The moans, the wailing, the pleading for their lives. The noises that came after the screaming, that was the worst part; when they gassed out. Some called for their mothers, some turned religious. Some begged, sobbed, wretched. Whatever happened down there, dinner time was always the same. Jonathan couldn’t breath. He sat very still, sipping a whiskey, waiting for the violent sounds that came from underneath his floorboards to end.

Jonathan wasn’t sure if he had slept an hour or not at all. He was in his armchair. Sweating. Holding an empty glass. Silence but for the ringing in his hearing aid, like the aftermath of a bomb. Completely Stiff. He clawed at his beard with uncut fingernails and tried to get up but the whiskey kept him down. The clock above the fireplace said it was one, meaning he was fifty six. Another birthday alone, beside the rats. But what did he expect, a widow with no children, no life, no morals, a murderer, an old man. Not to be remembered for his science, his theories, No. When they found him he’d be spat into a dark hole somewhere with killers, pedophile’s, weirdos. He tongued his glass trying to snatch the traces of whiskey left on the sides. Through the darkness, a dull groan came from below his house, he lifted his feet up and prayed.

He was supposed to be dead. Jonathan had plastered newspaper over his windows, out of a crack he watched a group of crows swim the flood of air like tiny ships. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His brief freedom was interrupted; an unfamiliar buzzing came from below him, his eyes shot open, fuck, he stared at the basement door. No, no, no. His heart tried ripping through his chest. He dropped to his knees and pressed an ear to the floorboards. Dear God please no, He had checked three, maybe four times. The buzzing continued. An old 8-bit ringtone echoed through the floorboards. He got to his feet. They’d trace it.
“Please stop, please stop.” He ran to the basement door. “Shut up, shut up.” There was nothing he could do. He held his breath and froze. Please, please, please. He held in the vomit burning the back of his throat. “Shut up!”
It stopped, Jonathan fell to the floor and retched. Rule number 3, electronics are put in a bag, crushed with a hammer and buried out back.

***

Jonathan was upstairs in the study, checking notes through his reading glasses and scribbling new ones. Besides his pen the only noise was the rats in cages beside him. Like an over inflated 90’s horror flick there were clippings, measurements and scribblings plastered to the walls, he hid underneath masses of books and experiments, jars of animal parts stewing in oils, old injection needles littered the floor like a junkies cave. Although he wanted to take a scalpel and rip out the part of his brain that was so good at Biology, he needed it, he needed it so badly. Sipping whiskey from a mug that he shared with a loose rat, he read yesterdays diary entry:

Diary,
What have I become? Three years of failed attempts have almost drained my resources, the dosages are still incorrect. I grow more terrified as every day comes. Am I backtracking? Am I mad? Am I infatuated?

He shut the book and sobbed. He was lost. Like a compunctious killer that knew things had twisted out of control he wanted normality to greet him benignly, but instead the serrated hands of guilt dug into his skull. Asprin.
His wife smiled at him from a black frame, it was two months before she ran out on him and one month before she was diagnosed, she looked so content.
“You were so beautiful my darling.” He kissed it, wishing the hard glass would twist into her lips. She knew, post-psychosis, what a grotesque and degenerate fragment of his former self he would become. “Don’t look at me Lisa. I’m so, so sorry.” He put it down on its front and missed his mouth with the mug of whiskey he had. She was such a perfect woman. She hated what he did. The unethical practices he obsessed over, biological impossibilities he was beset with. Their home was now just an ugly rodents graveyard. Jonathan sat sniffling, he felt so dirty. Even if he could change things, would he ever find peace of mind again? He shrunk into his chair as the rotund foot of his conscience began treading onto his shoulders, digging its burly toes into his back so that he hunched over his desk.

He had fallen asleep again and thrown up on himself. His head buzzed and his mouth was dry. He was still in the study, it was completely silent. He fiddled with his hearing aid, it was on. No heedless cries from the rats, no scuttling. He glanced at the cages beside him. Two were clearly dead, one was biting its own foot, but rat 4... rat 4 sat quite still, sniffing the air. His stomach dropped, a somberness slapped him.
“Holy Mother of Christ, please, please, please.” He flicked open the cage and grabbed the rat, turned his lamp on and shoved it underneath. He grabbed a magnifying glass from the top drawer and the rat grew under his scrutiny. Its eyes were not bloodshot, its tiny feet wriggled at a steady pace. Jonathan trembled. Don’t buckle now. He threw it back in the cage and checked the dosages. He hadn’t seen progress like this in months. he fluttered his fingers over the array of concoctions he had beside him, he grabbed a tube with purple liquid inside it and within seconds scampered downstairs.
It was pitch black and the living room light had died. He was by the fireplace fiddling with a lamp, his eye sight was poor and the room was a forest of black shapes. He finished untangling the plug when he heard a noise from the kitchen. He froze, all his breath tight.
“Who’s there?”
Through the darkness he saw the basement door- open. Shit. It was locked. I made sure. Didn’t I?
He strained to look closer. Something else stirred in the kitchen. A clatter. Once. Twice.
The walls buckled and crimped around him, Jonathan stood very still. It can’t have got out. He had broken the stairwell. His heart beat over the stillness, he wheezed. Another noise. He fumbled around in the dark and grabbed the fire poker that leant on the side. Still holding the purple liquid in his right hand, he stepped towards the kitchen. The light made shapes, figures in the dullness. His fingers wrapped tight around the metal poker. He fastened his clammy grip, steadying himself. He jumped into the kitchen. Empty. Another noise form behind him. He whipped round, a cry broke from his lips. Nothing. No one. He stared over at the basement door again. It was closed? His eyes fluttered wildly. Was he seeing things? He let out a wheeze. “Pull yourself together Jonathan.”

