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Memoirs of a Funeral House Mouse #4: More Mouse, More House More Mouse, Less House (Less Mouse, Less House? Mouse-to-house ratio currently under review.)
Friday, 11:21 pm
Today has been… eventful, to say the least. It’s far too late in the evening as I’m writing this, but I’m afraid I was in too much of a state of shock to write much, earlier on. Long story short (for now): there was a terrible misunderstanding, and now a crowd of angry villagers is trapping us all inside the house! Unfortunately, by “us”, I mean myself, Rudyard, Antigone, Georgie, and Eric Chapman, a situation that is sure to provide some interesting writing material in the morning. So far, Rudyard’s only had to be pulled away from him twice, which is a great improvement on his part. I think he might just be learning some patience: that, or it helps that we’ve locked him in his room for the time being. Georgie says it’s something she learned about cats and dogs (I shudder at the very mention!). You put one animal in one place, and the other in the room opposite, and you let them get used to each other's scents from behind the door. I think it’s worth a try, mainly because my own sense of smell is no longer bothered by Eric’s obscenely fragrant cologne. Antigone, unfortunately, has not, and has taken to spritzing embalming fluid into the air of her mortuary with a spray bottle to get rid of the smell. Georgie’s been very loudly cursing it. It makes for good entertainment, if I’m being perfectly honest.
Currently, I am sitting in my usual spot, which is the armchair in my mouse-hole between the Funn’s rooms. Well, more between Rudyard’s room and the abyss: I’m afraid Antigone’s has fallen into ruin since she began sleeping in the mortuary. I think there are still some magazine clippings on the walls, but I’ve always been too afraid to recover any. Depending on how long we’re stuck here, I may just have to take a look.
M.
—
Saturday, 11:09 pm
I’m afraid to report that nothing of import has happened during the past twenty-four hours. Rudyard remained in his room for most of the day, and Antigone in her mortuary. Georgie’s been terribly woeful, because of everything that happened at Jennifer’s—oh, I suppose I should update you, dear journal. There was a horrible fight, and neither one of them is giving up either of their stances: Georgie’s with us, and Jennifer’s with the horde out in the square. Well, not with them, but you get the point. It’s a terrible situation, though I suppose I should be glad Georgie’s on our side. I just can’t help but feel sorry for her, so I spent most of the day in her pocket. Rudyard wasn’t around to complain, however, being eerily quiet in his now-unlocked room.
Eric Chapman is still here, even a few of us would prefer him not to be. Antigone doesn’t seem to mind it, really, but she still won’t let him into her mortuary. He spent the night on the floor, the poor thing, since Georgie took the sofa. Still, I think it might be a humbling experience for him. What an idea!
M.
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Sunday, 9:00 pm: Day 3 of Confinement
I suppose you’ve noticed the count starting. Yes, it seems we’re there already, day three of all this nonsense. I’m just about ready to have it over with, but I haven’t ventured outside since the day before last. I’d feel like I was betraying everyone if I went out and about while they all stayed cooped up inside. It’s not so bad, really, especially when you have the walls to yourself. Georgie seems to be coping alright, now—she’s begun making me brand-new furniture with the bits of coffin-wood from the mortuary, and my mouse-hole has never looked more chic!
Rudyard’s taken a bit of a stranger route with his pastimes, I’m afraid. He’s been prowling up and down the halls, completely ignoring our unwanted guest. He keeps shouting things like, “I am so delighted Chapman isn’t here! Wouldn’t that be horrible?” and “What’s this strange noise I’m hearing? We must be haunted,” followed by raving laughter. We’re all getting a bit concerned, to be honest, especially since he swapped Eric’s reading glasses with a pair of Groucho Marx ones. The others don’t have a clue as to where he got them, or where the real glasses went, but I’ve noticed a new sort of abstract, wire sculpture in his room, so I have a bit of a suspicion. I’ve been put in charge of making sure he doesn’t hurt himself by accident, but I still managed to sneak away a few times, once I was sure Rudyard was asleep. Georgie’s still refusing to give up the sofa for Eric, but we found an old rug that’s sure to be a little more comfortable. Antigone doesn’t seem to be letting up on her mortuary policies any time soon, but she seems to be having a delightful time, reorganizing some of her various vials of chemicals. I suppose one gets used to spending a lot of time there, after seventeen years. Oh, I am glad she eventually came out of her shell. She seems much happier nowadays, even if she’s still stuck inside, for the time being. Though, I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Rudyard. He’s acting much less erratic, now, but we’re all still a bit worried.
M.
