A Rat Problem

Zane Joly

        “Hey, bartender,” said a drunk client, “How…ummm… what’s, what’s your deal? What are you… yeah.”

“Oh,” said the woman behind the bar as she cleaned a glass, “I’m human like you. I’m a collection of almost entirely hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, and nitrogen. I am governed by a genetic code and most of my cells hold twenty three chromosomes. I perceive reality through various means of absorbing basic energies which are turned into experience and thought through an electrical network of cells. My mind is finite and unable to adapt well, and when this delicate equilibrium of thought is unbalanced, I call it insanity. I have existed for a little over thirty-one cycles of this planet moving around the nearest star, and my feeble consciousness is tethered to this body. I have only ever lived on this planet, and only in its current state. Time is a relevant binding force to me and my form will soon decay until my mind disappears with it, unless something else ends my life before then. Regardless, in a mere century I shall be dead, as I am a finite and mortal thing.”

The client had fallen asleep, drooling on the bartop’s surface. “Nailed it,” said Sam to herself.

The bartender spotted someone new sit at the bar, a young woman. “What can I get for you?” Sam asked, walking over to her.

“I’ll have…” the woman began, then she stopped, her eyes widening. Sam knew instantly what was going on. A small portion of the population were born with a gift for being able to glimpse what was beyond most mortals’ comprehension. They could not truly understand the ancient and powerful beings that existed in this universe, but they could recognize when one was disguised. This awareness of the eldritch often meant these people were, by typical human standards, not quite entirely sane.

“Yes, yes, I’m an inhuman eldritch entity,” said Sam, “Now what will you have?”

For a few seconds more, the woman stared. Then she said, “Give me something sweet and fruity.”

Sam complied, returning to the woman with a pink drink with a curly straw before long. “What’s your name?” the woman asked.

“Sam,” said the inhuman bartender, wishing she had other customers she could deal with as an excuse to not have this conversation.

“Sam doesn’t sound very monstrous to me,” said the woman, taking a sip of her drink.

“It’s short for Samdrelinte’equarkiath. A human name for me. Were I to speak aloud the closest accurate approximation of my true name, you would die.”

“Fun,” said the woman, “My name’s Melissa.”

“Your name is Zoey Castonera,” said Sam.

“Just wanted to see if you would know I was lying,” said Zoey with a smile. She took another sip of her drink. Those with the gift of sight were always so annoying.

Sam spotted something moving in the rafters at the back of the bar. “Damn it,” she muttered.

Zoey followed Sam’s gaze to the dark figure scurrying about. “Is that a rat?” the human asked.

“That is not a simple question to answer,” said Sam, glaring at the rodent, “Is she a rat in the biological, physical, and mystical sense? No, just as I am not a human. She does however fulfill the role of rat, and is to me as rat is to bartender.”

“So she’s a… whatever you are too?” Zoey asked.

“Yes,” said the bartender, “She and I have known each other for over a hundred millennia. Her name, as you would name it, is Jess.”

“Short for… what?” Zoey inquired.

“Jessica,” answered Sam.

Zoey nodded and sipped her drink as she watched the rat, observing the strange aura it and the bartender shared. Jess snuck along the rafters, heading for the chain that held up one of the lights above a small table. The rat reached the base of the chain and gnawed through the metal at an unnatural speed. The chain broke and just as the light was going to come crashing down to the table, Sam snapped her fingers. A few thin tentacles burst from the ceiling and grabbed onto the broken chain, holding it up. The light only dropped a few centimeters, and nobody noticed.

“So how did two old gods or yugoloths or whatever end up a rat and bartender engaging in petty hijinks?” Zoey asked.

“It would take one hundred and seventy two years to explain me and Jess’s relationship and history in terms that you could comprehend,” answered Sam, not taking her eyes off the rat. Jess bared her teeth at Sam, and in response the bartender flipped off the eldritch entity disguised as a rodent.

“You know, this reminds me of Tom and Jerry,” commented Zoey.

“There are hundreds of thousands of individuals named Thomas, and a similar quantity named Jeremy,” said Sam, “Which ones are you referring to?”

