theatre downtown was showing Tarantula! that weekend in honor of Halloween, and if he could scrape up another fifty cents or so, he’d be able to get some popcorn too. He might not be able to get through two cars in one afternoon, but it was only Tuesday. He could always come back tomorrow.

~

“Hey there, Jimmy!” Mike called as Jimmy rode up to the gate.

“Hey, Mr. Mackelson,” Jimmy replied. “I’m short a few cents for the movies this weekend. Got any junkers I can get ready for you?”

“Sure, sure,” Mike said. “Let me get the gate.”

A moment later, Jimmy heard the gate latch click and watched as it began to swing open with a groan, the beat-up casters scraping against the gravel until there was enough room for him to ride through.

“It sure is good to see ya ‘gain, Jimmy,” Mike said as he closed the gate behind him. “Got two Fords and a Pontiac back there what just came in yes'day. I think one of ‘em might even start for you, if you sweet-talk her right.” Mike let out a gravelly chuckle, a sound that scraped up from his chest like the turning of rusted gears, breaking off into a wheezy cough he swatted away with a wave of his hand. “Anywho, you remember what to do, right?”

Jimmy nodded and recited the list as if he’d been called up in front of the class to give a report. “First the fluids, then the alternator and battery, then the tires, then…”

“Yep, good enough,” Mike said. “Why don’t you go ahead and get started, then? I got other things need doin’ in the office if you need me.” He thought for a moment, then, as if he’d just remembered something important, he said, “Oh, and Jimmy, keep an eye out, would ya? Them rats is back and worse than ever. Ol’ Whiskers is just too slow to catch ‘em anymore, I s’pose. You should’a seen the one that came sneaking into my office t’other night. Poked his head through the cat door and just strolled in like he owned the place. Looked right at me, he did, as if to say, ‘How do you do,’ and then scurried off toward the storeroom.”

Mike pulled off his thin gloves, lit a cigarette between his lips, and continued, “Never did find the little bugger. If you can find him and take him out, I’ll give you an extra quarter for your trouble. Shouldn’t be hard to recognize neither. He’s one of them albino rats—all white, not a spot of color on him. Beady red eyes.” He wiggled two fingers in front of his face. “He’s a biggun too. Near ‘bout two pounds, if I had to guess. Put a bushy tail on him, and he could’ve been a squirrel!”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Mackelson, I’ll find him for you,” Jimmy lied.

“You do that,” Mike said. “There’s an old Daisy air rifle round here somewheres; perfect for killing vermin. Aught to do you just fine.” Mike reached behind his back, unclipped something from his belt, and tossed it to him. Jimmy had just enough time to see it was a big steel key ring before it hit him in the chest and clattered to the gravel. “Best get goin’ then, son. Daylight’s a burnin’.”

~

Ten minutes later, Jimmy had the first car, an old Ford Deluxe Coupe, positioned over the oil pit, ready to be prepped for crushing. Mike hadn’t been kidding about needing to sweet-talk it. Jimmy had tried everything—checked the gas and oil, the starter, the carburetor, even the battery—but no matter what he did, the old clunker just wouldn’t turn over. He’d nearly given up, figuring he could just prep it where it sat, but it would be so much easier, and warmer, in the garage.

“Come on, sweetheart, start for Daddy,” he’d whispered, half-joking, as he turned the key one last time. To his surprise, the engine roared to life.

Jimmy was just about to climb under the Ford when a sudden commotion jolted him upright. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a streak of movement—a flash of gray fur and a long, thin tail darting across the floor. Hot on its heels, the scrapyard’s old tabby cat skidded into the bay, claws scrabbling for traction on the concrete as it lunged after the fleeing rat. The rat squeaked, zigzagging to avoid its pursuer, and bolted straight for the open bay door.

Jimmy watched as the chase continued into the scrapyard, the cat’s tail twitching and ears flattened in a look of pure determination. It reminded him of the Tom and Jerry cartoons he loved to watch on Saturday mornings, with Tom always one step behind Jerry but never quite fast enough to catch him. He chuckled to himself, half-expecting the cat to go flying off a makeshift ramp like Tom often did or to pull up short as the rat slipped away through a hole in the scrap.

But reality wasn’t quite like the cartoons. Ol’ Whiskers may have been well into her teens, but she was still a cat, and one with a lifetime of experience hunting rats at that. Once her paws hit the gravel, she found the traction she needed and, with one powerful leap, pinned the little gray rat to the ground.

