R.O.U.S’, apparently not a myth.

A pitter-patter of little feet.

A gentle sound. It roused a smile to my lips as I was lulled, swallowed under waves of sleep.

The velvety scrape of a cat licking its paws in sandpaper swathes. I smiled.

Ripping of claws along the closet door. I glared blearily about the room, eyes landing with relief on the lines of a pampered pooch sprawling on the floor near the door. I grumbled displeasure, flopping back beneath blankets into the heaviness of REM sleep.

It woke me again at dawn. I greeted the day, glaring at the sunrise. Even many a cauldron of magic bean juice could not slake the thirst of my grumpiness. It persisted until that evening, when the sounds of a farmhouse at night returned, and I was lulled once more, at peace with the quiet rustlings. I'd like for my husband to nestle a blanket around my shoulders and brush a soft kiss upon my cheek as I slept before the banked embers of the woodstove. The thought dragged me further toward sleep.

But the scream had me sat up, ramrod in spine, ears pricked to sounds of struggle echoing down the hallway from the open garage door.

My husband, a man of formidable size and strength, was cursing and screaming, "NO! Oh God, NO!" Sounds of battle and Thumping, followed by, "GET OUT. GO and don't ever come back! OH MY GOD."

I entered the room, primed with a kitchen knife, ready to fight for our lives, but was shocked to discover my husband leaning against the wall, stricken, pale, but alone. "...What...?" I trailed off.

He gulped and raked his fingers through his hair, giving himself a shake, as if he could rid himself of some horror, "It was....a...rat."

I stared and scoffed, "A...rat?"

He took me by the shoulders, "No. Listen to me. It was a huuge rat. It had to be the size of our dog..." He looked about, trying to confirm the creature was indeed gone before continuing, "Honey, I've hunted all my life and I'm a farmer to boot. I'm not squeamish about such a thing, but I tell you, this was no normal rat. It was all wrong. It was so huge..." He shivered and glanced around once more before pulling me inside and locking the garage door firmly behind us.

When I went to return the knife, he stilled my hand, "No," he said, "Keep it by the bed tonight. You may well need it to fend off that creature." I chuckled, following him upstairs, crawling under the blankets in sweet relief. Rest, at last.

And the house began to stir.

A pitter-patter of little feet.

My eyes flew open.

Little feet... of unnaturally large rats...scurrying along the joists in our attic.

The velvety sound of tails along the ceilings.

The gnawing of overgrown teeth.

A grating sound of claws, scratching at my closet door.

The sounds of a farmhouse at night provide reprieve for me no more.