“The cartoons,” Zoey explained, “The cat and the mouse that run around and do these little back and forth unrealistic fights.”

“I had a cat once,” said Sam, “He was effective at first. But when he tasted Jess’s blood, he turned into a monster. He now patrols the streets of the city, hunting down and consuming humans.”

“I think there’s a Tom and Jerry episode with a plot sort of like that,” said Zoey, “Have you ever tried to kill Jess with a giant hammer?”
“I have a hammer,” answered Sam, “But it is an entirely practical size.” From under the bar, she pulled out the hammer in question. It could be held in one hand, a crude stone implement with glowing violet and green runes carved into it. One side was rough and spiked, and was stained with old blood. Sam tapped the hammer against the bartop, and it sent a tremble through the bar, into the ground, and made the entire building shake like there was an earthquake. Sam and Zoey were the only people unconcerned as the building rocked and the drinks on the wall clattered against each other in their glass bottles. The rafters shook particularly badly, and Jess fell from them with a squeak, landing in a distracted woman’s drink.

When the trembling ceased a few seconds later, people calmed down a bit. Sam put her hammer back under the counter. The woman across the bar raised the drink to her lips, not realizing there was a monstrous god in the form of a rat in her beverage. Sam narrowed her eyes, which gleamed with purple and green light. The woman screamed and dropped her glass, which fell to the floor upside down, trapping Jess inside.

Zoey watched with mild amusement and interest as Sam nearly vaulted over the bar and headed towards the woman. Sam absentmindedly brushed a hand against the woman’s arm while staring at the upside down glass. The woman fell to the floor, silent and still. Zoey couldn’t tell if she was dead or just asleep, and Sam didn’t much seem to care.

Sam advanced on the upside down glass and snatched it up, her fist raised. But instead of Jess underneath, it was a hole leading down into the ground. The bartender sighed in annoyance and grabbed a nearby shot, downing it in one go. She held the liquid in her mouth for a second, before spitting into the hole. The drink had turned black in her mouth and when it fell into the hole, smoke rose and there was a sizzling sound paired with panicked, cut off squeaking.

“Hey!” objected the man Sam had taken the shot from.

“You’re next three drinks are free,” she said as she stepped over the woman sleeping, hopefully, on the floor.

Sam returned to her place behind the bar. “Isn’t anybody going to raise questions about… all of that?” Zoey asked.

“Everyone in here is drunk,” said Sam, “And odd things happen in my bar all the time.”

“Do you own the bar?” the human asked.

“I own 3pi/894.327ths of reality,” answered Sam, “Including this bar. By human modern legal terms, I don’t own it. But the man who does own it is under my thrall. All that matters is that this is my bar.”

“Okay,” said Zoey, “Did you kill Jess, just now, or what?”

“Death and life are terms that mean little to beings such as myself or Jess,” said Sam, “She will reform in a few days when the stars align. And I shall be prepared for her when she does. As is in our natures.”

Zoey finished her drink and put a twenty dollar bill on the bar. It was more than the drink cost, but Sam took it anyway. “You know, ever since I saw you, I got the feeling I’m going to die tonight,” said Zoey, not seeming too concerned about this, “I’m the human woman who got involved with old gods and asked questions she shouldn’t have. Characters like that usually die, following the tropes originally set by H. P. Lovecraft.”

“Lovecraft was an idiot,” said Sam, “You’re not going to die tonight. You will die in thirty two years, five months, twenty days, one hour, and six minutes.”

“What of?” asked the human woman, resting her chin on her hand.

“Poisoning.”

“Ooh, I like that,” said Zoey, “It’s vague, but exciting.”

Zoey stood up from her stool. “Well, Sam,” she said, “If it's all the same to you, I don’t think I’ll be coming back here.”

“Your presence is irrelevant to me,” said Sam.

“Thought so,” said Zoey, “Well, I’d say that it's been real but I’m genuinely not sure if any of this is real or not.”

“Reality is a lie you tell yourself and physical existence is without purpose, meaning, or truth,” responded Sam as she began cleaning a glass again.

Zoey nodded and headed out the door.