Note: this one was found wedged inside a copy of Samuel Beckett's Endgame. I don't know if there's any significant connection or if this was just being used as a bookmark. I think that it's weird how to story ends very abruptly. Like she got up to do the dishes and forgot to continue.
The Rat Man.
If you go down to the grass where the children sometimes go to play, there is a chance that you will see the rat man who plays there. His real name is not known, neither is it known when he begin playing in that field, who his family are, or what connection he holds to the area. But if you take a walk down to that grassy patch before the woods – The Green – as the youths call it, you may just find him instead.
The most common sign that you are about to come upon the rat man is the sound which he makes in the grass. As well as the noise made by the long grass being swept and kicked aside as he barrels through it, you will hear a high-pitched voice created sounds like the squeaking of a mouse or rat. As you come closer, he may hear you, and increase his volume, rather than hide it. The rat man loves attention.
He does not hide away from those who come to look at him, rather sticks up his behind as he shuffles through the grass and growing louder, sometimes inserting low-pitched moans and grunts into his squeaking wail. He may also shoot up his head to look at you, desperate as he is for the attention. There you will have the rare misfortune of seeing the face of the rat man. He is called the rat man both for this odd slew of activity as well as his appearance.
His whole expression is pointed and sharp, long teeth stretching over his lip. His hair also, is long and dirty, strands of it clinging to his skin from sweat or dirt. The man will always be able to determine your position by the time he eyes you, no matter how stealthily you make your way to the grass. In his eyes there is a grey colour, a dull shade which reflects nothing.
Ralph Lauren was the name of a boy who one day went to look at the rat man. His family last saw him leave the home at 11 a.m., and, it being summer, thought nothing strange of it when by 6p.m. he still hadn’t returned. By 7p.m., they had grown worried, and so, his porn-addicted brother begrudgingly sat up from his bed to go look. He had only to go to the grass and call out the boy’s name when he came sprinting, screaming, covered in his own feces to his brother.
His brother, although holding experience of humans covered in excrement from his online endeavours, shrank away now that the real thing was so speedily presented him. Such was the expression of depravity.
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