Rat Trapper

There was a man below the city, and the noise he made, it sounded like wet, papery wings or maybe some kind of steam-driven pump.

Thhhhh-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th...

Then the singing:

'Mmm, na-na, na-na-na-na...'

The man looked uncomfortable on some very deep level, as if he might have been better off as a spider or an octopus, a cockroach even - something small and manoeuvrable. Anything but a human. Th-th-th. It was either laughter or breathing. Facing the table, which is placed against the brick wall underneath a naked bulb, his long arms reach into the darkness and bring back an electric drill. A white cotton shirt with rolled up sleeves, tucked into brown cotton pants. Braces. A misshapen head dotted with tufts of white hair.

'Na-na, na-na-na-na...'

The light flickers for a moment. The man doesn't notice. His eyes are clouded over, as white as marble. He is a creature of precise routine; when he sets the drill back down, in the darkness, it is no more than a centimetre away from where he picked it up.

When he sleeps - which is never for more than five hours at a time, the longest he can stand being away from his tools - the bucket of nails and screws is refilled, fresh planks of wood bought in, the battery of the drill swapped out, spent tubes of glue replaced, saws sharpened and a plate of assorted foods placed on the table. No one has ever spoken with the man. No one even knows if he can talk. Everyone knows he can sing, though.

They whispered to each other, once they'd bolted the door and retreated back up the stairs, into the depths of an ancient and crumbling house.

'But god, his eyes...'

'The way he breathes, I can hear it when I sleep.'

'The singing, though...'

The three of them shudder. Below, the man drops another of his creations down the hole next to the table. Fifteen seconds later there is a splash. For once, there are no other sounds. A rare thing happens: the man permits himself to smile, his withered lips unfolding to reveal a row of triangular teeth, sharpened to a point. No one has ever seen the man smile, but this doesn't bother him. He has never seen anything, and besides, the drains and pipes that run under the city can carry an echo for miles.


'Mmm, na-na, na-na-na-na...'