The Mouse Whisperer: Tara Campbell

Tara Campbell

Tara Campbell (www.taracampbell.com) is a writer, teacher, Kimbilio Fellow, and fiction co-editor at Barrelhouse. She teaches flash and speculative fiction, and is the author of two novels, two hybrid collections, and two short story collections. Her sixth book, City of Dancing Gargoyles (SFWP), was a finalist for the 2025 Philip K. Dick Award, in Reactor Magazine’s “Best Books of 2024,” and on Locus and SFWA's recommended reading lists.

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Chapter 1: Maggie Finds Her Inner Squeak

Maggie Connelly stared at the pile of messages stacked up on her desk. She knew exactly what was written on each slip of paper—she’d taken down all the messages herself.

It had been a week since she’d figured out that Jasper, her sole employee, had taken off with a month’s worth of her company’s income. The calls kept coming in, but now she didn’t have anyone to pass them along to. She’d never been out in the field herself. She’d never driven the van; she didn’t know anything about the equipment. She didn’t know the first thing about pests or how to control them.

It was actually her father’s business, but Maggie was learning how to manage it since he’d been killed while treating the Johanssons’ house for termites. The very creatures he was hunting had weakened the wood beneath his feet, causing him to trip and spray himself with a lethal dose of insecticide. People wondered how such a thing could happen to a man who had been in his line of work for thirty years. But then, they would remind themselves, many a lumberjack has been felled by his own ax.

Now Jasper was on the lam, and all Maggie could do was start referring these customers to someone else while the police searched for her missing employee—and her money.

But then what would she do? She wasn’t particularly good at school, so she hadn’t planned on college. She hadn’t learned another trade, and seeing as how she wasn’t exactly a knockout, she wasn’t placing any bets on finding a rich husband either. At this point, the pest control business seemed to be her best bet.

And she couldn’t just give up on the family business, not just yet.

Maggie picked up one of the scraps of paper that had been piling up: a mouse problem within walking distance. A mouse, I can handle a mouse, she told herself. She dialed the number.

Mrs. Smythe was pleasantly surprised to hear from her: “Oh, Maggie, dear, I didn’t think you were still open. Why, yes, we’d still like you to come over. Yes, this afternoon would be wonderful.”

Maggie put on the cleanest pair of coveralls she could find, looped her father’s pest sprayer over her shoulders, and headed to the Smythes’.

Mrs. Smythe greeted her at the door, tea towel in hand. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

“No thanks,” answered Maggie. “I’ll just get to work.”

Maggie wasn’t exactly sure what was supposed to happen next. She would do a walkthrough, she decided, and maybe that would give her an idea. Hopefully Mrs. Smythe would drift off and let the “expert” do her work. Maggie wished she’d gone out with her dad on some of his trips . . .

Maggie heard the mice squeaking and chattering boldly behind the walls as she walked down the hallway. She tapped the walls and stomped on the floor in several places, hoping that would give the appearance of a real assessment taking place. Mrs. Smythe followed close behind her.

“Is that a power pump?”

Maggie turned around, wondering why Mrs. Smythe had asked her question with such a strange little voice. “No, it’s a spray pump,” she answered.

“Pardon?” asked Mrs. Smythe, now speaking normally. “Did you need something?”

“Um . . . no, thank you.” Maggie turned back around and walked into the kitchen. The mice scrabbled over her head inside the ceiling.

“She doesn’t look very mean,” said the funny little voice again. Maggie spun around, startling Mrs. Smythe.

“Yes dear?” the older woman asked.

Maggie opened her mouth to speak when the little voice sneered, “Those coveralls are too big for her.” Mrs. Smythe’s mouth wasn’t moving.

“Mrs. Smythe, is there anyone else home?”

“No, dear, why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Her mind raced. “Mind if I try something? Alone?”

Mrs. Smythe hesitated, then left the kitchen.

Maggie waited until the creak of Mrs. Smythe’s step in the hallway receded. She peeped out the kitchen door to make sure she was alone. Quietly, sheepishly, she started to squeak, “Eee-eee-eee . . .”

The scratching in the ceiling and walls stopped. From behind the plaster, Maggie heard them:

“Who was that?”

“Is she talking to us?”

“This is seriously creeping me out!”

And with a great scrabbling and thumping, all the mice piled out of the house to get away from the “monster” who was talking to them.

Maggie beamed—she’d finally found her special talent. Now all she had to do was figure out how to use it. She raced home and fished through all her messages, pulling out the mouse problems. Then she picked up the phone and booked herself solid for the rest of the week.

The first couple of times she actually tried to help the mice, squeaking little tips to them as she did her walkthrough:

“Go next door, their traps are old.” Ee-ee-eeee e eee-ee . . .

“The Mulvaney’s cat is lazy.” E eee ee-eeee . . .

“The Sanfords never clean out their woodpile.” E eeee-e ee-eeee . . .

But she could never tell if the mice took her advice because all they did was run around screeching, “What is this? A woman speaking mouse? It’s a monster!”

Without fail, all the mice would be gone before she’d even finished unpacking her equipment. With nobody around to observe, she could do just about anything she wanted—spray with water, lay down baking soda, set traps without springs. The mice would be long gone, and she would have done her work without any killing.

Maggie’s business plan was simple: scare crap out of mice, collect check from homeowner.

Occasionally during her walkthrough, some of the mice behind the walls snickered, “They sent a woman to do a man’s job.” Then she would just yell, “I’m coming to kill you all!” In Mouse, this came out as one long, shrill shriek. She didn’t care who heard. She just hoped it would give all the sexist little jerks heart attacks.

“She’s a little eccentric,” her clients would say, “but she got rid of the mice.” They started calling her “The Mouse Whisperer,” and had no qualms referring her to anyone with pest problems. The calls to her office multiplied.

Maggie focused her business on rodents. Keeping bugs on the list of services would have meant talking to cockroaches, and she didn’t really like the idea of hanging out with them long enough to find out if she actually could. Besides, she had enough business at the moment. The mice were running from house to house, and she was busy running after them.

