The house was small and dark, with weather damaged red siding and old newspapers plastered across every window. The neighbor's dog barked at a woman walking on the sidewalk before its owner yelled for it to shut up. It didn't shut up.

A soft yellow light flickered on in the window to the left of the front door, illuminating the contrast of the newspapers. One of the headlines clearly read, "Woman Allows Her Own Baby to Slowly Die in Crib." Behind the window, a man sweetly muttered to what sounded like a beloved pet.

Something tiny scurried across the porch and through the yellow rectangle of light cast from the window. I couldn't make out what it was, because it was just too damn fast. Maybe a squirrel. Or a rat. Hopefully a squirrel. The neighbor's dog barked at me through the chain link fence. I ignored it.

It was getting late, and colder by the minute. And my bladder was so swollen that it hurt.

I knocked on the door. The man stopped muttering as footsteps echoed slowly through the home before stopping on the other side of the door. He switched on the porch light.

I heard the slide and click of the deadbolt as the man unlocked the door before opening it. I was surprised at how much I had to lower my gaze to make eye contact. He stared up at me through half inch thick aviator eyeglasses, his sweaty face stretched into an expression of genuine glee. I struggled to choose which eye to focus on because both of them seemed to be directed at either side of my head.

"You must be Daniel," he said. His voice was raspy and weak. He scanned me from beanie to boots.

I gave him my best smile and offered my hand before I said, "Dan, just Dan. You must be Clayton."

"Dan. How very interesting," he said before taking my hand. His handshake was limp, almost soggy. I wiped my hand on my jacket before stepping inside.

The air smelled like ammonia. Stale piss. It stung the inside of my nose as I fought the urge to wrinkle it.

I followed Clayton through the sparsely furnished living room and dimly lit, sludgy kitchen to the back of the house before he turned into a small bedroom with nothing but a cot and side table. He looked up at me and said, "If you need more blankets, they're under the sink in the bathroom." He pointed at the door to my right. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, except for the crackers. Don't touch my crackers."

I took the scene in with as little judgement on my face as I could. The hardwood floor creaked under my weight. The space felt hollow and cold. The yellow wallpaper was dirty and peeling at the baseboards. What looked like mouse pellets littered the floor. Either it had been years since he'd swept the place or his house was disgustingly infested with field mice. Probably both by the looks of it.

"Thanks, Clayton," I said. "I'm sure I'll sleep like a bear after the long couple days I've had."

"Don't mention it. If you need anything, I'll be in my room at the front of the house," he said.

"Well, I do have one question for you, if you don't mind."

He snapped his head in my direction and asked, "What you need?"

"Do you, um, do you smoke?" I asked sheepishly.

He raised an eyebrow, "Smoke what?" A grin began to crawl across his wide face. I smiled back. He said, "Meet me on the front porch after a few minutes. I'll roll us up a little something."

"Oh my god, Clayton. My hero. I'll meet you there," I said. He giggled and made his way to the front of the house.

Holy shit I have to piss.

I rushed over to the bathroom and swung open the door. The only available light was right above the filthy mirror. There was a doorway on the other side of the bathroom, but it seemed to not have a door at all. I couldn't tell if it was a closet or another room, as it was simply too dark. The toilet sat next to the open doorway, so I felt uneasy pulling my dick out without knowing if someone was watching. Clayton made some noise on the other side of the house, so I found the courage to finally drain my bladder. I tried not to stare into the dark room as I pissed, but I couldn't help but steal a glance every now and again to make sure no one was watching. Just as I finished up, faint squeaks echoed from the darkness. I knew it was just a mouse, but it unsettled me nonetheless. As I zipped my jeans, I stared at the bottom of the doorway, where I could see the bathroom tiles transition into hardwood. The squeaks grew louder and more chaotic. There must have been so many mice in this place.

A mouse scurried from my room and into the dark room. I almost fell back and into the old rusty bathtub. I could hear my heartbeat in my skull as I grabbed my chest.

Jesus christ I need some weed.

