The first strange thing was her alarm clock. When you think about it, if something has to be strange, the alarm clock isn't a strange thing to be the first strange thing. But that didn't make it any less strange.

Her alarm was not broken; in fact it sounded sharper and somehow more alive, more vibrant than ever before, the way it sounded after a battery change.

What was strange was the specific noise it was making.

Instead of a normal, generic high-pitched whine, "EEEEE EEEEE EEEEE," her alarm was emitting a new, deeper sound, almost human:

"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUOOO"
Georgia opened her eyes and rolled her head to the side.

"6:66," read the clock.

Her heartbeat sped and she thought: my clock is ringing fifty one minutes later than I set it to, I set it for fifteen minutes after six and it is ringing at sixty six minutes after.

Now, she was afraid. Georgia wasn't religious, but the fact that 666 was the devil's number didn't escape her. She didn't want to touch the possessed clock, but the noise was scaring her more and more when it didn't stop. It had held its initial note, then broken – then a gasping noise like inhalation. Then it restarted. "JAAAAAA –"

It's set to radio, she rationalized, and started reaching for it, already thinking about buying a new one.

In reaching, her torso tilted, and she finally registered the weight on it. Her hands flew to near her hips, legs kicking and her eyes trying to focus on the small, triangular, black and white face inclined towards hers.

"Hey, whoa! Army, grab me, I'm rolling," said a voice from somewhere further down her midsection.

The rat flipped around and scuttled down her torso. Laughter was forced from her, but it wasn't joyous: it had a ring of fear to it. Her clock read the devil's number and there were vermin in her bed, on her body. She wanted to move, to fly from the bed and throw the rodents out the window, but she was paralyzed and could only watch as the rat rolled a fur ball until she could see its face, unfocused and way too close, but definitely the face of a mouse.

"She's certainly a smart one," said the mouse sarcastically.

"Nah, she's just panicked," said the rat from behind. "Isn't her fault."

"Wh – wha –" Georgia blubbered.

"Mmmhm, I'm sure she's a genius in there after all."
"Pudge. Shh. We're being rude," Now the rat's head poked around the sphere or mouse and addressed her. "Jau, it's good to make your acquaintance. My name is Armageddon, just Armageddon, friends call me Army, and this is Pudge. Friends call him Pudge."

"Jau," said Pudge.

"I am dreaming," breathed Georgia.

"Aren't we all?" asked Pudge cheerfully.

"No. You are here, and judging by that nametag it's very important that you're here," said Armageddon sternly.

"What nametag?"

"The one on you. Oh, excuse me; you're probably very uncomfortable. Excuse us, just a moment." And Armageddon rolled Pudge off of her, onto the bed.

"Oof," said Pudge, hitting the sheets.

Georgia, shaking, rose, and ran hands over herself. She walked to the mirror hanging on her wall.

Good God, I have an afro, she thought immediately. Hands rose to it, ran lightly along the misshapen edges. It was crushed slightly by sleep, but she could tell by the tight curls of her hair that before long, it'd be fluffed up again and as round as Pudge. And it was pink.

Bright pink.

"Ahh… my God…" she was saying.

"You're not looking at the nametag," said Pudge, behind her and seeming worlds away.

"I…"

"She's more excitable than we thought," Armageddon supplied, and jumped down from the bed nimbly. He ran up to her heel, then climbed onto her foot like a throne.
"Um –" started Georgia, who didn't really want a rat on her foot, but Armageddon interrupted.

"It says Sahk. You are Sahk. And Sahk will be the one to save us all."

Georgia realized three things: One was that she wasn't dreaming; the tiny pain of Armageddon's claws on her foot assured her of that. The second was that her alarm was still ringing. And the fourth was that the name on the nametag pinned to her chest in fact read something like "khaS" when viewed normally, for she could read it even in the mirror.