 

Chapter 2: Dimitri Puts His Paw Down

Winter was coming and Dimitri, a recent arrival from the old country, was getting tired of being chased from house to house.

“Friends,” he would ask the other mice, “has anything really happened? Has any mouse perished? Has anyone actually met unfortunate end?”

“Friend,” they sneered in reply, “look at how many houses there are here. Why bother to stay in one place when there are so many delicious crumbs in the others?”

“We had many houses in old country as well, friends,” Dimitri replied. “But house is only building. When we fight for house, then is special. Then is home.”

The other mice just shrugged and ran.

“I am tired of running, running, running,” Dimitri huffed. “I will stay here. Let woman in coveralls try to remove me.” He folded his arms and sat on his haunches to wait, nose twitching with disdain for the mice who had left.

 

Chapter 3: Maggie Gets Down to Business

Maggie signed up for an accounting class to keep track of the money she was bringing in. Her father had never made the transition to keeping his accounts on the computer, so she had to plow through piles of ledgers and receipts to transfer his records.

As she pored through his books, she realized they weren’t quite as straightforward as she’d hoped. In fact, they were kind of a mess. Bounced payroll checks, receipts for supplies and equipment in Jasper’s name—as far as she could tell, even the four-week take he’d run off with didn’t cover all the money owed him. Cold as it was, given their cash flow at the time Jasper left, he was probably smart to cut and run with whatever he could get.

The police still had no leads on his whereabouts. Ironically, since he’d left she was doing so much work with such little overhead, she actually could have afforded to pay him.

 

Chapter 4: The Squeaking Winds of Change

There was something strange at the McBrides’: a mouse who wouldn’t leave.

Maggie was in the van, driving back to the office and reflecting on the unusual visit she’d just had. She’d come in, said her piece to the mice, and lain down baking soda while they all ran. All but one—and that one wasn’t budging. None of the usual tricks had worked, and of course she hadn’t brought anything lethal with her. She’d even tried her long, primal mouse scream, and had barely been able to conceal her shock when she’d heard the reply: “I will never leave!”

She couldn’t let a mouse defy her like that, right in front of a client. That would be bad for business. She’d told the McBrides she would come back that afternoon to check on the “poison;” and as she drove back to home base, she mulled over which piece of equipment to use with the recalcitrant rodent.

Back at the office, Maggie picked up a can of poison. She pictured a mouse coughing and wheezing its last breath before curling up on its side and stiffening in a final spasm of pain. No, not poison.

She fingered a trap and imagined a mouse running toward it in ecstasy over the delectable scent of cheese. She tested the spring and jumped at the crack of metal on wood. Maggie pushed the image of a mouse clawing at its pinned leg out of her mind and put the trap back on the shelf.

She looked over at the canister she had used on her first mouse-hunting trip. She had since found out that you weren’t even supposed to spray for mice. Of course the mice didn’t know that and neither did her customers; but still, it wasn’t authentic, so she’d gradually phased it out of her repertoire.

But this mouse is different, she thought. Maybe it’s time to dust off the big guns.

As soon as she lifted the canister off the ground, she remembered that she hadn’t emptied out the water since the last time she’d used it. She wrinkled her nose at how rusty and scuzzy it had probably gotten inside. Then her eyebrow darted up and a smile slowly replaced the sneer on her face.

That’ll look nice and toxic!

She threw the strap over her shoulder and strode out to the van.

 

Chapter 5: The Showdown

Back at the McBrides’, the termites were lining up to watch the show. Unlike the mice, who just ran and nibbled from house to house, the termites were curious. They’d heard about “The Squeaker” and wanted to see her in action, so they took a break from their inexorable chewing-to-death of the McBrides’ house and waited for the woman in coveralls to return.

Dimitri peered out into the living room through a hole in the wall. He didn’t normally pay attention to termites, but their accumulation around the corners and between the floorboards had become noticeable. As the vibrations from the pest control van rumbled through the ground, a tinny, buzzing roar rose up from the crowd of insects.

Savages! he thought to himself. Just looking for big show!

The front door flew open and the woman in coveralls clomped in. She held up the wand of her sprayer and screeched, “E eee-ee ee eeee eeee!”

She gives me one last chance?! Dimitri couldn’t believe his ears. He scrambled out from behind the wall and screamed, “Woman in coveralls, I tell you again, I will never leave!”

The termites cheered and latecomers streamed out from under the floorboards. Dimitri could have sworn he heard the bleat of tiny trumpets in the noise of the crowd.

The woman stepped into the room and slammed the door shut. As she stalked toward him, Dimitri heard the slosh of liquid in the canister strapped to her back. With every footfall he felt a bit of his resolve crumble. His whiskers twitched as he tried to remember why he wasn’t running off to new cheeses and attics elsewhere.

The woman stopped a couple of feet away from him. She slipped the nozzle into a holster at her hip, crouched down before him and whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to do my job.”

Dimitri dropped to all fours, ready to jump away from whichever hand or foot she might use to strike at him. But she didn’t lash out at all.

“Look,” she said, “if you don’t have anywhere to go…”

There was still time for him to join the other mice, stay with them as they ran from house to house. But he heard the murmur of termites in the background, and he knew they were waiting for a battle. Unimportant as they were to him, he still couldn’t bring himself to back down right in front of them.

“If you don’t have anywhere to go,” she continued, “I’ll find a home for you.” She extended a hand in his direction.

A home… He’d never known what it was to have a home. To go back to the same warm, dry place every day. To have food given to you instead of filling your belly with stolen bread. In his mind he conjured an image of himself and the woman in coveralls sitting by a roaring fire, he in a normal-sized armchair, she in a massive one, trading sections of the newspaper. At home.

