Wyatt tried to sound friendly as he answered. He wasn’t successful. “Hello.”

Laughter bubbled in his ear. “Chillax man, I’m not a bill collector.” After a pause, he continued, “This is Rodney Bickers. From the study group?”

“Oh, hey. Now’s not really a good time.” Rodney was the last person Wyatt wanted to talk to. He was the type of person to bring beer to a study session, crack more jokes than books, and leave feeling satisfied. It’s a wonder he lasted this far in med school, but as he’s proudly proclaimed before, he ‘puts the C in doctor.’ “Can I call you back later?”

“Well actually, the group kind of wanted me to check in on you. We haven’t seen you in a bit, so everyone’s worried you’ve gone mental.”

“I’m fine. Really.” The mouse quirked its head slightly. Wyatt glared at it. “Peachy.”

“Glad to hear it. So we’ll see you in an hour?”

“What?” Wyatt rose from his chair and took a menacing step toward the mouse. It skittered away.

“Dude, come on. It’s the second Friday. Monthly movie ringing a bell?”

The thought of spending the rest of his evening pretending to be well-rested and sociable sounded as enjoyable as cleaning out the sink drain with his tongue. He opened the closest cabinet, hoping he still had a can of Spagetti-O’s or something else easy to warm up. Instead, he shrieked as two mice flew at him from inside, only narrowly missing him.

“Are you good over there?”

Wyatt watched the mice take off toward his bedroom. He forced a smile on his face, though Rodney couldn’t see him. “Yup, fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Rodney didn’t sound convinced. Maybe he could hear how tightly Wyatt was gritting his teeth. “Well, if you’re interested in getting out of the house, you know where to go.”

“Right, thanks.” Wyatt hung up the phone and stared deep into his mostly-empty cabinet. The brand-new roll of bagels had a hole torn – or chewed – in the bag. He defeatedly relocated it to the trash.

The apartment rustled, pattered, and squeaked seemingly from every direction: around every corner, above every cabinet, under all the furniture. He imagined a cloud of spores, wafting from the hundreds of pounds of mouse droppings that must be in this one-bedroom apartment and filling his lungs with plague-ridden air. A mouse, very similar to if not the same as before, peeked at him from under the couch. It nibbled on a chunk of bagel, making unyielding eye-contact.

Wyatt yanked his winter jacket off the hook so forcefully that the rack clattered to the ground. He didn’t bother to pick it up, already halfway out the door.

The insistent Wisconsin winter wind ushered Wyatt into the movie theater, where the heat of the lobby immediately fogged up his glasses, making the small crowd inside look almost like a collection of specters. Suddenly, Wyatt’s hat was snatched off his head. “Hey!”

“Hey to you, too, homeboy.” Rodney tossed Wyatt’s hat back in his face. “Glad to see you’re still among the living.”

After a second of fumbling, Wyatt used the inside of his hat to clean off his glasses, but the fabric wasn’t quite right, merely smearing around the water. As clean as he was going to get them, Wyatt slid his glasses back on to find Rodney standing alone, face rosy in the warmth. “...Where is everyone else?”

“Yeah, about that.” Rodney’s smile took on a slant. “Sherry and Diane dipped last minute to get some early Christmas shopping done. I guess Sherry’s brother’s birthday is like a week before Christmas so she’s spazzing out about it. Eddie said he’d be late, so we’ll have to save him a seat. And I...sort of forgot to remind Anthony, but he’d probably say no anyway. Too busy studying.” Rodney started drifting toward the ticket line.

“Okay.” Wyatt blinked a few times. He pictured Anthony in the warm glow of a library lamp, books piled high around him as he wrapped up a research paper that Wyatt only half-finished. “What movie?”

“Havana.”

“Hm. I’ve never heard of that one.” He skimmed over the other movie posters. “Why not that new Stephen King one? I haven’t seen it yet. Misery?”

“Nah, then Eddie will go to the wrong theater. And this one is perfect for you.”

The movie was awful and dragged on forever. The only thing that saved the experience for Wyatt was his mega-sized bucket of popcorn, but even with that, Rodney kept stealing inconsiderately large handfuls. When the lights came back up, Rodney brushed the crumbs from his lap. “Man, that was heinous. So not worth the four bucks.”

Wyatt laughed half-heartedly. “And here I was, worried you were about to tell me it was your new fave.”

“You’re kidding, right? It was as exciting as a documentary about payphones, or nickels. In fact, I think I’d rather take another class with Putress than watch it ever again.”

“That’s bold.” Dr. Putress’s pop quizzes were difficult and unpredictable, a cornerstone of her harsh reputation on campus. Wyatt cringed at the memory. “But fair.”

“Remind me to get Eddie back later for ditching us. Maybe at the next study group?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll be there.” Wyatt shook his head at Rodney’s triumphant grin. “But it better be more than just you next time.”

“You bet.”

Rodney’s long legs set the pace back toward campus slightly too fast for Wyatt’s comfort. “So, what’s been keeping you holed up? Get sick of us or something?”

Wyatt thought back to the last study session he attended, where Rodney had suggested they invent a drinking game out of a study guide Diane had made. “No,” he lied. “I guess I just got busy with some personal stuff.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Rodney’s voice softened. “How’s your sister doing?”

“Great...considering she doesn’t exist.”

