#drawtober 11

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

There’s never any sign of anything inside the skirting. Nothing in the tight shut pantry either.

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

There would be pellets, or some sign of small, gnawing teeth. Some something to indicate that something lived in between the floorboards and the concrete floor.

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

It doesn’t fade. No matter how many men in boilersuits and faded jeans say there’s nothing there.

Scritch-

They look at you with hollow eyes, clover held tight in their faded teeth.

Apparently nothing lived there after all.

Just a lost and lingering former occupant, coming home for dinner.

Look it was either wolfsbane or Batman Bane and whilst I was tempted to put a little mask on one of them I figured this was more straightforward.

Mouses from yesterday decided to go on a heist for gobstoppers.