Something bit his ankle.

Jonathan yelped. The purple liquid went into the air and smashed on the ground right beside where his face met with the cold tiles. A rat, no bigger than his fist swallowed the chunk of flesh it ripped from his leg and darted into the darkness.

***

Jonathan had belted a bottle of whiskey and crashed around his study, with the picture of his wife in his hand.
“I’m so sorry lisa, my dear wife.” He kicked away rats, some deformed from the various experiments he had done over the years. Poor things. He had stolen over thirty of the little bastards right under the labs nose almost three years ago now. He felt one crunch under his foot and he fell to the ground. The glass on the picture splintered. “No, no, no my darling.” He burst into tears, “What can I do?” He had lost his mind. Under his nose was a book he recognized, the beginning, he flicked it open:

16th September,
My beautiful Lisa died late last night whilst I was out at a talk. I haven’t informed the hospital yet, she is in bed, peaceful at last. I have now sped up my work rates. I have brought it all home with me and started testing on rats. Something amazing has happened. I pronounced the subject dead myself, two hours later, after the injection I concocted last night, there is signs of consciousness. I have found a pulse. I am not too sure where to hang my morals but I know I am the first person to put life back into a living specimen...

***

Jonathan was sat still in the darkness downstairs, he waited for another howl from below. His shoulders quaked. Anxiety tickled his back. Darkness. He could here it underneath him, dragging itself around in its pit. He could here the faint scuttles of the rats at his feet. A loud wretch came from the basement, he sat, rigid, in his armchair, shaking. It needed to feed.
“Shut up! You can’t be hungry yet! Please!” He had so much blood on his hands. He stood up, a snack would keep it calm. He made for the kitchen and threw open the fridge. Inside were various test tubes spilling infected yellow over the little food he had amongst them. He opened the bottom drawer and held his t-shirt to his nose. He grabbed a plastic bag, wet from putrefaction. Inside was a dead fox, he held it in front of him and made his way to the basement door, the juices from the carcass ran down the bag and licked Jonathan’s hands. He steadied himself, breathing in and out; he unlocked the bolts and grabbed the handle, praying it hadn’t figured out how to climb broken stairs. He opened the door and threw the decayed animal to the bottom and in seconds, with the visuals blacked out, it was ripped apart like everything else that went inside. He shut the door and fell to the ground in exhaustion.

***

Morning started with a man yelling. The mans voice, the hollering, was a police officer. Between each shout was the pounding of a fist on the door.
“Mr Marrow?” Inside everything was dark, the hallway was dark, the living room, pitch black. Jonathan span around inside, he was shooing rats. Tidying the place. Hiding the alcohol. Checking the Basement was locked up. Was this it? Was this the end? He appeared at the front door. The officer was alone, chewing gum, grinning, Jonathan noticed other officers at different doors along the street. “Can I come in please?”

