This year, with the change in season has come an invasion. Little dark somethings, darting by just on the edge of my vision. At first, I questioned my sanity - was there something wrong with me? But no, the awful truth is that for the first time in years, they have returned. Those little monsters that herald the coming of a hard winter. The MICE.

Sunday night, I took action. I procured traps, hoping to put a stop to this menace. I placed a daub of peanut butter on the trigger, and set the device down where I knew the offender would pass. "Here, mousie-mousie," I thought. "Come and get some delicious peanut butter!" Inside, I quivered with excitement, anticipating the events to come. Would the trap work? Would I succeed, or would my efforts be in vain - would I be forced to endure these pests all winter? I could hardly keep myself from looking over at the trap I was so excited. Eventually, sleep claimed me. I turned off my lights, pulled up the covers and went to bed. But as I lay there, eyes closed, I knew the game was on. My nocturnal nemesis had his requisites: darkness, quiet, and an irresistible treat close by. It was go time.

Not long after, my efforts paid off. Just as I was shifting into actual slumber, I was awakened by "Snap!" followed by a skittering sound. "That was quick," I thought as I retreated into the arms of Morpheus. Unfortunately, guilt dogged my passage into sleep. Was it quick for the mouse? Perhaps, with their faster metabolism, what was a split second for me was an eternity of agony for the poor mouse. What have I done? But this sentiment shared the stage with something else. Something darker, something - evil. A murderous glee rose up in me, a feeling that the little bastard had it coming. God help me, when I heard that snap, I could hear Dave Chapelle's voice shouting, "Gotchabitch!" Worse, I felt the corners of my mouth turn up into a smile, like some demented Chuck Jones cartoon character. I slept the sleep of the predator.

I decided to leave the corpse as a warning to any other mice. Perhaps it would induce them to leave this place, let them know that their kind aren't welcome here.
"Or," said a darker inner voice, "you just want to make sure you hear the next one coming."
"No!" I said. "That's not what I'm doing - I'll take up the poor little-"
"Shut up!" the voice commanded. "You know EXACTLY what you're doing! You *know* there are others; you can feel it! You just want to make sure before you acknowledge the real truth - that you LIKE the killing!"
"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Tonight, my patience has been rewarded. As I drifted to sleep, I heard it - a small, skittering sound - right where the mouse corpse lay! Either it was a zombie mouse, or a second challenger had entered the arena. As I got up to write this, I looked at the place where the carnage occurred. Yes, the corpse has been disturbed. This sick bastard had actually *nibbled* the corpse!

All sympathy has left me now. Instead, there is a dark joy, a murderous glee in knowing that I have another target, that once again I will hear that sweet percussive music from before. Today I set the traps, I lay down my Line of Death, anticipating the killing to come. Once again, the game is afoot. And this time, I'm playing for keeps.

"Behold, I am Death, the Shatterer of Mice."