S/o Stories that were rejected by magazines

amother

Thu, Jan 19 2023, 9:43 pm

Please post yours! I wrote this a few years back and it was rejected. I would love to see other stories or articles that were not accepted to magazines.

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Rataphobia
(Fiction)

9:55pm. I've noticed that all suspenseful stories begin with the time, so I make sure to take note of the bright red numbers glowing in the dimly lit room. Squeak, squeak, squeak. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, hoping that if I ignore the problem, it would disappear.

Squeak. It doesn't work, apparently. Squeak. This COULD NOT be a mouse. Couldn't be. Impossible. Squeak.

Guess what? It’s not. It’s not a mouse. But hold the champagne.

It is a rat.

And my mother in law is sleeping peacefully, unsuspecting, in the guest room.

Now, let me just explain. My mother in law wears suits. With a strand of pearls. And high heels. And a perfectly coiffed sheitel and perfect makeup. She rolls out of bed that way, it seems.

And she politely makes comments like, "Hesh, maybe you want to consider taking Ruchy for PT? She seems to have trouble hanging her coat in the closet when she comes home." Ruchy is four.

Or, "Shea could use some OT. The way he slurps his spaghetti is going to pose a challenge if it's left untreated by the time he reaches shidduchim." Shea is eight.

She's already commented on the dirty corners of the bathroom floor, the dusty top of the fridge, and crusted-on burnt food at the bottom of the oven. And offered well-meaning advice to correct each one.

She is going to love this rat. NOT.

Oh, and did I mention this is the first night of a three day Yom Tov? There is absolutely nothing to be done at the moment, except to make sure that she doesn't find out about the rat.

I call a quick emergency family meeting the next morning while my mother in law is at shul. The kids are informed of our new house pet and sworn to secrecy. I promise ice cream and pizza if Bubby leaves without knowing there was a rat. They are to do whatever it takes for them to distract her, should the rat make a sudden appearance.

Later that afternoon, we all sit around the dining room table, quietly reading biographies. My mother in law doesn't believe in sitting on the couch, couches being bad for your back and all that. And of course, novels are a waste of brain space and the only books worth anything are biographies. And refreshments while reading? Let's not even go there.

3:15pm. I quickly take note of the time as I notice a grey furry creature with a long tail scutter accross the floor, and take shelter in the curtains. Behind my mother in law's chair. I look up to see four pairs of wide eyes looking at me. Thankfully, my mother in law does not own one of those pairs, engrossed as she is in her biography.

All at once, chaos reigns. Ruchy stands on her chair and starts singing a song about Pharoah in pajamas in the middle of the night. Esty starts reading long segments of her biography out loud. Shea and Dini manage to convince my mother in law to come to the kitchen to see their projects and eat babka cake. Not at the same time, of course.

My mother in law looks at me a bit strangely as she gets up to go to the kitchen, and mutters something about trying family therapy together, and she has a great therapist to recommend.

Phew. Disaster averted. I give my kids the thumbs up.

"Ma," I ask desperately, when I see her heading back a few minutes later to finish her book. "Could you show me how to make that spinach-apple-crumb chicken in sweet chili dipping sauce you were telling me about? I want to make it as an early seuda for the kids now."

(I don't remember her saying that her guests actually ate it, just that they all commented on the creativity of the dish, and that there was like twenty steps to making it.)

For the first time in my life, a twenty-step recipe actually sounds appealing. It would keep us safely away from the rat for at least an hour.

My mother in law glows. "I would love to!" she says. "Wash your hands with soap, rubbing well for sixty seconds before rinsing, and then we'll take out all the ingredients."

Thirty minutes later, as we are elbow deep in various ingredients, I hear the tell-tale sound of squeaking. My kids must have heard it too because within ten seconds, they very loudly start bombarding my mother in law with different questions about when she was growing up. Her favorite topic. Smart.

Soon the squeaking stops and the awful-smelling chicken recipe is safely completed. Shea spontaneously suggests eating the early seuda out on the deck, a surefire way to keep her away from wherever the rat may be. My mother in law grudgingly agrees only once Esty offers to bring her a dining room chair so she wouldn't have to sit on a deck chair. The kids fairly drown the chicken strips in the sweet chili sauce to drown out the taste of the spinach, and, except for Ruchy, everyone surprisingly eats without complaining. I guess the pizza-ice cream party is enough of a motivation.