The air was crisp and still on the front porch. Clayton and I sat next to each other on a bench swing. It was nice to get away from the stench of dirty rodents. It was even nicer to puff on a tightly rolled joint, even if it was cheap ass ditch weed. Clayton was a nice enough guy, as weird as he was. I asked him what he meant when he said it was interesting that I go by Dan rather than Daniel, to which he asked, "Well, Dan, did your mother choose your name?"

"Yeah, she did," I answered.

"So she chose the name Daniel, yet you'd prefer to go by Dan. I find that interesting," he said.

"Why?"

"Because she granted you life and you aren't even grateful for the name she selected."

"Now that's a bit presumptuous," I said sharply. "Besides, I didn't ask for this life. And she did a shit job of showing me that it's even worth living. She didn't grant me life, she forced it on me."

"Oooh, hit a nerve there, didn't I. My apologies," he said before hitting the joint. "So you aren't grateful for this existence. I may have hit a nerve because I was right."

I allowed the weird little man's words to seep into my mind as I pulled a deep drag. I wasn't necessarily grateful for my life, sure, but that isn't why I shortened my name. The neighbor's dog barked at us and I jumped a little, before I coughed until my eyes bulged. Clayton laughed from his belly as he slapped my back and took the joint from me.

"What about you?" I asked. "Are you grateful to be alive?"

He looked over at me and asked, "Why? You think I shouldn't be?" He fell silent and took another drag as he waited for my answer.

"Well, I have a hard time seeing how anyone can be grateful for life, unless maybe they were born into privilege and are lucky enough to avoid suffering until they die, which is impossible," I said.

"So you'd be grateful if you never had to suffer?" he asked.

"Well, I‐" he cut me off.

"Well you haven't thought it through. Yes I'm grateful, but I owe my gratitude to my mother. Wonderful woman. She knew how to show me love as a child and she still shows it today. I owe her everything. Which is why I decided to listen to her advice and list our extra bedroom for lone travelers, such as yourself. Her government money pays the bills, but we're gonna need the extra cash if we want to move into a bigger place out in the country. You're actually our first guest."

"Our? She lives here?" I asked

"She spends most of her time in her bedroom, which is the room you share a bathroom with. Jack and Jill style. She can't move around much, so I do all the cooking and cleaning for us," he said.

I couldn't help but think back to having my dick out for longer than a minute while I was facing her bedroom. "Why isn't there a door between her bedroom and the bathroom?"

He chuckled. "Well, I needed a coffee table in the living room, so it's sitting on a few milk crates. And the door only gets in our way when I'm helping her to the bathroom. She ain't exactly the smallest of women."

"I guess that makes sense. Can she, uh, see me when I'm using the toilet?" I asked

"If she wanted to, absolutely. But I can't see her ever wanting to do that. She's a respectful lady. Besides, she's asleep before the sun hits the horizon every night. You don't have anything to worry about," he said.

His reassurance didn't make me feel better, but I couldn't exactly be picky. The place was cheap and I didn't have much money left.

I wouldn't dare crawl under the covers without first shaking them out. Mouse shit rained down onto the hardwood as I lifted and whipped the blanket. I tasted bile. More mouse pellets hit the floor as I used my hand to brush off the naked, sweat stained mattress, before a mouse fell from a tear in the corner. I stood still as it fearlessly walked up to my boot and sniffed it. It was tiny, even for a mouse. Must have been young. I crouched and slowly put my finger close enough to the mouse for it to sniff it. It reached up and grabbed the tip of my finger before it hoisted itself up onto my hand and crawled up my arm. I panicked and smacked it onto the hardwood with a small thud. It squeaked and darted under the bathroom door.

What the fuck.

I stopped thinking. I was way too stoned for this shit. After I beat out the pillow and grabbed another nasty blanket from the bathroom, I finally laid down without removing a single piece of clothing. Mice scurried around inside the mattress, I could feel them. The ceiling had a brown stain just above my head.

