Mrs. Brisby and The Mystery Rat

 

By: James Lee

 

Disclaimer: The Secret of NIMH doesn’t belong to me. Nor does the rat or any other characters that may appear here. No profit is being made off of this.

 

Part 1

            She stumbled in the rain. She was cold, wet, and she hurt all over. It was so hard to walk and the pain was near unbearable. She was so dizzy and her eyesight kept going out of focus. One thing was certain; she had to find shelter soon.

            It was then that she noticed the small cave up ahead. She didn’t care what might be inside, she wanted out of the rain now. Stepping through the entrance, she fell into the darkness.

 

            [CRASH!] Mrs. Brisby awoke at the sound coming from her living room. Seeing her children also waking up she got out of bed to check. She hoped it wasn’t a ferret or snake. Peeking into the living room the mouse could see a rat lying on the floor.

            “Mother?” Brisby turned to see her children standing behind her. Only Timmy, who was very sick, stayed in bed.

            “Stay back.” The mouse said as she started to enter the living room.

            “What is it?”

            “I said stay back!” Brisby said with a little more force. She knew a rat could be dangerous. Walking up with a candle, Brisby could see that this rat wasn’t going to be a threat to anyone anytime soon.

            The rat was light tan colored and female. It was also very badly hurt. There was a horrible cut on her arm, another on her side, and she was bleeding from the head. There also appeared to be small holes on the other side of the cuts, although these seemed to have already scabbed over.

            “Teresa, bring me some bandages.”

            Brisby’s daughter appeared with a small armload of bandages. The smaller mouse gasped when she noticed the blood.

            “What happen to her?”

            “I-I don’t know.” Said Brisby. The cuts were very ragged; as if something had literally torn the flesh apart. {Could Dragon have done this?} Thought Brisby as she started patching up the rat’s wounds. It was doubtful however, that it would still be alive come dawn.

 

            The next morning, Mrs. Brisby woke up. Seeing her children still asleep, she quietly got out of bed and went to check on the rat. Walking into the living room, the mouse blinked, as she saw nothing there. {Was it all a dream?} Brisby asked herself. She learned otherwise when she was grabbed by the throat and slammed against the wall, her feet dangling off the ground.

            “Who are you!” growled the rat.

            “B-Brisby, Mrs. Brisby.” Gasped the mouse as she struggled in the rat’s seemingly steel grip. How could something so large have snuck up on her like that?

            “Where am I?”

            “Y-You’re in my…house.”

            “Don’t you hurt my mother!” Yelled Teresa as she suddenly burst from the bedroom. The small mouse stopped and gulped however, when she realized how much bigger the rat was and that it was now looking straight at her.

            “N-noooo!” Mrs. Brisby struggled even more, but to no avail. She had heard that rats were strong, but she had no idea that they were this strong. Despite the fact that she was holding Brisby with one hand, she didn’t even seem to notice her struggling.

            The rat looked back and forth between Brisby and the child. She then sighed and let the mouse down. Teresa rushed up to her mother, who was now taking in large breaths of air.

            “How did I get here?” asked the rat slightly more quietly.

            “You stumbled in last night. You were hurt we bandaged your wounds. W-Who are you?”

            The rat was just about to answer when her eyes widened. “I-I can’t remember.”

            “Do you remember what happen to you?”

            The rat thought, but then winced as if thinking itself was painful. She then shook her head.

            “Well maybe it will come back to you.” Said Brisby. The tan rat looked at her, then looked at the bandages.

            “Why am I wrapped up like this?”

            “I told you, you were badly hurt…” Started Brisby, then the rat started undoing the bandages. “No! Don’t, you might bleed…to…death?”

            Brisby stared as the wounds that had looked so terrible the night before were now completely gone. Instead just smooth sand colored fur remained with only the blood on the bandages to give testament that they existed at all.

            {What happened to the cuts?} Thought the mouse as the rat started to take off the other bandages. The rat winced and nearly fell down when it removed the one on her head.