Jimmy frowned. He didn’t recognize the plump, gray rat as one of the handful who joined him for lunch every day, but he had still been rooting for it to get away. Now that it was hopelessly caught, he expected the old cat to finish it quickly. Instead, he was surprised when Whiskers just sat there, holding the rat down with one paw and licking the other as if she had all the time in the world. He was at once horrified and mesmerized; eleven whole years of life, and he had never seen anything like this before.

Whiskers kept her paw pressed firmly over the rat’s small, trembling body, her claws just sharp enough to keep it from getting away. The rat wriggled frantically, its little legs scrambling for a grip on the gravel, but Whiskers held it down with iron patience, her eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. Every now and then, she’d lift her paw just enough to give the rat a false sense of hope, and the rat would try to dart away—only for Whiskers to slap it down again in an instant.

The rat squeaked in fear, a series of high-pitched, desperate cries that etched themselves into Jimmy’s mind. Each squeak seemed to amuse Whiskers even more, her tail flicking back and forth with a steady rhythm.

Jimmy could hardly look away, both fascinated and unsettled. He’d seen Whiskers bring mice and other small animals around the yard before, but this was different. She wasn’t in any hurry, as though she had every intention of drawing it out, like a game only she understood. It was a brutal, silent ritual he’d never been close enough to witness before, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

Jimmy couldn’t take it any longer. “Hey!” he shouted, taking a step toward the old cat. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to play with your food?”

Whiskers lifted her head, eyes narrowing at him as if to say, Stay out of this. But just as she turned back to her prey, a white blur shot out from the shadows and landed on her back, teeth bared and tiny claws digging into her fur. It could only be the big white rat Mike had told him about.

Whiskers yowled in surprise, twisting and rolling to shake it off, but within seconds, a dozen other rats appeared from all sides, surging across the gravel like a wave. Jimmy took a step back, stunned, as the horde closed in on Whiskers, their sharp teeth and tiny claws tearing into her with relentless precision. The fight had only gone on for a few moments when yet another wave of rats poured out from the piles of scrap like ants from an anthill, joining the fray. The old cat didn’t stand a chance.

In less than a minute, it was over. The rats broke off a few at a time, scurrying back to their hiding places and leaving behind only a feline skeleton, its bones nearly picked clean. As the last few lingered, Jimmy’s eyes found the large white one, now visibly plump and full, watching him with an unblinking, knowing gaze. Mike hadn’t been exaggerating about its size. Jimmy had seen his share of rats over the summer, but none had been even half as large as this giant.

“Hey there, big fella,” Jimmy said, his voice wavering. “I guess she had it coming, huh?”

The great white rat stood on its hind legs and nodded. Jimmy had talked to animals before, but never had one seemed to understand him quite like this.

“You… you can understand me?”

In response, the creature nodded again, and Jimmy’s eyes widened. Slowly, he stooped to one knee, holding his hand out. Right on cue, the white rat half-scuttled, half-waddled right up to Jimmy’s outstretched hand. It paused, then rose on its hind legs and reached out a single pink paw, touching the tip of Jimmy’s finger.

“Now where did you learn that trick?” Jimmy whispered, half to himself. The creature tilted its head, as if considering him. “You’re not like the others, are you?” It felt silly to ask, but something about this one felt… almost human. To his amazement, it shook its head back and forth, a gesture that left him speechless.

“Old Mike’s never gonna believe this… although, after the way you said hello to him the other day, maybe he will.”

The creature covered its mouth with both paws as if stifling a chuckle. Jimmy laughed too, though his eyes drifted back to Whiskers’ bones. “He won’t be happy about his cat, though. Might be best if you, uh, hide the bones.”

The giant rat looked back at the remains and gave a small huff. Jimmy shrugged. “Don’t worry. He’ll probably think she just crawled under something out here and died. She was getting on in years anyway.” The creature gave a single, solemn nod.

“Look, pal,” Jimmy said, “I’d better get back to work. You can hang around if you want, but if I don’t finish this, I won’t have enough for the movies this weekend.”

The white one seemed to consider him a moment before dropping to all fours and turning away. It had only gone a few feet when it stopped, turned back to face him, and rose again on its hind legs. If there was any doubt in Jimmy’s mind about the big white rat’s intelligence, it vanished as it brought its front paws together and bowed its head.

Jimmy smiled. “You’re welcome, big fella.”

~

“How’d it go today, Jimbo?” Mike asked.

“Just swell, Mr. Mackelson! The old coupe back there is all ready to go. I put all the parts on the shelf and the tires are stacked up in the corner, just like you showed me,” Jimmy said proudly.

