Daniel froze. His mouth grew dry, eyes fixated on the imprints in the dirt. A memory, repressed from trauma rose up from the dark ravine of his mind, forming like a ghost amongst his thoughts. Years ago, he had moved. The new house was cramped and stretched, nothing like the sprawling, fat property that sat in the memories of his toddler years. It was a rickety, creaking old thing, squeezed among other houses on a bustling street, sardines in a can. Both his parents had disappeared shortly after arriving, his father to sort out last minute arrangements with the greasy salesman, and his mother to attempt to cook a serviceable dinner for the trio. Ever curious, and very bored, young Daniel had crept down the wood stairs leading to the small basement underneath the property. The secrets that the shadows held had filled him with excitement and fear in equal measure, pulling him slowly into the dark confines of the room. He had crouched, back against the wall, walking slowly towards the white string a few short feet from the bottom step, the key instrument in unveiling the secrets of the dank chamber.

A tug and a click had elicited a flickering buzz from a hanging bulb, which slowly fought back the gloom. The room’s contents were revealed. Reality checked his fantasy of hidden treasure or magical secrets. Instead, he was greeted by crumbling brick walls, peeping through cracks in once-white plaster. The stained floor provided a sharp contrast with the thick layer of dust, which acted as protection from whatever grime had soaked into the material beneath. A pattern of prints left behind by rodents crisscrossed the dusty concrete, all leading ultimately to a particularly large crack in the plaster, through which nothing but black could be seen. Sneaking, slinking, closer and closer to the hole Daniel crept. Suddenly, The sound of a sharp pop ambushed him. The sound travelling up his leg, as something cracked beneath the boy's feet. Jerking his foot back, Daniel fell on his rear, clouds of dust rising, painting his clothes a faded grey. His skin erupted with goosebumps, and his heart beat thrice as fast as before. Looking shakily down at the source of his scare, the boy saw a field of fuzzy bones spread out, increasing in their density closer to the hole in the corner of the room. Crawling, carefully, the boy picked his way between the bones, kneeling perpendicular to the wall, right hand placed firmly, squarely, next to the crack. Bending his head, the boy examined a set of particularly new bones, enthralled by their remarkable cleanliness, as if picked clean by small sets of teeth.

Casting his view further, the child saw tracks encircling both the bones and the hole. The prints were almost like those of a miniature human. Almost being the key word. The toes of their owner were much longer, splayed and clawed, with a pad that was unnaturally stretched, stretched like putty in an infant's hands. Sets crisscrossed the area all around the opening, the depth of dust telling their age. The boy shifted, so engrossed in the story told by the tracks he did not hear it. Not, at least, until it was too late. A scratching, scraping, scoring sound emerged from the depths of the small crack, small squeaking growing in pitch and volume. Looking down, the boy watched, part in fascination, part in horror, as a pointed, crud covered muzzle emerged from the dark depths, jaw open wide, long yellow teeth raising slowly, falling slowly, finding purchase in the little boy’s hand. He stared down, curiosity blotting out the pain momentarily, as blood leaked from beneath the blackish brown squirming ball of grot and fur. His mind hung there, as if in a trance, for what seemed an eternity, before the spell broke, and he screamed. Panic took him, memory and reason shoved violently from the cockpit of his mind, something primal taking the control. The memory spiraled slowly back into the ravine, recollection blurring, distant screaming, thudding, and thrashing the only records of the remainder of the experience.

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The rat haunted his dreams for countless nights after, the sharp silvery line above his thumb an ever present reminder of his stupidity. Of his lack of caution.

Shaking memory’s hold upon him Daniel looked up from his scarred hand, and back at the tracks. They were identical to those in his old nightmares, only bigger. Much bigger. Firmly pressing down the irrational fear welling up inside, he crouched slowly next to the prints, tracing the indents softly with his finger. The creature appeared to be a bipedal, larger, version of pre-Incident rats. Casting his eyes further, it did not seem to be alone, with at least five other sets of separate tracks visible in the dirt to even his untrained eye. They also seemed to be a day or so old, the footprints still quite distinct, but the edges of them all quite worn.

Straightening up, Daniel stretched. Rats were already extremely smart for animals before the Incident, and without the humans present, and a few hundred years of supergrowth, they had most likely risen to the top of the food chain. They might even have developed tools and a society. Whatever the case, the spot they were living in was probably the best in the area. He’d have to get a look at what the situation was, having a large, intelligent threat near his home did not sound like a good plan. Who knew? Instead of moving on, maybe he could even steal their home from them? He liked that plan. The man began to sneak once more from tree to tree, eagerly following the tracks towards what was, hopefully, a perfect home for him to take.