Author's Note: This story is just….really fucked up. lol Another Nibs ficlet, cuz I always wondered why in the book he seemed to be kind of obsessed with rats. o.O
Warnings: Lots of weirdness
Rats in the Cellar
By: The Sadistic Cow
There were rats in the cellar. Squealing, screeching, hairy little vermin with long tails and claws and teeth. They nipped his toes when he slept, so he did not sleep. They clawed him when he tried to escape, so he stopped trying. They screeched at him when he cried, so he stopped crying. He feared to speak; they would come. He dared not eat his meager meals; they would eat him to get to it.
He was at the mercy of the rats, his basement companions. And they, in turn, were at the mercy of The Great White Rat. She ruled over them all with an iron fist and a voice like shrieking harpies. Her eyes bored into them all like daggers, slicing their courage apart as though it were nothing more than gossamer. But she favoured the vermin, because they punished him. She fed him to them, let them nibble on his flesh and laughed uproariously when she surveyed their handiwork.
"It's what you deserve, you sinful little child," she would say. "You are so evil, even the Devil doesn't want you! The rats know it as well as I do."
And then she would throw him back into the mouth of the cellar, down, down, down the stairs and into the furry legions of anxiously waiting vermin that squealed at him and nipped at him when he fell atop them. He couldn't even nurse his own wounds; the rats would smell his blood and come for him. Not that they wouldn't come if he wasn't wounded anyway. They always came for him, regardless of whether or not he was bleeding.
The overpowering scent of rat shit and greasy, unwashed bodies had long since stopped making him vomit. However, the sight of those rats leaping upon his puke and devouring it like it was some sort of bizarre three-course meal still made him vomit anyway, and it became a vicious circle. Not that he had a lot in his stomach to throw up, though; there was very little but it never stopped the rats.
Every night the Great White Rat would take him harshly by the ear and drag him into the light of her topside lair, where he would then be spanked and lashed, and forced to memorize every word in a book she called The Bible. Then, his bottom still sore, he would have to stand upon a pile of cooling coal from the fireplace and recite passages from The Bible, and he would acknowledge his sin to her and praise the Lord. He would then, at the end, thank the Father of All (whoever that was) for the Great White Rat's patience with him, and thank Him for her love.
Then he would be thrown down into the cellar again, with the rats, until the night next when he would be dragged up the creaking stairs and into the painful light once more. But it was all for love, he thought to himself, all for love. The Father loved him, and the Great White Rat loved him; why else would they do this to him? They were only trying to cure him of his sins, to become a God-fearing boy who would one day sing and dance with the angels in Heaven.
All of this was a test, he knew. A test to show Him that he was worthy of walking beside the Lord in Heaven.
Or was it?
What if the Great White Rat really did hate him? What if the Lord hated him?!
Now, he had been taught about hate, and how he must hate all those who shun the Lord and discard his love. He must smite them, destroy them, for their sins were unforgivable and it was his duty as a Son of God to train hard and when his training was finished, he would become a mercenary of God and do His bidding on Earth.
But with how sinful he was, didn't that mean that he was the one all Sons of God would hunt? Didn't that mean he was the blasphemer, and deserved to die and burn forever in Hell? Is that why they were doing this to him?
He was just a little boy, and these thoughts brought him to tears many times. But never had he cried so hard the night that a demon came to the boarded up window in the cellar and knocked lightly on it.
Startled, for never had he heard that sound, his tears slowed. And as his sobs decreased, he could hear an eerie sound. A demon was playing pipes on The Outside! Scuttling back into a dark corner, mewing in pain when the rats nipped at him angrily, he watched as a tiny light shone between the cracks of the rotted wood, flitting away and then returning.
He watched for what seemed like hours as the demon on the other side worked to pry the boards loose, his heart thundering fearfully in his chest.
"Stop!" he cried, when he had had enough. "Stop! Leave me alone, demon!"
There was a pause on the outside, and the boy heard a voice. It was young, like his, but oh, so different.
"Demon?" said the voice, sounding slightly offended. "I am not a demon! I am Peter Pan!"
"You are a demon!" he cried again.
"I am a boy!" said Peter Pan haughtily. "I will show you!"
So he let the demon pry the boards away, curiosity winning over the terror. Little boys are known for their courage, though perhaps, it is just innocence that denied him renewed fear and stopped him from calling out to the Great White Rat.
The demon entered the cellar in a flashing ball of light, spinning wildly around and lighting the darkness up. He cried out in surprise and covered his face. The light burned, oh it burned!
Peter Pan snapped, "Tink! Come to me!"
A tiny jingling of bells followed that, but when he opened his eyes again the flashing ball of light was gone. He blinked in surprise, then shock, as he saw a demon floating in the air above and before him!
No, wait…it wasn't a demon. It was a little boy!
"I am Peter Pan!" said he. "And I am a boy!"
"You are!" he said, astonished. "You are a boy!"
"Yes, I am!" said Peter Pan, grinning to show all his pearly teeth.
"You can fly!" he said, stumbling to his feet.
"Yes, I can!" said Peter.
"How?" he asked.
"Pixie dust and happy thoughts!" Peter said with a haughty laugh. "You can fly too if you have those!"
He frowned suddenly. "No…no, I cannot."
"Why ever not?" Peter demanded, suddenly angry. "I said you can!"
"I am a sinful little boy and I cannot fly with the angels yet!" he said.
Peter laughed, anger vanishing from him. "I am not an angel! I am a boy! No one said you can't fly with me!"
He blinked. "Well…perhaps…"
"Come with me!" said Peter jovially. "Come and see my home, it has such wondrous things!"
"I don't know…" he said, biting his lip.
"I will return you when you ask it of me," Peter said, smiling.
"You will?" he asked doubtfully.
"Of course!" said Peter. "I am Peter Pan!"
Looking up at the stairway, he knew that The Great White Rat would be coming soon to give him his lessons. Perhaps he could go with Peter…just for a little while.
"Okay," he said.
Peter crowed loudly in joy. "Wonderful! Then we shall have the grandest adventures!" He flew down close to him, smiling widely. "What is your name?"
"I…don't have a name. She never gave me one."
Peter frowned, but then smiled. "Then I shall name you! I shall call you Mousey!"
He made a face at that. "I don't really…"
"Nibs, then!"
He thought about that.
Then he smiled.
"Sure, all right."
"Do you like it?" asked Peter.
Nibs's smile widened. "Yes, Peter. Yes, I do."
End
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Uh.....heh. Yeah. I seem to like making short ficlets about Nibs. I'm tellin you, I almost made the little boy to be Curly but then I remembered my curiosity about Nibs being obsessed with rats in the book. At least, I think he was....it was mentioned in it. ^_^; So....um...yes. Like? Not like? MEEP! HELP!
*flees*