The termites were getting restless. Their buzzy rumbling grew, intermittently pierced with tiny shouts of “Hey, come on!” and “Bite her already!” Dimitri noticed a rough-looking group of juveniles duck down between the floorboards. Something about the way they all moved at once made him uneasy. Moments later the same swarm of hot-headed young termites stuck their heads up between the cracks in the floor and bit Dimitri’s feet. He lunged forward with a screech, mouth open in shock, heading right toward the woman’s outstretched hand.

The woman pulled her hand away and jumped back. “Eeee-eeeeeeeee!” In a red-faced fury, she grabbed the nozzle from her holster and released a fountain of brownish liquid upon the crowd. The termites scattered in a chaos of insect entropy. Dimitri squealed and ran, gasping and coughing, back behind the wall. He heard the crush of termites under the woman’s boots as she came after him.

The woman stuck the nozzle into the hole he’d just passed through, soaking his fur with more of the grisly liquid. Sputtering and squeaking, he retreated into the bowels of the house.

 

Chapter 6: The Aftermath

“Dammit!”

Maggie stood in back of the van, shaking so hard she could barely get the canister off her back. She wrestled it off her shoulders and threw it in through the open doors. “That stupid, goddamn—”

She stopped and gritted her teeth. Her dad hated it when she cursed.

But that thing had tried to bite her! Her fear had turned instantly into anger and she’d sprayed the hell out of that little asshole. She’d firebombed the little f—she thought of her dad—furry guy. Too bad it was only water. That stupid mouse was probably laughing it up with his buddies right now.

Maggie slammed the van’s back doors shut, stomped around the side and yanked open the driver’s side door. She climbed in and slumped in her seat. She’d shown her hand, all right. She’d ruined her reputation as soon as she’d sprayed. Now all the mice would come back and she could kiss the family business goodbye.

Leaning forward, she rested her head against the steering wheel. “Sorry, Dad,” she whispered. Maggie sat up, turned the key, and drove home.

#

Dimitri trembled behind the wall until he heard the van drive away. He had to resist his natural impulse to groom himself; he’d already ingested enough of her vile poison! As soon as he was sure she was gone he ran outside, outstripping the exodus of termites, and rolled around in the grass, cats be damned. Let them eat his poisoned body and join him in death!

Dimitri rolled and panted and rolled again until he was as dry as he could possibly get. Exhausted, he lay on his back and wondered how long he had to live. He hadn’t been able to avoid swallowing some of the poison. It actually hadn’t tasted like he’d imagined something that evil would taste. In fact, it tasted like…

Could it be? he asked himself.

He rolled over onto his feet.

Is only water!

Now that death by poisoning was no longer imminent, death by cat loomed large. Dimitri scrambled back toward the house, moving against a dwindling stream of termites.

Back in the living room, the floor was still wet. He could see the meandering trails the panicked insects had left amongst the flattened corpses of their compatriots. He saw his own damp footprints. If that had really been poison…

The woman in coveralls wasn’t a monster after all.

 

Chapter 7: So What Now?

Maggie sat at her father’s desk with a cup of coffee—she’d taken up the habit since he wasn’t around to drink it anymore—flipping absent-mindedly through glossy promotional catalogs. She’d been toying with the idea of getting some giveaways, maybe baseball caps or shirts, but there didn’t seem to be any point to that now.

The phone rang and she picked it up.

“Ms. Connelly, it’s Detective Hollis. We’ve got some good news for you. We’ve located Jasper Bates.”

“Oh?” She’d just about put that possibility out of her mind. Now that it had actually happened she didn’t know what to say.

“We got a tip from a local resident on vacation in Vegas. Precinct out there picked him up.”

“Vegas, huh?”

“Yeah,” chuckled the officer. “The place draws crooks like a magnet. Anyway, this won’t be difficult, Ms. Connelly; he confessed to everything.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, said he just needed the money to start up his own pest control business. Went out to Vegas to build up his—your—nest egg a little more. Lost it all gambling, of course.”

“Did he?” Maggie thought about the bounced payroll checks and receipts piled up in her father’s books.

“Knucklehead. Anyway, we’re going to bring him back here and—”

“No need,” she interrupted.

“Pardon me?”

“I’m dropping the charges.” Having this on his record would just make things harder on him. No need for her to ruin two lives in one day.

It took a while to convince Officer Hollis she wasn’t going to change her mind. Maggie hung up and turned her attention back to the catalogs, opening them one last time to the pages she’d dog-eared. With a sigh, she stood up and dumped them into the recycle bin. It was early yet, but she decided to take the bin out to the curb to get the catalogs completely out of her sight.

Bottles clicked against cans as she set the bin on the sidewalk. Just as she turned to go back in, she heard a small, high voice call out: “Hey, Squeaker!”

Oh jeez, have they come all the way here to mock me? She turned around wearily, bracing for the screechy laughter of a pack of furry hecklers.

“I am Dimitri.” He was alone.

Maggie peered at him. “Hey, aren’t you…”

He nodded.

“Well, what do you want?” she grunted. “Aren’t you all busy moving back into the McBrides’?”

He shook his head vigorously. “Woman—”

“Maggie.”

“Meggie, listen to me. Is no problem. Termites are terrified; will not return. As for mice, well, if they think I am gone . . . I mean, if they do not see me around anymore . . .”

“Where are you going to go?” she asked.

Dimitri puffed his cheeks and breathed out with exasperation. “Meggie, if they think I am captured by you, like prisoner . . .”

“You mean like a pet?”

“Yes, is what I said. If they see this, maybe then they will remain afraid. Good for business, yes?”

Maggie cocked her head and crossed her arms.

“Tell me, Meggie, do you have fireplace?”

She frowned and shook her head.

“No matter. Do we have deal?”

She looked at Dimitri a good long while.

Dimitri stared back, whiskers twitching.

Maggie uncrossed her arms and took the catalogs out of the recycle bin. She looked up and down the street, then unlatched the door and held it open.

“Welcome home, Dimitri,” she whispered.