            “Listen I have to see Mr. Ages today. Why don’t you rest.” The rat nodded her head and started to lay down. Brisby then turned to her children. “You can play outside. Teresa, Martin, keep an eye on your sister and don’t go to far from the house.”

            The two smaller mice nodded, although they found it somewhat odd. Usually their mother wanted them to stay in the house when she wasn’t there. The truth was Brisby wasn’t sure she could trust the rat yet. She now knew however, that there was no way she could force the rat out and she didn’t want to antagonize her by asking her to leave. “I should be back sometime tonight.”

 

Later that day…

            “Now put this in a broth and make him drink it. It will bring the fever down.” Said Ages, as he handed Brisby the envelope.

            “Thank you.”

            “Now if you’ll excuse me I have work to do.” Said the old mouse, pushing Brisby out the door.

            “Mr. Ages, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

            “Confound it, what is it now woman?”

            “Last night a rat came into my home. It was badly injured and very strange.”

            Ages stopped pushing her. “A rat you say?”

            “Yes and well…Mr. Ages, how long does a cut on a rat take to heal?”

            “Hmm it depends on the size of the rat and the size of the cut.”

            “Well the rat is a female about twice my size and she had a cut from her shoulder to her elbow. It went to the bone,” said Brisby as she gestured to show were the cuts were. “She had another cut on her side from here to here and she had a nasty gash on her head.”

            “You might as well dig a hole. That rat’s going to die.”

            “That’s just it, they healed overnight.”

            Ages just looked at her. “They healed overnight?”

            “Yes.”

            “When did this happen?”

            “Last night about four hours before sunrise.”

            Ages snorted. “You were tired. Your sleep deprived mind probably exaggerated the wound’s severity.”

            “B-But there was blood all over the floor.”

            “This doesn’t look like a lot, does it?” asked Ages grabbing a cup of tea on the table. Brisby shook her head. He then splashed it across the floor. “As you can see, when spread out it looks like a river.”

            “Oh. She also can’t remember anything, not even her name.”

“Hmm, sounds like amnesia. Keep an eye on her and I’ll talk to her later.”

“Okay,” said Mrs. Brisby as Ages pushed her out the door. “Well, thank you very [Slam] much.”

            “Don’t slip on your,” Brisby heard a yell and crash from behind the door. “…tea.”

 

Meanwhile back at the Brisby home…

            The children were playing outside when Teresa suddenly lost track of Cynthia. Looking around for her younger sibling, she turned to Martin.

            “Martin, have you seen Cynthia?”

            “Yeah, she just went in the house.”

            Teresa headed for the house. She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think her mother wanted them disturbing the rat.

            Inside the house Cynthia was coming down the stairs when she saw the rat. It was up and had her father’s pen and paper. Noticing the small yellow mouse, the rat quickly scribbled something out.”

            “What are you doing?”

            “I’m just writing some things down.” Cynthia looked at the paper.

            “Who am I? What the…happened to me? What’s this word?” asked the mouse, pointing to a word the rat had scratched out.

            “That wasn’t a very nice word.”

            “What was it?”

            “A word that shouldn’t be repeated in front of little girls.”

            Cynthia looked back at the paper. Whatever the word was, it looked like it began with the letter F. Teresa then walked in and looked at the paper.

            “Wow, You write really well.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Mom can’t write for anything. Here, watch this,” said Teresa as she grabbed the pen. “Ter-res-a, Teresa. That’s my name.”

            The rat nodded, although something in the back of her mind was telling her that it was wrong for a mouse to be able to write down her own name. The rat dismissed it however, who was she to talk.

            “What’s you’re name?”

            “I still don’t remember.”

            “Sandy!” The rat looked down at Cynthia. “We’ll call you Sandy because your fur looks like warm sand.”

            “That isn’t her name.” Said Teresa. The rat however, smiled at Cynthia.

            “I think Sandy will do for now. Can’t have people calling me just Hey You.”

            “Brisby!” The rat looked up at the sound.

            “Oh, Aunty Shrew!” said Teresa.

            “Oh, Aunty!” said Cynthia, hugging her doll.

            “Oh, no.” said Martin outside.

            “Brisby!”

