"It's about time you showed up," said Mrs. Whitaker, her hands on her hips. "I was about to call someone else."
Conner doubted that. His company had the best rates by far, and he knew his boss hadn't even charged the woman for the priority job. But it wasn't his job to argue with paying clients.
"We're very sorry, ma'am. But I'll have you all sorted out in no time."
The frustration in her brow lessened. "Alright. Well, go on. The basement door is right there. Light switch on the right. There's no light at the bottom, it blew and I… I couldn't bear to go down there."
Conner fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was amazing to him how absolutely terrified people were of mice. This woman was shaking at the mere memory of seeing one scurry around her basement. But it was a payday.
"I'll be alright. It's better to keep it dark and use the flashlight." He lifted the heavy duty flashlight off his belt and waved it in front of her.
"And you'll kill it. Them. However many there are?"
He nodded. "They'll be all gone by tonight."
"Good." Her face was pale. "Well. Have at it."
Once she had headed into the kitchen, Conner allowed himself a sigh and shook his head. The quicker he started, the quicker he'll be finished, he told himself.
He opened the door to the basement and fumbled for the light. The lightbulb was dim and flickered. It would probably die before the job was done.
He started making his way carefully down the steps. The walls were lined with rusted gardening tools and cleaning supplies. As he descended, the stench of mildew and mothballs washed over him.
He turned his head to cough. When he looked back towards the foot of the stairs, he saw something dash into the darkness. It had been small and tan. He chuckled. At least there was at least one mouse down here. He would hate to have driven out here and dealt with all of this for nothing.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and grabbed his flashlight. As the room lit up, he heard the scurrying of multiple feet. He swung his light towards the far wall.
There was a large barrel in the corner of the room surrounded by a number of totes marked with various holidays. He saw a flicker of something squeeze its way behind one of the plastic bins.
Then he heard a soft moan coming from behind the barrel.
"Mrs. Whitaker?" Who else could it be, Conner thought. She said she lived alone.
Then someone cleared their throat.
"Alright. Enough games. Come on out." He flicked the flashlight back and forth for emphasis.
There was a rustling and a young woman peered her head from around the barrel. She had brown hair and bright green eyes that were wide with fright.
"Sorry," the woman said.
Conner took a deep breath. "Oh shit, you scared me. What are you doing down here in the dark?"
The woman glanced at the stairs. Above their heads, Conner could hear Mrs. Whitaker moving around the kitchen. "Hiding."
"Well, no need for that with me." He paused. The woman didn't move. "My name is Conner. What's your name?"
"Riz." She took a step into the light. She was quite thin judging by her legs. The rest of her body was covered in an oversized sweater, dark brown with tan stripes. She had a sunken look about her, like she'd been down here for a while.
"How'd you get down here, Riz?"
The girl glanced at the stairs again, then at him. The flashlight lit up her face and she turned suddenly.
"Sorry." He said. He lowered the beam so it was illuminating the floor in front of them.
"It was dark and cold," Riz said, her voice shaky. "I just… wanted to get out of the rain. The window was open a crack. And now she won't let me leave."
"She won't let you leave?" Riz shook her head. "What does… what do you mean?"
She lifted her left arm and a hand appeared from under the massive sweater sleeve. One of her fingers was missing. That detail distracted him momentarily from the fact that she was pointing at something. He turned the flashlight to where she was pointing.
In the other corner of the room was a mouse trap. There was a mouse stuck inside the trap. It must have died a few days ago. Behind that was a rifle. A hunting rifle that didn't have the same level of dust as the boxes around it.
"Alright. Come on. Let's get you out of here." Riz's eyes widened. "You're safe with me. I won't let her hurt you."
The girl stepped out from the corner, stumbling. Conner rushed forward to help her stand straight. "Thank you, Conner."
"Go ahead and lean into me if you have to. I can take it. One step at a time."
As they ascended, Conner's mind raced. What should he do? Get this girl to his truck and drive the hell away from here. That was obvious. Go right to the police? Try to find Riz's parents or a relative? And when should he let his boss know that their client was a kidnapper.
Come to think of it, he thought as he pushed open the basement door, why would this woman call for an exterminator if she has a girl trapped in her basement.
"Well you can't be done already," said Mrs. Whitaker as she came around the corner. If you think I'm paying you for a half-done job you've got another thing…" She looked from Conner to Riz then back again. Conner could practically hear the gears turning in her head. "Who the heck is…"
Conner grabbed his flashlight and brandished it like a weapon. "That's enough. I don't know what you were thinking. But me and the girl are leaving. Right now."
"But I… is this some kind of joke?" Mrs. Whitaker moved to grab an umbrella to defend herself. Conner put his body in between her and Riz. Then he heard her body hit the floor.
"Riz, go on. Get out of here." He nodded towards the door then turned back to the old woman.
All of the color had drained from her face. She started shaking, the umbrella falling from her trembling hands. Then she screamed and stumbled backwards, her whole body actively trying to get away.
Conner turned to see what was going on. Riz was lying on the ground, her face in the carpet. But her legs were gone. Instead, there were dozens of rats and mice all crawling over each other. Her body slowly faded away as more of the vermin crawled from where her sweater had been.
Then the horde all turned towards the front door and scurried towards it. They hit the wood in a wave of fur and claws and the door popped open.
Conner watched as the parade of rats disappeared out the door. He looked down at the carpet. There was no sign a woman had been there. Just tiny little claw marks on the hardwood floors beneath the rug.
He went out to his truck and called the police. And then his boss. "By the way. I quit."
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