 

Chapter 8: Home Sweet Home

The one thing Dimitri hadn’t factored into his bucolic image of home life, aside from the possibility of there not being a fireplace, was the fact that he couldn’t read the paper. It hadn’t occurred to him that it would be written in English, not Mouse. He was determined, however, to make this part of his dream come true; so while Maggie sat at the kitchen table with the morning paper, he sat on the table looking at the pictures and asking her what they all meant.

“Meggie, who is this woman?” he squeaked. “She is beautiful!”

Maggie replied in Mouse, as always. “Which picture are you looking at?”

“This one!” He poked at the paper above the fold.

Maggie stifled a giggle. “Um… that’s Minnie Mouse.”

“Minnie Mouse. Is she important woman? Why is she in paper?”

“That’s just an ad for Disneyland. It’s a theme park, a place people go on vacation.”

“Ah, I see,” said Dimitri, nodding. “She owns park, must be very important businesswoman.”

“Ummm . . .

“Meggie, do you know her? I must meet her. She is beautiful!”

“Dimitri, she’s a cartoon character. She’s not real.“

“How is not real?” he huffed. “Is in newspaper!” Knowing he wasn’t going to get any real answers, he crawled over to the edge of the paper and started to turn the page.

“Hey, I’m not done yet!”

“Pardon,” he said, burping softly from his breakfast. At least the part about eating well at home was true.

“Ah, go ahead . . .” Maggie put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm as Dimitri pushed over a new page. “We need a cage,” she murmured.

He looked at her with death in his eyes.

“I mean, for the sake of appearances.”

“Echhh!”

“Look, Dimitri, it was your idea. It has to look like you’re trapped here or your plan’s not going to work. On the other hand,” she said, flipping over another page, “if your only plan was to lie around reading the paper and eating cheese all day, it seems to be working just fine.”

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at her. But he knew she was right. “Okay, Meggie, do what you must . . .”

Maggie fetched an old cage from the shop below. A cloud of dust floated up as she plunked it on the table. “Here’s your new home.”

Dimitri sniffed at bits of rust that had pattered onto the paper while Maggie reached under the sink and pulled out some cleaning rags. She set to work on the cage, but Dimitri just stewed and mimicked her. “Is your new home,” he sneered. “I am being put in cage by girl who does not even speak proper Mouse.”

She scowled and rummaged around under the sink again. “What are you talking about?”

“Ha, you do not even know how your accent sounds. You sound like—how you say here—you sound like country pumpkin.”

“Bumpkin, Dimitri, it’s bumpkin.” She cut off a small piece of Brillo pad and tossed it at him. “Now shut up and get to work.”

He snickered and she “accidentally” dripped some water on him. He stopped laughing and started grooming himself.

“Who are you to try to teach me proper Mouse, anyway?” she said, scrubbing furiously.

“American Mouse is not proper Mouse. I will show you proper Mouse, where I come from: Ehh echh eeee eee echhh.”

“Eeee, Dimitri, are you having a seizure?” she laughed.

He stopped mid-sentence and glared at her. Her laugh stuck in her throat.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri.” She reached over to touch his paw. “I didn’t mean to mock your language, it was a bad joke. This whole Mouse thing still doesn’t seem real to me, I guess. I’m sorry.”

They continued cleaning in silence, she working on the outside, he on the inside. When they were done, she shooed him out and filled the cage with towels, fluffing them up into a little nest. He stepped back inside and sniffed around, nestling in. His eyes sparkled, but all he said was, “Hmmph, I suppose this will do.”

“Wait,” said Maggie. She lifted the cage and slid the newspaper out from underneath it. “Just you wait.” She tore out the picture of Minnie Mouse and taped it to his wall.

Dimitri wiped a tear from his eye.

 

Chapter 9: The Jig Is Up

Dimitri spent most of his time outside the cage, but he learned how to get in and close the door behind him in case someone came to the house. Maggie also taught him how to pop the lock and get out again once the coast was clear.

Dimitri found that the cage was the perfect place to nap while Maggie was out chasing the other mice. He would drift off looking up at Minnie and dream about meeting her one day. He just didn’t know yet what he would do about her business partner Mickey.

He was always awake by the time Maggie got home. She was usually carrying something good to eat and would report on the ridiculous things his mice brethren had said that day.

“They’re terrified, Dimitri!” she would laugh. “They say I’m starving you. They think I’m torturing you!”

He was amazed that they still hadn’t figured her out. American mice… he would think, shaking his head.

One morning, as Dimitri picked breakfast crumbs off Maggie’s plate, she announced that it was time he learned to read. “Look,” she said, “you’ve heard me speaking on the phone enough by now, you must have picked up at least a little English.”

Dimitri stopped chewing. How does she think I can speak English? he asked himself. I do not have big, blubbery people lips. “Meggie,” he said, “I am not brilliant polyglot like you.”

“Nonsense, you can at least learn to understand a little bit. We’ll start with the ads. Or wait, the comics!” She flipped through the paper and pointed at the panels. “See, pictures!”

 “All right Meggie,” he said, licking the crumbs from his paws and wiping them on his sides. “I will learn to read English.” He preferred being read to, but on the other hand, maybe it would be a good idea to learn some of the language of his “captor.”

They bent over the paper and she sounded out the words for him. They were halfway down the page—she had decided to skip Doonesbury—when they heard a squeak at the window.

They looked up. The windowpane framed the faces of three young mice wearing expressions of shock. Dimitri scrambled toward his cage, but it was too late. One of the young mice pointed at him and screeched, “Eee-ee!”: “Faker!” The trio of tiny heads disappeared from the window.

Dimitri and Maggie looked at each other.

“This isn’t good,” she said.

He unlocked his cage and joined her on the table again. “They will tell everyone. Looks like jug is up.”

“Jig, Dimitri. The jig is up.”

“Is no time for dancing, Meggie, we must think.” He sat on his haunches and stroked his whiskers. “They need to think you are dangerous. If no mouse is dying, you are not dangerous.” He stopped stroking his whiskers and looked down. “Mouse must now die, Meggie.”

