I had come in my house with trembling feet. I could not forget I had seen that police had gathered in phone booth inspecting dead Dormer. More than it, I had seen Satan. Not only I had seen it but it had touched me twice.

Both times it was on the head. I didn’t know if I needed to fear it or it was to be taken in a normal way. Maybe Satan was happy because I had welcomed him. But still he hadn't given me reason why he killed Dormer. Or it was something else Dormer had refused? If it was, what could it be?

Then I went towards the trunk where I had put the old magazines from the war days. That morning I was finding it hard to resist the feeling of seeing the faces of my friends (no matter if they were alive or not) whom I had got bored of last time.

I went upstairs and found key to unlock the big trunk. Still I had in mind regarding police investigating on Dormer's death.

"Cops were checking phone booth. If they find out a mute man had called me then I would be in trouble." I told myself. "I will tell the cops I had seen the mute many times before so he recognized me. I would say I had given him money sometimes to feed himself and I also had given him his number. In this way cops will have nothing to doubt on me. Dead will not speak anything. And what do I have to do with the hobo's death anyways?"

But still I couldn’t get away from the fact my son had abandoned me, Dormer was dead and Satan had approached to me. And most of all, there was no Stacy.

But still I couldn’t understand what Satan wanted with me. Was it all a place where he could eat? It was the stupidest reason he had heard had got someone killed. No, no, no. Dormer had refused to do something else.

I then took no time to open the lid. I screamed as hundred of rats jumped out of the trunk. As they jumped out, they came out with pieces of papers in their mouths and attached to their feet.

But rats didn’t stop jumping out of there for a long time. Each rat was no smaller than a brick and looked to be heavier than ordinary mice. As I fell down, they ran all over his body and all over the room. They even crawled on my face.

Most of them scattered after finding doorway open. Either way, those rats were to be inside my house. So their absence from the bedroom didn’t matter at all. They were going to be in the house anyways.

When all of them had run then just ripped pieces of papers were left. It wasn’t just papers which had been torn by mice. They were my memories.

The things I didn’t like to see seemed to be precious than anything else.

I got on the knees, screamed in anger and began to weep while I held tiny pieces of papers. I had no idea till when he had cried.

The only thing which sympathized me was my wife's photo which was still hung on the wall inside a frame.

My house was full of rats, not monkeys, after all…