Adelie

A very quiet, irregular scritching. The sort of noise that, if you drift awake to it, instantly brings you to full awareness. Adelie lay on the sofa-bed in the old farmhouse, in the dark, trying to picture in her head what she would do if it turned out to be a rat rather than a mouse. She'd handled plenty of both animals during her vet degree, but a feral rat was a different matter, with its own distinctive dangers. And where there was one there were almost certainly more.

She was going to have to do something, though, even if only make enough noise to scare the creature off until morning. The air was cold, just chill enough to make the thought of slipping out from under the cover unpleasant even without the unwanted guest. Where was the sound coming from? It was so quiet it was hard to tell, but… probably down by the far end of the bed? She'd have to pass it to get to the light switch. By the time she turned the light on, the mouse – she hoped it was a mouse – would be gone.

A deep, unsteady breath prepared her to move, but by the time she finished the noise had stopped. Had she really been that loud? Maybe she'd imagined it. It was a big house and she was here alone a lot. Most of the time she managed to suppress the urge to check round all those bare upstairs rooms for phantom noises. Maybe she could just go back to sleep – or try to.

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Moving as fast as she could while still convincing herself she wasn't panicking, Adelie slipped out of the bed and crossed to the doorframe, navigating clumsily by touch. Her hand was unsteady as she scrabbled up the wall to find the switch. When the lights came on they stung her eyes. There was no sound of scurrying.

Blinking, she let her eyes adjust. If there had been a rat or mouse, it would have left droppings. Even a few minutes' visit by a single rodent would always leave droppings. The carpet was pale, pale enough that black pellets would stand out. Hugging herself for warmth that her PJ t-shirt couldn't provide, Adelie knelt down and started to look for spoor.

Just at the foot of the sofa-bed, the notepad Petunia had brought to the farm lay open. She'd forgotten to take it back with her after their crisis meeting before the Aletsch Gorge race. It had lain on the floor where she'd left it for the better part of a fortnight, pen tucked neatly into its ringbinding.

Now the pen lay discarded on the carpet next to it, and across a clean page of the pad, unsteady handwriting read:

'I mean you no harm'.

Adelie tore the page out and binned it, closed the notepad – was it unusually cold to the touch? – and tucked the pen away. Skin tingling with the chill, she lay down on the bed again and wrapped herself in the blanket, leaving the light on. It felt like a very long time until dawnlight began to warm the edges of the curtain.