“Dimitri!”

“Or?” he mumbled into his chest fur.

“No, Dimitri, no mouse must die.”

He looked up at her. “You are mocking my speaking again?”

She rolled her eyes, “Get over it, Dimitri. However you want to say it, I’m not killing anyone.” And she knew an idle gesture when she saw one.

“But we still must scare mice.”

“Exactly!” she said, snapping her fingers. She pointed at him. “You’re brilliant!”

“Um, Meggie, did you not just say—”

“Yes, yes, no mouse must die. It just has to look like it.” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “We have to make it look like you’re dead.”

“I am only simple mouse,” he demurred, paw to chest. “Not famous actress like Minnie.”

“That’s okay, Dimitri, you don’t have to do much. We’ll do a public execution, so everyone will see, but no one can get close enough to tell!”

“So you will kill me but not kill me?”

“Exactly.”

He folded his arms and thought about it for a moment. “Do I get to choose?”

Maggie knitted her brow.

“Choose, choose,” he repeated. “Pick how I am executed.” He liked the idea of a firing squad. Standing bravely at the post, he would eschew the blindfold and look squarely at the firing squad. He would puff on his last cigarette, spit it out and say—he would have to come up with something noble and pithy, yet elegiac . . .

Maggie broke into his reverie: “Well, let’s brainstorm. You know, come up with different ideas together. Whatever it is, we’re going to have to figure out how to actually do it.”

Even if she’d had a gun, Maggie didn’t like the idea of pointing it at him, so the firing squad was out. Dimitri doubted any of the other mice would know Socrates, so drinking hemlock wouldn’t resonate. They briefly discussed the merits of a hanging, and Maggie described how she could rig up a mock gallows. Dimitri put a paw to his throat and suggested they keep on “headstorming.”

Maggie snapped her fingers and ran up to the attic. Ten minutes later she came back with a pink plastic Barbie chair.

“From the Dreamhouse,” she explained, setting it down on the table.

“So I am to sit myself to death? I do not think they will stay to watch me die of poor circulation.”

“Ha ha,” she deadpanned, grabbing a roll of tinfoil from the drawer. “I’m heading down to Dad’s workshop for supplies.”

“Supplies?” Dimitri asked nervously.

“Dad was a bit of a pyro,” Maggie grinned.

 

Chapter 10: Nice Day for an Execution

“Mice,” thundered Maggie, “I have been too patient for too long!”

She stood on a patch of grass across the street from the middle school, addressing the murmuring crowd of mice before her. The lawn had just been watered, but they had no choice: they’d been shooed away from the front steps of the school, which probably had more to do with the dozens of mice following them than the stated reason that it wasn’t a school-sponsored activity.

On top of a spare piece of plywood from the van, Maggie had built a pyramid of milk crates and filled them with wires, transponders, and two heavy-duty batteries. Dimitri was in the driest spot on top of the pyramid. His crate, placed on its side with the opening facing the audience, was draped in black cloth for dramatic effect. A curtain of red velvet hung across the opening, concealing him from the curious public until the right moment.

Behind the cloth, Dimitri muttered softly. Maggie elbowed his crate and told him to just be quiet.

“Mice,” she yelled out to the crowd, “I know you have heard many rumors—perhaps hopeful but ultimately impossible rumors—about my supposed friendship with a prisoner. These allegations of companionship are not true!”

She clomped across the plywood to hook up the last of the wires. “And because of you and the lies you have spread, I must put this prisoner to death.” Maggie leaned over the top of the pyramid and whipped the curtain aside.

The crowd gasped.

Dimitri sat in the Barbie chair, which he and Maggie had painted a somber black. His front and rear legs were shackled to the chair with twist-ties. Metallic cuffs sprouting dangerous-looking wires encircled all four of his limbs. On his head was perched a tinfoil cap bristling with more wires, which arced theatrically upward and backward before disappearing behind the chair.

“Remember, mice,” yelled Maggie, “The blood of this prisoner is on your hands!”

“Okay, Meggie,” whispered Dimitri, nervously. “Let’s go.”

“Eeee-eeeee!” she screeched. “The blood of this victim is on your lying tongues!”

“Eeeech, Meggie, just throw switch!” Dimitri closed his eyes and heard the thunk of a lever being pushed into place, followed by a pop and the buzz of current. His eyes flew open again when he heard a yelp from Maggie, followed by a muffled thump—then silence.

Dimitri tried to get out of the chair, but the twist-ties held him tight. “Meggie!” he yelled. The sparklers taped to the back of his chair ignited and the crowd fell back.

“Meggie, I am coming!” As the sparklers crackled and fizzed, Dimitri squinted against the smoke and struggled to free himself.

“Stop it, Dimitri, you’re spoiling it!”

He opened his eyes. “Meggie, you are okay?”

“I’m fine,” she hissed. “Just die already.”

Now that he knew Meggie was all right, Dimitri could pretend to expire in peace. He convulsed in an energetic rendition of his final moments on Earth, lolling his head to one side at the end of his performance.

Maggie pulled the lever back to the off position and waved away the last of the smoke. She looked out into the field and saw the bobbing rumps of mice fleeing in every direction. She started to unfasten the twist-ties, whispering to Dimitri to go limp, then lifted him up and laid him out on top of the pyramid, just in case anyone was still watching.

Dimitri cracked an eye open. “Coast is clear?”

She looked back at the field again. “Yeah, I think.”

He rolled over on one elbow to watch her unhook the wires from the batteries. “You know what you forgot, Meggie? You forgot final words.”

“What?”

“I did not get to say final words, like proper execution.”

“And whose fault was that, Mr. Just-Throw-Switch?”

“Well,” he sighed, rolling to his feet and standing on his hind legs. “I would have marvelous last words. Very inspiring. But you miss chance to hear.”

“Oh my god . . .” Maggie yanked the last cord out and stuffed it into his arms. “Here, help me clean up.”

“I tell you, Meggie, do not underestimate power of Dimitri’s speech.”

