Prologue - A Hard Day's Night
"Rats, rats, rats"
Kenny Holt hated overtime almost as much as he hated regular working hours. All night he'd been removing rats from back street pizza places. This call was the last before he headed home, just as everyone else was heading to work. The quiet, seemingly deserted neighborhood was silent. The early morning distant hum and buzz of Manhattan carried softly across the water, but this street was one of the quietest in New York. He stopped in front of 114 Oak Avenue, one in a long line of one story bungalows, wooden chalet style cheap housing. Half the street was empty, houses derelict beyond worthwhile repair, the other half was mostly full of pensioners. Quiet, uneventful.
Kenny had been called by an old lady, a gnarled Brooklyn accent, furious about a recent influx of bugs and rats that had appeared in her backyard. Two other pest controls had failed to show in the previous two days, and old lady 114 had agitated Kenny's boss into sending someone out pronto. Stepping up to the front porch, Kenny didn't get the chance to ring the doorbell, as the door was yanked open by an irate octogenarian. "Finally, someone reliable. Should have called you two days ago" she spat, walnut wrinkled cheeks puffing with anger. If Kenny had been in a better mood, he would have laughed. Only New York carried little old ladies capable of such comic aggression. "Anyways you're here now, so make it quick. Outback, my yard, get rid of them. Four damn rats in my kitchen this morning." And she was gone as soon as she'd disappeared, scuttling away into a side room, looking a lot like the rodents she was trying to get rid of. Kenny exhaled heavily, thinking of the overtime money. New TV, new TV, new TV...
Afterwards, Kenny couldn't explain why he'd followed the rat next door. On a normal overtime night, he'd deal with the area he was asked too. Being thorough and conscientious killed custom - you have to leave some rats to kill next time. Survival. But that morning, as he bagged up the last rat corpse from the unkempt backyard, and he heard a rustling from the fence, he turned around. Another rat, one he'd missed heading through a gap in the fence. This time, Kenny decided to tidy up properly, get the last one. The fence was low and Kenny hopped over easily.
He couldn't explain why he'd followed it across the grass, or why he didn't give up when it went in through the open back door. He didn't know why he felt like he had to keep going, entering the dark abandoned house, with it's rotten walls and gaping windows. He didn't know why the smell didn't stop him. He didn't remember calling the cops, or how he had the strength to. Just the ocean of blood and the lifeless bodies filled his head. He couldn't get rid of the taste of vomit for hours afterwards.
He didn't catch the rat.