—
Monday, 10:57 pm: Day 4 of Confinement
Today, Eric got bored, and decided to treat us all to pancakes. He said he’d taken cooking classes from some of the best, but he must have failed them horribly, because they were all horrendous. Most of them looked more scrambled than cooked, and I think I saw him putting Worcestershire sauce in the batter. Being a mouse, I stuck to my morning cheese and cracker. Poor Georgie’s claimed she’s going vegan, in order to avoid them, which is a temporary solution at best. Antigone was the only one who ate them, the saint, and Rudyard has thrown his share to the mob outside. The ghost act has been dropped, and he’s now just outwardly spiteful. He’s taken up his old hobby of darts, particularly towards his photo collection of our guest. As a result, Eric has finally been let into the mortuary, due to safety concerns and Georgie’s doubtful willingness to protect him if the need arose. Antigone seems distraught about her new living situation, which consists now of more inward panicking than out. It’s nice that she’s learned to process her emotions properly, because Eric certainly hasn’t. Last I checked, he had set up his rug on the autopsy table, which is bound to be unhygienic—and, avoidance, if I’ve ever seen it. I’ve decided to let them be for the night, however. I assume I’ll get the whole story eventually.
M.
—
Tuesday, 7:15 pm: Day 5 of Confinement
I knew the mob outside was horribly cruel, but today they’ve gone too far! We had to barricade the letterbox a few days ago, you understand, because of how many things were being pushed through it. Early this morning, however, someone outside had the horrible idea to let in a garter snake! I was fighting for my life for ten entire minutes before Georgie came to the rescue. As it turns out, it can be quite easy to stuff things through the cracks of a five-hundred-year-old door. Sweet wrappers, hate mail, loose condiments—and that’s not even beginning to consider the windows! We’ve had to use just about every piece of fabric in the house to stop up the gaps. Rudyard even helped, though I think I saw him tearing up some rather familiar chenille…
Georgie has barricaded us in, and we’re all beginning to have some concerns as to when we’ll be let out. She seems to be doing well enough, anyhow—I think the work is doing her good. As for Antigone, she’s been keeping busy with the scaly fiend that attacked me. I think she’s trying to teach Eric how to embalm reptiles. He’s a natural at it, as usual, but I don’t think he’ll ever quite catch up to her in that department.
I did have a rather constructive chat with Rudyard, today, about his recent behaviour. He says he’s going to take a more civilized approach to Eric’s presence, which could go either very badly or very well. I suppose we shall see in the morning.
M.
—
Wednesday, 11:59 pm: Day 6 of Confinement
Rudyard did not, in fact, take my advice the right way. The good news is that he has committed no direct acts of aggression towards Eric Chapman in the past day, which may well be a new record. The bad news is that Rudyard has taken it upon himself to evict the man from the premises, which did not go over well. At some point, he managed to get fifty-four signatures from the crowd on his petition, arguing for the return of our guest to the screaming mob from whence he came. This decision was overruled by everyone else in the house, including Georgie, which was a surprise. Upon being defeated, Rudyard returned to his room to write a paper on proper polling procedure, and was not seen again for some time.
Unfortunately, the crowd was not pleased with our lack of follow-through, and cut our power and water supply at around four p.m. Due to our lack of groceries and safe cooking methods, Eric decided to make us a salad for dinner. Predictably enough, it was horrible, so Georgie built us an impressive fire, and we roasted the various vegetables instead. She is, and I quote, “great at roasting bad salads to make them taste good.”
Tonight, well, I seem to be putting the “ice” in “mice”. The fire is still going, which is why everyone is still huddled together in the living room. Rudyard is trying to get me to proofread his essay, but I would much rather wait until morning. There are much more interesting things that need my attention, such as the various conversation games that Eric keeps trying to start. Right now, he’s asking whether Antigone would rather be fluent in every language or be able to play every instrument. She’s telling him that it’s the former, because she tried playing violin, once, and she hated the sound. Georgie has fallen asleep on the sofa. Rudyard is writing away at the table. And now, Antigone is asking whether Eric would rather say everything ever on his mind or nothing at all, and for once he can’t decide.
That is all for tonight, dear journal. I do hope things get better in the morning.
M.
—
Thursday, 1:00 pm: Day 7 of Confinement
I’m afraid things are not going well for Rudyard, today. His diplomatic streak has worn off, and he’s returned to his room. He’s begun using his newfound passion for the English language to write poetry, although most of it is quite depressing. I do recognize some of the anthologies he’s been using as inspiration, and the door to Antigone’s old room was ajar, this morning… Better not to worry. At least he’s getting his emotions out somehow.
As for Antigone, well. I think Eric might have gotten a start on the processing-emotions thing. He’s been tripping over his own feet all day to open doors for her, hand her the scalpel, et cetera. It’s almost painful to watch, especially since I don’t think either one of them has actually addressed any of what’s going on. If I have to hear one more sappy compliment…
Oh, dear me! I must be turning into Rudyard. I suppose we’re all trading personalities, this week.
In other news, Georgie seems to be doing well. She made us a real breakfast today, with the very last of the canned vegetables. She says she’s going to try for groceries, today, just after we finish eating. It’s wonderful that she’s in higher spirits: or, at least, in high enough spirits to take a stab at escape. I do hope she succeeds: I don’t know how long we can subside on coffee grounds.
I am ever so anxious to see how all of this ends. A little afraid, yes, but I’m sure it will make an exciting story!
M.