Finally settled, I realized that all of the saliva in my mouth seemed to have disappeared. My lips stuck to my teeth. I tried to ignore it and fall asleep, but after at least half an hour of staring at the water stain on the ceiling, I rolled my eyes and made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The kitchen smelled as though there was a pile of overstuffed trash bags up against the back wall, because there was indeed a pile of overstuffed trash bags up against the back wall, and the stench made my eyes water. Spots of old wood shown where the dull white paint of the cupboards had chipped and peeled. The cupboard doors were all crooked or missing and only a few of the drawers had handles. The sink and countertops were hidden under a mound of filthy dishes. Fortunately I found a relatively clean plastic cup in one of the cupboards. I gave it a good rinse before filling it with water.

As I raised the cup to my lips, I heard Clayton laughing his ass off from his bedroom. I closed my eyes and allowed the life giving liquid to slide down my dry throat. The taste was almost sweet and just below body temperature. I chugged the rest in less than a few gulps. Clayton laughed again. I was curious as to why he was laughing, but I was still thirsty. I downed another cup of water. Clayton laughed. My stomach groaned and I rolled my eyes at the thought of scrounging for some munchies, but ultimately decided to at least check the pantry. Hundreds of boxes of crackers were stacked on the shelves, along with a dozen or so cans of beans on the floor. I closed the pantry door, already giving up the idea of a late night snack. I didn't dare look in the fridge. Again, Clayton laughed.

I filled my cup one more time and went back to my bedroom. I set the cup down on the nightstand and began to untie my boots. I needed to be able to move quietly through the house if I were to find out what Clayton was up to, so my boots had to be removed.

The door to Clayton's bedroom was in the living room, so I had to tiptoe through the whole house as quietly as I could. The old hardwood made staying quiet nearly impossible though, because it would moan with every shift of my weight. I found it easier to avoid making noise if I stayed as close to a wall as I could. There were no lights in the living room, aside from some ambient light from the kitchen. I noticed a glare from the doorknob on the coffee table. Clayton's bedroom light was on and the gap under his door was wide. I got down on my hands and knees. I didn't want to, but I had to. Clayton whispered, fell silent, then burst into laughter. I could feel my heartbeat in my neck. The mouse pellets under my palms and knees were unbearable. I lowered my head to see under the door.

Clayton was naked and on the floor. I could see most of him, his feet closest to me. Hundreds, maybe thousands of mice were scattered around his room. I could almost count a dozen that were close to the door. A few of them stopped and looked at me. They piled on top of Clayton in hoards as he giggled and whispered. He lifted his head and looked directly at me. I shimmied back to the kitchen then stood and ninja ran back to my bedroom. Clayton stomped around at the front of the house as I crawled back into my bed and pretended to be asleep. My instinct told me to get the fuck out of there, but I was paralyzed.

Clayton walked into the kitchen and stared into my bedroom. He had on a pair of sweats and a yellow tank top. The mice swarmed at his ankles and crawled up his legs. He ambled toward my bedroom and stopped in the doorway. Him and his army of mice were silhouetted by the kitchen light behind them.

"Some people like dogs," he said as he broke the corner off of a cracker before tossing it at his feet. The mice pounced. "Some people like cats." He crouched and held his hands close to the floor. Most of the mice scurried up his arms and onto his head and shoulders. He straightened his posture and said, "And I- Well, you already know what I like."

Clayton fell silent. After half a minute of his deep, rapid breathing he said, "If you know what you're doing, you can become their god. Dogs eat too much and cats have no gods."

I had no words. My eyes were wide open as I listened to him. No sense in pretending to sleep considering we made fucking eye contact while the man was naked and covered in mice.

"Clayton!" His mother screamed from her room. The pitch of her voice was not kind to the ears. "I'm about to shit all over myself!"
There were two loud thuds before the third and final thud, which was much louder than the previous thuds. The woman screamed, "I broke my fucking leg! Clayton!"

Clayton scrambled through the bathroom and the mice followed. Clayton's mother released her bowels. The sound was as thunderous as it was swampy. The smell didn't take long to reach me—like the stench of a rotting broccoli farm. My stomach turned sour as I jumped to my feet, slipped on my boots, grabbed my bag, and got the fuck out of there.

I found a cheap motel to hole up in for the night and called my mother in the morning. She had made it very clear before I left that she'd buy a plane ticket to get me home if I needed it.
© A. Silva