“No, never underestimate Dimitri,” piped a squeaky voice from the field.

Maggie and Dimitri spun around to see a small, dark grey mouse sitting upright on her hind legs, nose in the air, eyes glistening. Her front paws were clasped authoritatively together, but her twitching whiskers betrayed a touch of anxiety.

“Veronika!” gasped Dimitri.

She nodded.

“Who the hell is this?” Maggie murmured, stepping toward the new mouse. Veronika scrambled several paces backward, but didn’t leave.

“Dimitri,” Maggie whispered, “do something. She knows you’re not dead.”

“Do not worry, she will say nothing.”

“How do you know? Who is she?”

He didn’t answer.

“Look, we have to catch her, she knows too much!”

“You are now mafia?”

Maggie assessed the distance between her and Veronika. “Dimitri, we’ve got to keep her from telling everyone. Do you want me to have to kill you again?”

“Will not be necessary,” he said, more to Veronika than Maggie. “This one knows value of secrets, do you not, Mauschka.”

Veronika came closer, stopping just outside Maggie’s reach. “Very cheap, Dimitri, and very sad.” She stood up and preened her ears. “‘Mauschka’ days are over. Do not further humiliate yourself.”

Dimitri looked at Maggie and shrugged. “Was worth to try.”

“Are you blushing?” Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Did you guys used to—”

“Past is past,” squeaked Veronika.

“Is pity,” sighed Dimitri. “But if past is past, why are you here?”

Veronika looked Maggie up and down, then turned toward Dimitri and started a conversation in a dialect only the two of them understood. Maggie folded her arms and scowled. “Rude,” she muttered.

“Echh, she does not know you yet,” explained Dimitri, turning back toward her.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Well, what did she say?”

Dimitri stroked his whiskers. “Secret is safe with her—”

“Good.”

“—as long as—”

“What?”

“She wants same deal as me.”

“Wait, what?!”

“She will come, be new prisoner.”

“Hang on,” fumed Maggie, “I’m not running a resort for all the mice of Eastern Europe.”

“Central Europe,” he corrected her.

“Whatever. What’s she even doing here anyway?”

“I have no idea. First thing first, I have negotiated from her silence on this . . .” He waved an arm to showcase their sham execution. “Plenty of time to ask more questions at home.”

 

Chapter 11: Dimonika

 

Maggie dropped her bag of groceries loudly on the kitchen table. As usual, Veronika and Dimitri were too engrossed in conversation to notice.

These frigging mice are going to drive me insane!

She pulled a curtain aside and glanced out the window, wondering how long she’d have to stay “underground” to hide Dimitri’s continued existence. Grumbling quietly to herself, she turned and opened the fridge while trying to ignore the shrill, guttural sound of Central European Mouse scraping her ears. It burned her up how easily Veronika had taken over Dimitri’s cage—Maggie hadn’t cleaned it up for her. She’d have to find another picture of Minnie to replace the one Veronika had ripped down.

Anyway, she had bigger problems to think about. People in town were starting to get a little impatient with the nature of her mouse control business. It was obvious by now that the number of mice wasn’t going down; it was just shifting from one house to another. In fact, given the lack of deadly force being employed, there were more mice around than ever before. Orphan or no, Maggie knew she couldn’t rely on the town’s pity forever. She was going to have to get tough.

Who is this Veronika anyway, she wondered. And why is Dimitri so . . . so . . .

“Eeeee-ee-ee-ee!” Veronika’s screeching laughter pried its way into Maggie’s head.

“Meggie!” cried Dimitri with a smile. “You are just in time.”

She smiled wanly and kept unloading groceries.

“We are planning our great escape,” smirked Veronika.

“Escape?”

“Well, of course we cannot stay here forever,” sniffed Veronika. “You have serious mouse problem in this town.” She and Dimitri caught each other’s eye and burst into fresh squeals of laughter.

Maggie pictured Veronika “escaping” with velocity off the toe of her boot. “So, the great escape. What’s the plan?”

“Well,” hedged Dimitri, “plan is not completely finished . . .”

“Is brilliant plan,” purred Veronika. “Do not be so modest, ‘Mitri.”

‘Mitri? Maggie felt a mouse-sized dagger prick her heart.

“He is master of disguise,” Veronika explained. “He will transform and escape. Will solve your mouse problem, lead all mice to different place, out of town, and you will be saved.”

“And why would they follow him?”

She looked pityingly at Maggie and shook her head. “Is not fair to expect you understand. Only trust us, will work.”

“Well, is not ‘lead’ exactly,” Dimitri admitted. “Is more like ‘chase’ again. I will be worst nightmare for mice. I will be ghost!”

Maggie blinked. Her life had turned into the Saturday morning cartoons.

“Yes, American mice—please excuse me, but American mice not so bright. Are afraid of you, no? American mice will run like babies from ghost!”

“So, what, you’re going to cut holes in a handkerchief and go haunting?”

Veronika sniffed. “Of course not, do not be stupid. Handkerchief will fall off. He must be white.”

Maggie smirked and fetched a bag of flour from the cupboard. “Okay, I’m ready!”

“Please do be serious, Meggie,” sniffed Veronika. “This must be professional, hair must be white, snow white. All you girls color hair, you must know someone?”

 

Chapter 12: To Dye Fur

“OMIGOD, he’s soooo cuuuuuute!” cooed Maggie’s friend Jennifer, leaning over to towel Dimitri dry.

Maggie and Veronika glanced at each other, fearing the praise would inflate his already pronounced ego to new and unbearable proportions.

 “I’m so glad you asked me,” chirped Jennifer. “This was fun!”

Maggie had felt a little odd about the request, especially since Jennifer was Jasper’s niece, but she was in cosmetology school—and was probably the only person she knew who would actually agree to bleach a mouse.

 “Let me see, let me see!” exclaimed Dimitri, buoyed by the attention. Jennifer produced a mirror from her purse and held it in front of him.