            “She not here aunty.” Yelled Teresa.

            Shrugging her shoulders Sandy looked back at the paper she had been writing on.

            “A rat!” Sandy turned to see a shrew charging towards her and the children. On impulse she acted.

            Teresa gapped as with blinding speed, Sandy threw the shrew over her shoulder and slammed her on the ground.  She then penned the old shrew down with her foot and pulled on her arm. “Who are you; why did you attack?”

            “M-my arm!”

            “I’ll break your arm if you don’t answer me.”

            “Don’t hurt Aunty!” Yelled Cynthia. Sandy looked at the children.

            “You know who this is?”

            “Yes,” said Teresa. “That’s Aunty Shrew, please don’t hurt her.”

            Sandy released the shrew’s arm and removed her foot. It was at this time that Mrs. Brisby came home.

            “What’s going on here?” asked Brisby as the shrew rushed up the stairs. “Aunty Shrew, please come back inside.”

            “Not for a king’s ransom. That rat is a menace, why is it here anyway?”

            “She came in last night. She was hurt.”

            “Brisby, you are too nice for your own good. I came to tell you the frost is off the ground; moving day is at hand. Be prepared to move your very very odd family.” The old shrew then turned and left. Mrs. Brisby looked down at her children and the rat.

            “I-I’m sorry Mrs. Brisby.” Said Sandy.

            “The shrew is just trying to help.” Said Brisby as she walked down the stairs.

            “So what happen to you?” asked Sandy, changing the subject.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Your fur’s damp and your breathing labored, like you’ve been in a race.”

            “I had an encounter with Dragon, the farmer’s cat. Do you remember anything?”

            The rat shook her head. “No. All this information comes to me, like reading and writing, but no memories. Half the stuff that I realize I know doesn’t even make sense.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Its like that human I saw out there today.”

            “Farmer Fitzgibbons.”

            “I guess. I know he weighs 195 pounds, but only knows basic bar room brawling. I know his woman studied karate once, but hasn’t practiced in a long time. Why would I know something like that?”

            “I-I don’t know,” said Brisby while wondering what karate was. “So you still don’t remember your name.”

            Once again the rat shook her head. “You can call me Sandy. Your daughter thought it up.”

            “Okay, Sandy.” Said the mouse as she added the power from the envelope to a broth.

            “What’s that?”

            “This is medicine for my son.”

            “The one with pneumonia?”

            Brisby looked up. “How did you know that?”

            “The same way I know everything else, it just pops into my head.” Said Sandy in frustration.

            “Well maybe it will come back after you rest some more.” Said the mouse as she entered the bedroom. Sandy and the children followed her. Sandy watched as Mrs. Brisby fed her son the broth. She felt very sorry for the little boy.

            “Is Timmy going to die?” asked Cynthia.

            “No, he’s just very ill.” Answered her mother.

            “What is it?” asked Teresa.

            “Mr. Ages called it pneumonia.”

            “Pneumonia?” Teresa repeated. That was what Sandy had said it was just a moment ago.

            After Brisby had finished giving her son the broth she turned to her children. “Off to bed with you. Sandy there’s some cotton and a spare blanket over in the corner. I’m afraid the blanket will be a bit small though.”

            “Its better than nothing.” Said Sandy as she gathered the cotton into a crude sort of bed. Soon the family and guest were fast asleep.

 

Meanwhile at the farm house…

            Up near the roof of the house one of the shutters opened and an extension cord started coming out, followed by several furry shapes.

            “Dear, a man from NIMH was by today.” Said Mrs. Fitzgibbons as she pulled down the blind. Totally unaware of what was going on outside.

            “From NIMH?” asked the sleepy farmer.

            “Yes, you know the National Institute of Mental Health. He was asking if there was anything wrong with the rats.”

            “Honey, I got to get up in the morning.”

            “The way he carried on, you’d think the rats have got some sort of disease or something. Anyway I told him that you would call him first thing in the morning.”

            As the two humans talked, the furry creatures were making their way to the thorn bush. A short while later, strange lights could be seen coming from the bush.

 

To be continued.