Walking with Ghosts

waited for William to do that.
    He deliberately pushed the tip of his knife through the head of one of the litter. He held out the tiny body to mother rat, made sure that she saw what he had done. Then he dropped the carcass to the floor and crushed it under the heel of his boot.
    William smiled in the direction of the mother as he skewered another of her offspring, this time through the eye. He took them one at a time, varying the procedure slightly with each kill. The fifth suckling he sliced like a sausage, the sixth he decapitated. The seventh he disembowelled, scraping out the tiny contents with his thumb and throwing them fiercely at the mother. She moved fractionally to one side, so the innards of her nestling flew past, missing her by an inch and a half.
    Only when William moved to take the last of the litter did the mother rat attack.
     
And folks who put me in a passion
May find me pipe after another fashion!
     
    It was as if she had grown wings. She rose up from her perch with a shriek that sounded almost human. She hovered briefly on her hind legs and flew forward with a velocity that defied the eye. William realized instinctively that the target of her leap was his throat, and he brought up his hands to ward her away. He was fast, he had anticipated such an attack, and was confident that he would be capable of dealing with it. But mother rat was faster still.
    As William brought up his hands, she flew between them and he caught her fetid scent as her jaws closed over the fold of skin below his larynx. He was pushed backwards by the force of her landing, but somehow managed to remain standing. All four of her feet scrabbled for a grip of his shirt and his chest. In a flash William saw his own death approaching like an express train, but his mind remained calm and collected, his will absolutely focused.
    The rat needed a couple of seconds, perhaps only a few fractions of a second to consolidate its position. Once it had established a secure base with its feet and tail, it would commence ripping and tearing at William’s throat. The soft skin would offer no resistance, and in moments the larynx and trachea would be shredded, cutting off the oxygen supply to his lungs. At that point the battle would be over William vanquished, and mother rat victorious.
    Without a hint of fear or emotion, and in one movement, William took hold of the body of the rat with his left hand. He lifted her clear of his chest. Her teeth were still clamped to his throat. Holding her body horizontally, feeling her long scaly tail winding its way around his forearm, he brought up the knife in his right hand and severed the body from the head.
    Mother rat’s warm blood spouted like a cloud-burst over his face and chest. He laughed wildly as it flowed between his lips and raced along his tongue, feeling rivulets of plasma running into his eyes and watching while his world turned a scarlet hue.
     

16
     
    Janet was sitting on the edge of the bed in her nightgown. ‘It’s happened,’ she said. Geordie looked at her and tried to guess what it was that had happened. She wore a pair of scuffed slippers, and the right one was dangling from her foot, looking as though it might fall off. He looked at her face, but couldn’t read it. She said, ‘I’m pregnant.’
    Geordie couldn’t respond. It was such a mechanical word. He had to think what it meant. He knew what it meant, of course, but he had to translate those two sharp-sounding syllables into a meaning with a human perspective. He looked at the lamp by the side of the bed, the soft light coming from it. He licked his lips and tasted salt. A dry stickiness inside his mouth. ‘A baby?’ he said.
    Janet allowed herself a smile. ‘Not yet, but that’ll be the end result, if we let it.’
    ‘Let it?’
    ‘Yeah. If we want it.’ She flicked her foot and the slipper fell to the carpet, bounced, rolled over, and was still.
    Geordie picked the slipper up and took it over to her. He knelt in front of her and put it back on her foot. He looked up at her. ‘If we want it?’
    ‘You’re like a parrot,’ Janet said. ‘You repeat everything I say.’
    ‘Because I can’t believe you’re saying it. “If we let it... if we want it...” What d’you think? Don’t you want to have it?’
    Janet was beautiful. Most of the time Geordie thought she Was beautiful. But sometimes her face turned to stone. It Was at times like this. When she wasn’t sure about something. When she felt