Kristina England | Daniele Murtas
Jamie glanced up at the ceiling.
She frowned at her sister. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have a hole in your ceiling,” Tammy said again, jabbing her finger upwards.
“That’s not a hole. It’s just a crack.”
“A crack? A crack you can’t see into. I could throw an eight-ball through that sucker.”
Jamie pushed her hair back and looked anxiously at the ceiling. She was aware of the damn hole, but she couldn’t do anything about it.
Gracie had demanded she keep the hole.
But of course she couldn’t tell anyone about Gracie’s demand. Gracie was, after all, a mouse. A psychopathic mouse, but a mouse none the less.
And she hated Gracie. That critter never stopped talking. Her constant yammering kept Jamie up at night. The insomnia was killing her. She needed a break but Gracie…Gracie needed that hole. She needed a friend. She needed Jamie.
And so what if Gracie talked to her? It wasn’t the first time.
“What was that noise?”
“You should go, sis. I’ll call you. We can do lunch or something.”
“It sounded like a scurrying. Do you have mice?”
Tammy walked towards the dining room. Jamie twitched as Tammy approached the wall in which Gracie lived.
Jamie reached for her frying pan.
“Gracie doesn’t like it when people sneak up on her.”
“Who’s Gracie? Oh, Jamie, you’re not off your meds again, are you?”
Jamie didn’t answer.
Instead, she walked up behind Tammy and watched as the shadow of a pan rose along the wall, then came down on her sister’s head.
Jamie giggled nervously at the sound of metal clanking bone.
She put down the pan and looked at a little twitching critter squeaking on the counter.
“Oh shut up, Gracie, or I’ll take care of you, too.”