Chapter One: The Raticide Reverts

"Good evening, Basil's dog!"

I shuddered. There was something familiar about that voice.

"Surprised to see me?!" A rat in a tuxedo and cape stepped out from the shadows. "Did you honestly think my evil was not strong enough to survive death?!"

This couldn't be! Ratigan was dead!

"I believe you tracked down well over half my henchmen! You took Basil to Buckingham Palace to stop me! Worst of all, you helped convince Felicia to reform! It took me years to ruin her so she'd become a proper mouser, and you have destroyed my finest work!" He removed his gloves. "Now you must pay! I will make you suffer worse than I have ever tormented anyone!"

There are times when a good investigator refuses to allow himself to be frightened; he stays where he is to solve the case. This was not one of those times. I hurried to Baker Street as fast as I could.

Felicia was napping on Dr. Watson's lap. She has a bad habit of rubbing against our humans until they pick her up and scratch her ears until she drifts off to sleep. She falls asleep anywhere she wants, including Mrs. Hudson's pillow.

I knew I would have to wait. Even the great Sherlock Holmes was not intelligent enough to understand that we animals can speak; we just choose to pretend not to understand human languages because people tend to be narrow minded. They like to pretend they're the only creatures who can talk or play music or have form of government, and as everyone in Mousedom knows, this simply isn't true.

After what seemed like years but was probably no more than a half hour, Dr. Watson set Felicia down on her favorite cushion. "A bit nicer than when I first placed you here, isn't it?"

(It's his joke with her. The very first time he placed her on that same cushion, he had just finished tending the wounds that the royal guard dogs had given her.)

Mr. Holmes stroked the top of my head a few times. "Take care, Toby. I should be most displeased if you suffered any mishaps due to an unnecessary confrontation."

(That's his joke with me. Before we became friends, Felicia once clawed my ears and nose. Against my will, Mr. Holmes had tended the scratches.)

The humans bade each other good night. When I was sure they had all fallen asleep, I asked Felicia what she knew about Ratigan's evil being strong enough to survive his death.

"One night every year," she began in a cryptic voice, "he is allowed to return from the grave. Some say he does so by the strength of his own willpower. Others say his malice is so cruel that the devil himself can't stand it and needs a day without Ratigan. Then there are those that say Ratigan's spirit is condemned to wander the earth forever since not enough of his body remained to give a proper burial."

"What do you think?" I queried.

"Everyone is entitled to his or her own beliefs about what happens after death." She shrugged. "However it happens, Ratigan's ghost returns to Mousedom once a year. He's after one thing only: vengeance. He commits any crime he wishes. If he could kill someone, his spirit would take over their body. For example, if he murdered you, then he'd be allowed to stay in the world as long as he wanted, but everyone would think it was you instead of him."

I shuddered.

"Good night, Toby."

Despite my best efforts, I was unable to fall asleep. Shortly after Big Ben tolled to announce the changing of the hour, I heard a voice in the dark.

"Miss Hudson?"

I scanned the room, trying to find the source of the mysterious voice.

"Miss Hudson, are you in here?"

My eyes widened when I noticed the same rat who had approached me earlier. His cape trailed behind him, and he grinned somewhat wickedly.

Felicia looked happy to see him. She waved and beckoned for him to come closer.

"Did I mistake your gestures when we met earlier, or did you offer me something if I frightened the Holmes dog?" the rat queried politely.

The cat's smile was too big for her face as she moved her cushion slightly, revealing a few pounds, which she gestured that the rat was to have.

"Thank you kindly, Miss Hudson." He placed the money in his pocket. "If you ever need help from anyone in the theater district again, be sure to let me know."

Felicia nodded as the rat waved goodbye and disappeared. That was the moment I understood. This was not Ratigan's ghost. It was an actor hired to play the part of the late criminal. In other words, the cat had just duped me, and I'd be hearing about it for the next month.

There was still a glimmer of hope. If I could think of some form of retaliation, I could save face. I spent the next few days deep in thought until the answer finally came to me: If Felicia loves attention so much, why not give her what she wants? In fact, I would make her the main character of my next hypothetical story:

What if she reverted?