“Atta boy, Jimmy. I knew I could count on you,” Mike said.

“Thanks, Mr. Mackelson. I’ll be back tomorrow to knock out another one.”

“See, that’s what I love about you, son.” He reached into his filthy overall pocket, dug around for a moment, and brought out two shiny, new quarters. “Here you go,” he said, slapping it into Jimmy’s hand. “I think you deserve a raise. What do you think?”

Jimmy’s face brightened. “Wow! Thanks, Mr. Mackelson!”

“Don’t mention it. Run along now. I’m gettin’ ready to close up for the night. Don’t do much good to be out here after dark anyhow.” He said and pulled the gate open enough for Jimmy to ride through.

~

Jimmy had barely made it a few minutes down the road when it happened. Lost in thought, trying to make sense of everything, he was caught off guard as his front wheel suddenly locked up, and he went flying over the handlebars. He tumbled head over heels and came to a painful stop, skidding on the seat of his pants. Slowly, he got to his feet, dusting himself off and checking his arms and legs in the fading light. Glad I wasn’t going any faster, he thought.

“Got him!” a voice crowed from the roadside. Jimmy’s stomach dropped—Donnie.

“Can’t believe that actually worked!” Jake laughed stupidly.

Jimmy glanced down at his bike, and the cause of his crash was instantly clear. Jammed between the spokes and frame was an old, splintered broom handle. “Leave me alone!” he yelled, trying to sound confident, but his voice came out shaky and uncertain.

“Aww, did little Jimmy have a tumble?” Donnie taunted, rubbing a mocking fist to his eye. Jake guffawed beside him as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“Wha—what do you want?” Jimmy stammered.

“Well, Jimmy, this here’s our stretch of road. If you wanna ride through it, you gotta pay the toll.”

“Since when? I ride this road every day on my way to school and back,” Jimmy protested.

“Since now!” Donnie barked, his voice echoing through the cold autumn air.

Jimmy took a step back, clutching his pocket to reassure himself that his hard-earned fifty cents was still there. “I… I don’t have any money,” he lied.

“Oh, we’ll just see about that,” Donnie sneered. “Turn out your pockets.”

“No,” Jimmy said defiantly, though his heart was nearly pounding out of his chest.

“Heh. I was hopin’ you’d say that.” Jake grinned as he and Donnie started toward him, taking long, menacing strides. Jimmy backed up, stooped, and pulled the broom handle from his wheel.

They were almost on top of him when he remembered an old trick his uncle had once taught him. Jimmy locked eyes with Donnie, then shifted his gaze, widening his eyes as if staring at something huge and terrifying just behind them. “Look out!” he yelled.

The trick worked perfectly. Seeing the terror on Jimmy’s face, Donnie and Jake spun around to check what was behind them. Jimmy seized the moment. With all his strength, he swung his leg up in a sharp kick, catching Donnie squarely between the fork of his legs. Donnie crumpled with his hands over his crotch, howling in pain.

Jake let out another mindless guffaw, but Donnie screamed at him, “Don’t just stand there, you moron—get him!”

Jimmy knew he only had one chance. As Jake turned back, Jimmy rammed the end of the broom handle hard into Jake’s solar plexus. Jake doubled over with a loud “oomph” as all the air left his lungs.

Jimmy didn’t wait to see their reactions. He bolted for his bike, jumped on, and pedaled as fast as he could in the opposite direction. For a brief, hopeful moment, he thought they might have given up. But a quick glance over his shoulder proved otherwise. They were on their bikes now—bigger, newer bikes—and they were gaining fast.

~

His legs were screaming and his lungs on fire as he drifted his bike sideways, skidding to a stop in front of the old bay door of Mike’s workshop. He had forgotten to return Mike’s keys, and for the first time in his life, he was grateful for his forgetfulness. Donnie and Jake had already ditched their bikes and were sprinting towards him. Jimmy fumbled the key into the lock, lifted the door open, and rolled underneath. He had hoped there would be enough time to slam the lock home before they caught up, but there wasn’t. His only hope was to race out into the yard and try to lose them in the maze of junk.

He ran faster than he had ever run before, but Donnie and Jake were bigger and faster still. He had almost made it, scrambling under an old dump truck, when he felt an iron grip close around his ankle. Jake yanked him out with little effort, pinning him to the ground under a heavy work boot.

“I gotta give it to ya, you little pissant. You got a lot of fight for a little twerp—but now it's time to pay up,” Donnie said. Bending down, he fished through Jimmy’s pockets until he found the two quarters. He pulled them out, rubbing them together between his thumb and forefinger, a smug grin spreading across his face under the flickering security light.

