Battle of The Rats
Sample Chapter

Chapter 15

     There must be a law against torturing children like this. My stomach rumbles so much it sounds like it's filled with earthmovers shovelling gravel around a construction site.
     Jaike's right. Grandma is a grouchy old bag. And Mum's not much better.
The radio clock flashes to tell me it's one o'clock. Another sleepless night. At least the rats seem to have left me alone - so far.
     I imagine Grandma tucked up in bed, her giant beach-ball belly filled with Mum's best chicken curry - snoring her head off happily - knowing she's making me suffer in the very next room.
     Hey, I think. Grandma's asleep, and so is everyone else! No one will know if I sneak down to the kitchen and grab a midnight snack.
     I slink out of bed and creak open my door. The house is deathly still. I tiptoe down the hall, slip past Grandma's room, then Mum and Dad's, and scamper into the kitchen.
     It's pitch dark. There mustn't be a moon tonight. But I dare not turn on the light.
     I make my way to the drawers. The kitchen is ancient and rattly, and the drawers are no exception. With effort, it wobbles open. I reach in, grab a spoon then try to slide it back in. But it won't close. I pull it out and try to straighten it, but still it catches on something. It rattles then squeals noisily. My heart thunders in my ears. I try again, slamming harder this time. But again it squeals and stops on something.
     Defeated, I leave the drawer open, and fumble along the sink for the washing-up rack. I grab a clean bowl, then pull the ice-cream out of the freezer. I load up my bowl with creamy-white mouth-watering mountains.
     I deserve this, I think.
     As I lick the spoon clean, I hear something.
     I freeze.
     Is it Mum?
My ears strain, but everything is silent. Must be imagining things.
     Chocolate sprinkles - that's what every growing boy who is being tortured by his grandmother needs.
     I step towards the pantry, but I hear it again. A scratching, scraping noise.
     Oh no! I feel like I have ice water running through my veins.
I know that noise all too well.
     Rats! Again. Will they ever leave me alone?
     Something brushes past my legs. I jump and give out a little yelp.
     Pull yourself together, I tell myself. Ignore them.
     Filling my empty stomach with ice-cream is much more important. I pull open the pantry door and feel my way along the row of containers of icing mixture, flour, crackers … Just as I wrap my fingers around the box of chocolate sprinkles, something scuttles along the shelf and leaps out at me.
     'AHHH!' I yell, flinging the box of chocolate sprinkles behind me. The rat scurries over my shoulder and down my back.
     'AH! AH! AH!' I scream, bouncing around the kitchen like a pinball. My bowl of ice-cream is sent flying in the air as I scramble up onto the table, still yelling.
     Suddenly the kitchen is bathed in golden light. Mum and Dad stand, arms crossed, in the doorway.
     I rub my trembling hand across my mouth. 'Rats,' I say feebly.
As if trying to give weight to my explanation, three fully-grown rats scamper along the benchtop, across the stove, splashing through the water left soaking in the frying pan. Greasy brown water splashes onto the tiles, and the rats leave little brown footprints on the bench. They drop behind the fridge and disappear.
     I look around and survey the damage - ice-cream and chocolate sprinkles scattered everywhere. Then I spy the reason why I couldn't close the drawer - hanging over the side of the drawer is the squashed body of a baby rat, its long tail swinging from side to side!

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