“WHAT IS MEANING OF THIS?!” he screeched.

Perhaps it had been a little juvenile of her, Maggie reflected, to tell Jennifer to leave a moustache-shaped patch in Dimitri’s original grey color.

“What is this?!” he demanded, running his paws along the twin, upward swoops of color between his nose and mouth. Veronika put a paw to her forehead.

“Cute, isn’t it?” cooed Jennifer. “Does he like it?”

“Yeah, he likes it,” lied Maggie. “It’s distinctive. Dapper,” she said to Dimitri. “You’re the ‘Dapper Departed.’ Every legendary ghost needs a name.”

Veronika shook her head and murmured a phlegm-laden epithet Maggie didn’t understand. “Come, ‘Mitri, we go. Is time for ‘Dapper Departed’ to start work.” Maggie watched them jump from table to chair to floor and over to the door. Jennifer opened it for them and they scurried down the stairs.

“Where are they going?”

Maggie shook her head. Wherever it was, she clearly wasn’t welcome.

 

Chapter 13: Jasper Returns

Two days after Dimitri and Veronika left home, Maggie found a note in her mailbox:

“Maggie,

I have something of yours. Meet me in Planter’s Field at 8:00 tomorrow night. Bring $1,000. No cops.

Sorry, times are hard.”

A picture of Dimitri and Veronika was enclosed.

The note was signed: “Jasper”

Maggie picked up the phone.

“I’m sorry, Maggie,” said Jennifer. “He’s been back for a while. Didn’t have anywhere else to go, so Dad helped him find a place near us. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but—he’s family.”

Maggie’s stomach clenched. “Sure, family.”

Jennifer sucked in a breath. “Jeez, Maggie, I’m sorry.” A brief but awkward silence yawned across the phone line. “I wasn’t going to say anything about Dimitri, but Jasper saw me coming out of your shop. He kept asking and asking what I was doing there—jeez, he can be a worse snoop than Jordy!”

Maggie smiled a little despite herself. No matter what they were talking about, Jennifer always found a way to slam her younger brother.

“Anyway,” Jennifer went on, “I thought it’d be a bigger deal if it were some kind of secret, you know? I thought he’d just drop it once I told him.”

“Well, I’m kinda screwed, here,” sighed Maggie. “What do I do?”

“I don’t know . . . Want me to come with you? I could try talking to him.”

Maggie was silent.

“It’ll be fine,” said Jennifer. “Jasper’s a little weird, but he’s not dangerous.”

Maggie wasn’t so sure.

 

Chapter 14: Dimitri Sings the Blues

“No-baaaady knowwwwws the troubles I have seeeeen . . .” Dimitri grinned expectantly at Veronika. “Come, ‘Ronschka, sing!” he yelled over the rattle of Jasper’s snoring.

“I have no idea about this song.”

“Ah, of course, Meggie taught it to me. She found it amusing for me to sing this when I was in cage. Is American thing, I suppose.”

He looked out through the bars of his new prison, a real one this time, which he shared with Veronika in Jasper’s dingy studio apartment. Their captor was splayed out on the twin bed across the room from the table holding their cage. Maggie had told Dimitri about his disappearing act with her money, so even though he didn’t like the idea of living in squalor, he wasn’t entirely unhappy to see Jasper in such low surroundings.

He scanned the small, dirt-caked windows and battered front door for any sign of access to the outside world. Maggie had taught him how to get out of a cage, but he didn’t yet have a plan for escaping from the apartment once they got past the rusty bars surrounding them.

Veronika slumped in the corner of the cage she had deemed least filthy. She sighed loudly. “I do not know what you are looking for, Dimitri. There is no way we can get out.”

They both jumped as Jasper jerked awake across the room. A muffled chirping emanated from his pants, and they watched him sit up and pull a small flip phone out of his pocket. He wrenched it open and jabbed at the buttons until the chirping stopped, then rubbed his eyes and mumbled into the phone.

The only word Dimitri caught was “dough.” That didn’t make any sense, this was not a time for baking! Jasper stood and glanced over at them briefly before grabbing his coat and walking to the door. He turned off the lights as he left, plunging them into darkness.

Chapter 15: Planter’s Field

Maggie and Jennifer drove up to Planter’s Field in Maggie’s van. Less than ten minutes after turning off the main road, the only illumination in the field came from their own headlights.

“Where is he?” asked Maggie softly.

“There!” said Jennifer, pointing.

Maggie saw a pickup sitting in the next clearing, with only its parking lights on.

“Wow, he means business,” she murmured, pulling into the clearing and turning off her own headlights. She parked a few yards away, facing the truck head on. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed with a little annoyance that Jennifer was texting. “What do you think he’ll do when he finds out I don’t have the money?”

Jennifer finished typing and slid the phone into her pocket. “Don’t worry, he’s not gonna do anything. You could still have him arrested for stealing from the company, remember?”

“Yeah, I think so. But that’s the thing: why he would risk pissing me off if I can get him locked up?”

“Who knows. He’s pretty desperate for money, that’s for sure. Anyway, come on, let’s get Dimitri back.” Jennifer got out of the van and walked around the front toward Jasper’s truck. Maggie took a deep breath, got out and followed Jennifer.

The truck’s lights came on, throwing a spotlight on the two of them. Maggie blinked in the brightness and cursed herself for not having kept her own lights on. Jasper’s door creaked open and shut. Her heart leapt.

Chapter 16: Intruder

Dimitri paced the cage in the dark, careful not to wake Veronika, wondering how soon Jasper would come back. If they left the cage now, would they be able to find a way out of the apartment before he returned? Surely the kitchen had to have some rodent-friendly egress . . .

He heard a rattle at the front door and stopped pacing. A wedge of light sliced into the room from the hallway, and the silhouette of a person slipped through the opening. The beam of light narrowed to a slit, but to Dimitri’s joy, didn’t disappear completely. This might be their chance! He moved closer to Veronika to wake her.