My mother in law is pleased. "I see your kids have excellent taste. I'll have to make this when you come next." Shea’s face goes a little green at that, but thankfully she doesn't notice.

Dini scouts out the house before we go back inside, and gives the all-clear sign. No rat in sight.

Late that night, the dishes are cleared and the floor is swept. My mother in law sits down at the table to drink some tea with her sugar cubes. I anxiously wait for her to finish up before the house gets too quiet and the rat decides to make his appearance. (Yes, his appearance. Our rat definitely does not look like a girl.)

I take a tea as well, and using some age-old philosophical theory, I quickly down it (OUCH) and hope she will follow suit. Hopeless. "If you don't want to burn yourself next time, you should try sipping it slowly, like I do," she comments helpfully.

Well, she isn't leaving so fast apparently, so I have to make sure the rat does not decide to come in here. I start tapping my feet to a staccato beat. My mother in law looks up. "Do you have restless leg syndrome?" she asks. "I have an excellent physical therapist who might be able to help you with that."

"No," I reply. "I'm just tired and my feet are falling asleep. And I don't want you to be up alone at night, so I'm trying to keep myself up." Let's see if guilt works...

"Your feet are falling asleep because you're tired? Oy, something seems wrong with that, maybe this therapist can help you after all.. And why are you worried because it's late at night? Are you suffering from anxiety or paranoia?"

"No, no, I'm absolutely fine. They're have just been stories, you know, of old people late at night and robbers coming in, or them falling and no one being around to catch them..."

"I am NOT old, sheyfela. Maybe you want to get your vision checked out as well? I have only four wrinkles and they're just from smiling. And my sheitel has not a gray hair in sight so I am not sure what's giving you the impression that I am old."

Oops, me and my big mouth again. And why did I think that robbers are less frightening than a rat?? Now she'll really be scared to be here!

Eventually, she finishes her book and goes to bed. Friday is hectic and noisy, and thankfully there is no sign of the rat. In the middle of the Friday night meal, during my husband's dvar Torah, I feel something soft and furry run accross my feet. I can't help it. I jump up and shriek.

All eyes turn to me. My kids start talking at once. "Mommy! The hot soup spilled on you!" "Aishes Chayil Mi Yimtza..." "Ruchy! Why did you pull Mommy's shaitel?" I quickly excuse myself to change, choosing the hot soup excuse because Ruchy was on the other side of the table and couldn't have possibly pulled my shaitel. And anyway, I want to change my tights and shoes now. And never wear them again. Yuck.

The rest of the meal passes uneventfully and my mother in law heads to bed along with the rest of us (I hid the biographies so we wouldn't have a repeat of last night). Shabbos day dawns bright and sunny, and I am a bundle of nerves. Our rat seems not to be too afraid of people and whenever the house is quiet, he makes his appearance. Could we make it through this last day with my mother in law and the rat under one roof?

For the first time in my life, I give my kids treats for making a lot of noise. My mother in law mutters some comments but (fortunately) I can’t hear them. It is something along the lines of "noise pollution" and "ADHD"...

Shabbos draws to a close. As my husband puts out the havdala candle, a flash of grey fur catches my eye. The rat runs right up to my mother in law!

She shrieks.

And. Picks. Up. The. Rat.

"Arnold!! There you are! I was worried about you!" Then she turns to me with a shy smile. "I used to be very afraid of rats. I had rataphobia or something. I saw an excellent therapist, Baruch Hashem, and I am no longer afraid of rats. As part of the healing process, she gave me this pet rat. I didn't want to leave it alone for a whole three day Yom Tov, so I brought it with me. But on my first day here, it escaped! I was so nervous you would be upset and scared so I didn't want to tell you. I'm so so happy you didn't find it until now."

Then she kisses the kids goodbye, waves to me and my stunned husband, and walks out the door- suitcase in one hand, rat in the other.