You’ll find I’m good at paying off old scores. I gave him full marks. Those few seconds were, up to now, about the worst seconds I have ever lived through, and the thought that it wasn’t over gave me a sick feeling in my belly. I lit another cigarette, and kept the light on. I decided I’d keep it on until it went out, then I’d make the best of it, but so long as the light was on, I felt pretty sure whatever it was out there in the darkness would keep its distance.
I sat there smoking, listening to the thud of my heart and trying to think how to get the staple out. But my brain felt as if it was wrapped up in cotton wool. My thoughts kept darting into the darkness; useless and frightened.
Then I saw the red embers again; just out of reach of the light of the torch. I didn’t move, but kept my eyes on the two fiery beads that hung in the darkness, watching me.
More minutes ticked by. I couldn’t make up my mind if they were coming closer or I was imagining it. So I waited, cold, stiff, scared, holding my breath for as long as I could, breathing silently through my open mouth when I had to.
They were coming closer: very cautiously and silently, and something was beginning to take shape. I could make out a ferret-shaped head and the outline of a sleek, round back. Still I didn’t move. One of my legs had gone to sleep, but I scarcely noticed it. I wanted to see what I was up against. I hadn’t long to wait. Into the beam of the torch moved a rat. Not an ordinary rat, but a monster: a nightmare of a rat, almost as big as a full-grown cat, measuring at a guess over two feet from nose to tail.
It came forward into the light, less cautiously now, looking towards me, its sleek, brown fur glistening in the hard light of the torch.
Close by my hand was a fair-sized stone. My fingers reached for it. The rat stopped moving. I snapped up the stone and threw it in one movement.
There was a rustle, a streak of brown, and the rat was gone, long before the stone hit the spot where it had been.
Well, I knew now. I knew what had turned Ferris into a heap of rags and bones. I knew too when that brute got hungry it wouldn’t run away.
I looked around for more stones, and began making a little pile of them within easy reach. I examined the ground near me. Under dust and pebbles I discovered a short length of wood. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was something. If I had to tackle this one rat, chained as I was, I felt I could lick it, but the back of my mind I was beginning to wonder if there was more than one, and if so, how many. Again my eyes strayed to the heap of rags. A lot more than one rat had done that.