He heard a snap, and a circle of light appeared on the floor. The light swept upward and across the room before coming to rest on their cage. Dimitri froze. Veronika began to stir in the glare of the flashlight. The beam flickered and brightened. Whoever was holding the flashlight was heading right for them!

Heart racing, Dimitri sprang the lock and pulled Veronika toward the door of the cage. “Hurry, run!” he yelled at her. A mouse with her history knew how to wake quickly and react, and she followed him out of the cage just before the intruder could grab it. The figure screamed (Is boy or girl? wondered Dimitri) and the flashlight thudded to the floor, narrowly missing the two escapees as they jumped from table to chair to floorboards. They ran toward the tiny slice of light at the door, feeling the stomping of feet right behind them.

Dimitri scurried through the doorway into the hallway and turned to look for Veronika. Just as she slipped through the door, a hand shot out and grabbed her. She screeched for Dimitri as the hand pulled her back into the darkened room. He scrambled back into the apartment after her.

Dimitri looked up to see her thrashing around in the beam of the flashlight, held fast by a seemingly disembodied hand. He knew what she was about to do. He just wished she weren’t quite so high up . . .

With a swift, graceful twist, Veronika bent around and bit the hand that was holding her. The figure yelled again, opened up its hand and let her drop. Dimitri positioned himself like the fire brigade, albeit without a trampoline, and managed to break her fall. They both picked themselves up and scampered out the door to freedom.

 

Chapter 17: Return from Planter’s Field

Maggie hunched over the wheel, driving back to town as fast as she could. “We’ve got to get over to Jasper’s! Where does he live?”

“Slow down!” yelled Jennifer. “You’re gonna get us killed!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie could see her trying to read her phone as the van bumped down the dark country lanes. “Jennifer, get off that phone and tell me where to turn!”

Jasper had not reacted well when he found out they weren’t there to pay him. She should have known he wasn’t going to listen to Jennifer. What had she thought was going to happen? And who knew what he was going to do to Dimitri and Veronika now?

“Yes! He did it!” crowed Jennifer. “Well, kind of . . .”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Maggie, slow down, Dimitri’s fine.”

Maggie shot a skeptical look at her passenger.

“That was Jordy—” said Jennifer.

“Your brother’s involved in this?”

“Yes, actually. He doesn’t much like Uncle Jasper either, so he agreed to help. While we were here with Jasper, Jordy was over at his place busting Dimitri and Veronka out. I figured all the times he’s snooped around my room, he may as well use his skills for something good for a change.” Even without glancing over, Maggie could hear the crafty smile in Jennifer’s voice. “He’s a little pissed now, though. One of the mice bit him and they both ran off. Serves him right, he wasn’t supposed to let them out of the cage, he was just supposed to bring them home.”

By now Maggie was smirking a little herself. “Well, write him back and tell him they don’t have rabies. And tell him thank you.” She could hear Jennifer tapping out the message in the darkness of the van. “And Jennifer, thank you too.”

“Hey, of course, that’s what friends are for. But now that I think of it, there is something I might ask for in return . . .”

 

Chapter 18: Maggie and Dimitri Lock and Load

“Dimitri,” cooed Veronika. “How good of you to come!”

She rose from her pink satin pillow in the corner of Jennifer’s room to greet him. “May I offer you some refreshments? I am quite fortunate, my host has excellent taste in these matters.” She opened the door of a tiny refrigerator and pulled out a selection of gourmet cheeses. “I have not quite yet convinced her about the wine, but I am hopeful. For now, would you like some sparkling water?”

Jennifer and Maggie chatted while Dimitri and Veronika ate and caught up on their sweet nothings. It was clear that they were back “on,” and they weren’t particularly shy about it – Maggie found herself blushing a few times, even though she tried to tune them out.

Dimitri’s haunting of the town had been quite successful, leading the other mice to leave for good. As a ghost, he was free to stay with Maggie – provided he came to Jennifer for touch-ups as soon as his roots began to show. He decided to keep the moustache, partly to tweak Maggie about how childish she’d been, but also because he rather liked the Clark Gable-esque air it lent him.

At the same time, Veronika had worked out a mutually beneficial arrangement with Jennifer. Jordy was no longer inclined to enter Jennifer’s room with Veronika there, and Jennifer had made it quite comfortable for her to stay. Even though they couldn’t speak with each other, they found they enjoyed looking at the same gossip magazines and watching Gilmore Girls together.

Jennifer was trying to convince Maggie to start watching with them, but Maggie changed the subject to something that had been weighing on her mind: “Any news from Jasper?”

“No,” Jennifer answered. “I mean, I haven’t seen him around, but then I’m not exactly looking for him.”

“I don’t know . . . I don’t want him around either, but part of me would feel better if I could kind of keep an eye on him, you know? It’s like—hang on . . .” Maggie turned around in her chair to face the lover-mice in the corner. “Guys, get a room, we’re trying to have a serious conversation over here!”

“Forget Jasper,” said Jennifer, plunging ahead as Maggie turned back around. “How’s business?”

“Oh, you know, it’s okay . . .”

Given the lack of mice in town, Maggie had been learning other aspects of the pest control business. To her relief, she found that she didn’t have to worry about speaking to roaches: she couldn’t. Couldn’t even hear them. That made it a little easier to get rid of them, properly.

“But the termites,” said Maggie grimly. “They’re not talking to me, but—this is going to sound crazy, but somehow I always feel like they’re laughing at me.” She frowned. They were probably laughing when Dad fell through that floor . . .

She turned around and faced the two mice again. “Dimitri, how do you feel about termites? I could use a partner.”

“Partner?” Dimitri’s whiskers twitched. He thought about that day the bloodthirsty termites surged up through the floorboards to bite his feet, desperate for him to fight the woman in the oversized coveralls.

Maggie smiled at Dimitri. “Partner.”

“I am so proud, Meggie.” Dimitri stood up on his hind legs and puffed out his chest. “When do we start?”

[END]

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Setu, June 2025