This officer was something from a badly scripted American soap; he sat smugly in the armchair smoothing out his ‘tash’ like an old-school porno actor who was ready for a scene. Jonathan attempted cups of tea.
“Please, take a seat Mr Marrow.” Jonathan sunk into a chair and faced him, the officer fidgeted, wincing at the flavourless décor, Jonathan just hoped he hadn’t spotted the thick black rat nesting by his foot. “As you might know a girl went missing round here recently.” Jonathan’s eyes widened. He was ready to vomit. The officer prayed on every blink Jonathan committed. “Pretty thing, young, was on a paper round.” Jonathan starred over at the whiskey bottle. Help. “About three days she’s been gone now.” There was silence. The officer’s stare was piercing straight through him. He knew something... “You haven’t seen her have you, blonde hair, green eyes?”
“No officer,” Jonathan spilt.
“Tragic it is, the brother went missing only a few months ago, same sort of area.“ Silence. “Its just Mr. Marrow, this girl she had her phone on her you see,” Jonathan’s heart raced. He could feel his head spinning. “And we traced the thing,” He watched the officer’s lips, the single hairs on his moustache that moved as he said those words. “You know anything about that?” He sat in horror. He couldn’t breathe. “Maybe you spotted a mobile phone outside somewhere; I don’t know... you can only pin point those things within a mile radius you know.” The officer sat back, his eyes locked on Jonathan, he knew, he had to know. “Real sad story this one. Single mum, both kids missing, bet some sick faggot has them locked away somewhere.” The walls closed in. His head was light, his mouth had dried out. “You got any problems with me having a quick look round?” The officer got to his feet, “Procedure.”
“Wait!”
“Is there something wrong?”
Jonathan’s eyes darted from left to right; the officer grew in stature as the silence bullied him. Should he demand a warrant? Would he look suspicious? “We’re checking every house on the street, don’t be offended Mr Marrow.” Jonathan recoiled, he felt faint.
“Nothing, sorry… Just a few things lying around that’s all.”
“Not to worry, I’ve seen all kinds of shit in this line of work; I won’t think any less of you!” He sniggered, the officer had no idea.
He began poking around, heading upstairs first. Jonathan sat in the living room, the walls spun; he could picture it now, the officer heading down into the darkness, falling to his certain death and being devoured just like everything else. His palms sweated, his forehead dripped, his legs wrestled with his nerves.
“I take it you like rat’s then?” A voice called from upstairs, Jonathan jolted, wiping beads of sweat from his upper-lip, “You know I understand a scientist’s line of work, but this might be a health and safety issue.” Jonathan didn’t reply. He could hear the officer fumbling around upstairs; curses being thrown around, probably from rats tickling his ankles. Time dragged its feet; the officer appeared in the living room, “Why do you keep rats? Some of them look pretty beat in them cages?”
“It’s a science project,”
“Little unscrupulous if you ask me Doc… Like a bloody battery farm up there.” A deluded air washed over the officer as he stared at Jonathan, the frail, almost skeletal scientist shaking before him. “I’ll let it slip for now; missing persons cases are a little more important than rodent troubles. Just make sure they’re cleaned up.” Jonathan nodded in unison with the officer, who jabbed a flashlight in his shoulder. He moved around the house again; he passed the basement door, entered the kitchen and stood, deflated. “Unless she’s hiding in your washing machine, I think I’m done.” Jonathan exhaled; he blinked a few times as the sweat dripped from his eyelids.
He prayed it wouldn’t make a sound.
“What’s that over there?” The officer pointed back out of the kitchen and at an old wooden door covered in bolts. Jonathan felt sick; it was all over…
“Just a cupboard,” Jonathan lied.
“Open it up will you, procedure…” Jonathan’s mind raced, the officer stood confused, Jonathan didn’t move. His world getting smaller and smaller. think, think.
“I- I can’t open that i’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“Nothing, its just, I.” Jonathan reeked of guilt. The officer fixed eyes with him.
“Mr Marrow, if you don’t open it now, I’ll just come back with a warrant and open it myself.” The officer invaded Jonathan’s space. He starred at him for a second until his eyes wondered over to the kitchen side. “Those the keys?” Jonathan couldn’t speak. The officer snatched them from the side and locked eyes with him. “What’s in there Mr Marrow?” Jonathan shook his head. He walked over to the basement door. Jonathan backed away, squirming when he met with the wall. The officer unlocked the first bolt. He moved on to the second one. Staring back at Jonathan, who’s heart had boiled. he was about to faint. The officer took the key from the door and twisted the handle. Jonathan closed his eyes, this was it, he knew what he had to do. The officer opened the door. “Jesus Christ!” Instantly, the stench threw itself at the officer. He fumbled for his torch hanging from his belt and switched it on, he flashed it down to the basement floor. “What the fuck is this!” Jonathan held his breath, thinking, like a mad-man, he ran at the officer. He bulled forward and tackled him into the basement. The officer bit down on Jonathan’s ear, Jonathan yelped. Both the men fell into the darkness, the door slamming shut on the way down.

It was pitch black, the officer had landed on his neck and died instantly, Jonathan was stuck between three or four bloody corpses, half eaten and fetid. He had broken both legs on the fall, bones had splintered, buckled and couldn’t hold his weight. But that’s what he had designed it for. The door had shut behind them, Jonathan was trapped in the darkness awaiting his fate, he moaned in agony, now he made the heedless cries through the floorboards.
“Hello?” He whimpered. He could hear the faint scraping of his creation. “Darling, it’s me? Hello?” He called helplessly into blackness. Then through the shadows, dragging itself over the mounds of half eaten bodies, its teeth chattering wildly, hungry, was the rotting corpse of his beloved wife, it sniffed the air, digging its bony fingers into the mounds of carcasses. Three year old left over’s filled the basement floor. “Lisa? Is that you, my darling?” Her decaying skeleton hauled its body onto him, only Jonathan’s drugs keeping her alive. His twisted fantasy keeping her close to him. “Please dear, I’m so close.” He stopped in absolute horror as her face met with his, what had she become? Skin hanging from bone, tendons like laces hanging from her neck. Just before death Jonathan watched his wife rip open his stomach and scrape through his intestines and as his body emptied of his vital organs he knew, her last supper was the most satisfying.