“There! You happy?” Jimmy yelled.

Donnie only laughed. “This ain’t enough, I’m afraid. Guess I’m gonna have to take the rest out of your hide.” Without warning, he stomped down hard on Jimmy’s hand. There was an audible crack as several bones snapped under his weight. Jimmy screamed and thrashed under Jake’s heavy heel, but there was no getting away.

“That’s for trying to skip out on the toll!” Donnie growled. He stepped back, walked around towards Jimmy’s feet, and then brought his foot down again, this time between Jimmy’s legs. “And that’s for bustin’ my balls back there!”

A sickening wave of pain swallowed Jimmy whole. He thrashed again, sobbing shamelessly now, pressing against Jake’s foot with all the strength he could muster, but it was futile. Jake outweighed him by nearly a hundred pounds. There was nothing for it but to pray they wouldn’t hurt him any more than they already had.

Donnie stepped back again, this time winding up and driving his boot into Jimmy’s ribs. Another crack echoed in the still night air, and Jimmy’s vision went dark. His lungs seized up, stars flashing before his eyes, and for a second, he was sure he was going to die.

“And that’s for Jake,” Donnie snarled.

“What now, Donnie?” Jake asked. “You think he’s had enough?”

“Nah,” Donnie said, his voice dripping with sadistic malice. “I’m just getting warmed up!”

He brought his foot back again, but before he could land another vicious blow, a white blur shot out from the shadows, darting up his leg and latching firmly onto the tender flesh of his cheek.

Donnie screamed like a little girl, high and shrill—quite comical for such a big kid. He swatted at his face, desperate to dislodge whatever it was that now swung from his bottom lip with tiny, iron jaws. Unsure what to do, Jake started dancing a frantic jig around his friend, trying in vain to find a way to help and letting Jimmy roll away into the darkness.

Finally, Donnie wrenched the creature off his face, his fingers shaking as he tore it free—along with a chunk of his own lip. He stumbled back, eyes wide with horror as he stared at the writhing creature in his hand. “No—no! It’s a rat! Get it off me!” He let out a strangled scream and flung the white rat away.

Panicked, he scrambled backward, but as he turned, he stopped dead in his tracks. From every shadowed corner of the scrapyard, a seething mass of rats began to pour out. They flooded over rusted car frames, spilled from beneath piles of junk, and streamed out of every narrow gap—an unstoppable, writhing tide of fur and teeth and claws. The ground itself seemed alive with them, moving in waves as thousands of beady eyes fixed on the two boys.

“Get away!” Jake’s voice cracked, laced with horror. They were surrounded on every side. He turned to the wall of crushed cars behind him. He couldn’t run through the rats, but maybe if he could climb… The air filled with the sound of chittering teeth, high-pitched squeaks, and the scurrying of countless tiny paws. He looked up to find rats waiting above as well, gazing hungrily over the edge of the rusty makeshift wall. A chill shot down his spine as he realized there was nowhere to run—every inch of ground was crawling with them.

Slowly, Jimmy shimmied out from under the dump truck, his body protesting every movement. Bracing himself with his good hand, he climbed to his feet and slowly, gingerly made his way back toward the garage.

“Jimmy!” Donnie pleaded, “Jimmy, you gotta help us!”

Jimmy turned to face them, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. “No,” he said sadly. “Now it’s your turn to pay the toll.”

He turned away as their screams intensified, and the image of the rats swarming over Ol’ Whiskers flashed through his mind. He limped away, steady and unhurried, and the rats parted before him, clearing a narrow path before surging back in to fill the space where he had been.

As he neared the edge of the scrapyard, he glanced down. The great white rat was there, standing stoically beside his rusty bike, its red eyes glowing in the cold darkness like tiny embers. It looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a look that seemed at once proud and concerned.

“Thanks, big fella,” Jimmy said.

The rat gave a single, curt nod in response.

As he reached down to take the handlebars of his bike, the big rat scurried over, stood, and put both paws on the back of Jimmy’s hand as if to ask if he was okay.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jimmy said. “I’ll live… thanks to you.” The rat patted his hand twice, then turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Jimmy climbed onto his bike, the fingers of his good hand gripping the handlebars as he pedaled down the darkened road. Behind him, the scrapyard grew quiet, the last echoes of Donnie and Jake’s screams swallowed up by the night.

Written for Laura Pruitt and her Holiday Unofficial Challenge which can be found at the link below.