“Say ‘psyche’ right now! I could’ve sworn you had a sister in the hospital.”

“That’s Eddie. Probably why he wasn’t here tonight. She’s been in and out of the hospital since October.”

“...Maybe I won’t say anything to him on Tuesday then.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

They settled into a comfortable quiet. Rodney lit a cigarette. Wyatt mentally replayed the night’s conversations, breaking the silence after a few minutes. “Hey, why did you think I was going to like the movie? I try to be open-minded, but that doesn’t mean I’m down for every movie ever.”

“Oh, I just thought you’d get a kick out of all the Spanish.”

Wyatt furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the statement. The quiet returned, but heavier this time, the crunching of the snow under their feet the only sound.

“What?” Rodney elbowed him, and Wyatt put more distance between them. “What’s your damage?”

“Confused. I’m confused.”

Rodney’s face mirrored his. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know Spanish. I speak Korean.”

Rodney’s laugh was covered in a teasing disbelief. “Korean?”

Wyatt slowed and then stopped, forcing Rodney to follow his lead. “Yeah, man. My mom’s Korean and my dad’s Black. There’s no way you didn’t know that already, it’s one of my go-tos for Two Truths and a Lie.”

“Yeah, and?”

He stared up at Rodney, something burning in the pit of his stomach.

Rodney scoffed. “Take a chill pill. It’s not a big deal. People are allowed to make mistakes, right?” With a shrug, he continued walking at his usual pace.

Wyatt hurried to catch up, but stayed a step behind. Rodney finished his cigarette. When they arrived at the intersection where they’d be splitting ways, Wyatt turned up his street without a word. Rodney called after him, “See you on Tuesday!”

Wyatt threw a noncommittal wave over his shoulder, but said nothing.

The call button on the apartment building’s elevator didn’t light up under Wyatt’s thumb. He pressed it again. And again. He slammed it with the side of his fist. The button stayed dark. On the way to the stairs, he gave the elevator a firm kick. A loud clang rang through the hollow shaft.

At the bottom of the stairwell, Wyatt gazed up at the slate-gray square platforms floating above him. Only five floors away from his infested apartment and a restless night’s sleep. After a deep breath, he started the trek, ignoring the pain still lingering in his foot. The sound of his trudging footsteps echoed all around him, bouncing off of the walls and back to him.

When he reached the second floor, he straightened his shoulders and engineered another false smile. “Everything is fine. Good, actually. Because I’m going to get back to my apartment and see that all the mice left. Completely gone. Decided it was time for a change in scenery. Got bored of my cupboards.” In his mind, several dozen mice filled small suitcases with breadcrumbs and scampered out the door. He picked up his pace, but the speed reminded him of his walk with Rodney. “And, I’ll see I have a message on my answering machine from the American Heart Association, saying they want me to intern there, regardless of my grades. When I call them back to accept, they’ll be so impressed with me that they’ll offer to cover my tuition, too.” He picked up the pace again. “Oh, and a message from Publisher’s Clearing House, saying I won twenty—no, fifty!— thousand dollars even though I never entered the contest.”

By the time he reached his floor, he was practically running, taking the stairs two at a time and occasionally smacking his shin. At some point, he had started laughing, making it even more difficult to breathe than it already had been. His winter coat clung oppressively around him, practically suffocating.

He fiddled with his keys at his front door, dropping them once. Only when he had the key in the mechanism did he realize he had forgotten to lock the door in the first place. He swung it open to reveal his dark apartment. “Hello, reality.”

Wyatt stripped off his sweaty jacket and threw it over the top of the coat rack, making it wobble slightly on the uneven floor. The air was icy, even blowing a cold breeze in his direction. The light from the hallway only traveled so far, but it was enough to make sure the way was clear to the nearest light switch, inconveniently located over the kitchen sink. Click. With everything illuminated, Wyatt realized he could see his breath.

“Uh, hello?” Voice wavering, he sounded more afraid than strong. He cleared his throat and pitched his voice down a bit. “Is there anyone here?”

There was no answer, but he saw that his bedroom door was closed. Carefully, he pulled a knife from a pile of dirty dishes. His mind filled the space behind the door with robbers, kidnappers, and monsters. If he waited any longer, he’d lose his nerve. In three quick steps, he threw the door open.

Movement.

He yelled out in surprise and slashed the knife wildly through the air, not hitting anything. Panting, he lowered his weapon and flicked on the light. The curtains flapped in the wind again, snapping in the air like they just had a moment ago. Wyatt ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath, a shaky laugh bubbling to the surface. He watched the curtains dance, willing his heart rate to slow down again.

Finally, he crossed the room and pushed the curtains aside. The window sat wide open, the screen was completely gone, fully exposing the room to the snowy air outside. Another jolt of fear zipped up Wyatt’s spine. He closed the window tightly, sliding the lock into place, then hurried to the front door to secure that, too. In his paranoia, he bolted the door shut and moved the coat rack to block it for good measure.

That’s when he realized: when he had left earlier, the coat rack had been lying on the floor. The door had been locked. The window had been closed. But the biggest difference that Wyatt only now noticed was the quiet. The whole apartment was quiet. Quieter than it had been in weeks. There was no scrabbling, no crunching, no tapping of tiny feet.

The mice were gone.

It seems that Wyatt's wishful thinking came to fruition. Be careful what you wish for.

Soon to be a multi-part series. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!