water she could stand, then scrubbed her mouth.
Mouth dripping, face still twisted from the gross-out, Ginny caught sight of her reflection. Her throat workedâshe wasnât sure if she meant to cry again until a deep, low and grinding clutch of laughter pushed past her lips.
Oh God. Oh gross.
Now she was even more happy Barb hadnât come over to help, because if sheâd come across a dead mouse in any form, especially one that had touched her face, sheâd have gone catatonic and had to be sedated. As it was, Ginny half thought she might puke, but a few sips of water settled her. So did some breathing.
It wasnât the mouse itself, since it was harmless and sad, a caricature of a rodent that had been squashed flat by some chasing tomcatâs mallet. It mustâve died in the closet and dehydrated or mummified. No, it was the fact it had landed on her mouth, her lips⦠Ginny shuddered and washed her face again.
Of all the gross things that had ever happened to her, including the dead squirrel, she thought this might be the worst. And as far as unexpected contact with deceased rodents went, Ginnyâd had her lifetime allotment. Still, the trauma was fading by the time she finished in the bathroom and went back to the babyâs room to gather up the poor thing and dispose of it along with all the dirty paper towels.
That task finished, it wouldâve been easy enough for her to abandon the rest of the closet cleaning for another day. Her ankle hurt, though it didnât seem to be swelling, and her heart was still beating a little too fast. Her head felt a little spinny. But if she didnât finish now, she wasnât sure who would.
Plusâ¦something had moved when the shelf shifted. A box, she thought. Or a suitcase. Something solid, definitely not any kind of dead thing. At least she hoped not.
The light bulb in the fixture hadnât shattered, thank God, so she didnât have to clean up or explain broken glass. But she had no idea where to get another one in the mess of boxes downstairs. Sheâd have to take one from another fixture, though they too were burned out, she discovered when she pulled the chain in the other two bedroom closets, wondering what might be lurking on their shelves. Finally, she took the one from her bedroom closet, mentally adding light bulbs to the list that never seemed to get any shorter.
Finally, light bulb replaced, stool settled firmly on the floor so it wouldnât tip, Ginny climbed up again to look at what was on the shelf. It was a suitcase, what her gran had called a âtrain case.â Her mom had used one as a makeup case when Ginny was small. Hers had a mirror inside and a removable shelf to separate the top from the bottom. It was blue and bore the initials of some dead aunt.
This case was of a similar size. Olive green, though the dust on it meant the color might indeed be brighter. Ginny pulled it gingerly toward her, careful not to tip this section of shelf in case it was as unsecured as its neighbor had been. The bulb sheâd replaced was brighter than its predecessor, bright enough to chase away all the shadows even in the farthest depths of the closet. Even so, she was so focused on the case that she didnât notice the bones until sheâd taken it by the handle and was half-turned to step down from the stool.
Tiny piles of bones, at least three, with some random bones scattered in between. Tiny skulls with long teeth. Beside the piles, tucked a little farther back on the shelf and on the opposite side of where sheâd found the mouse, the light glinted off several plastic sandwich bags with misshapen forms inside them. Fur, bones, the spread of what mustâve once been the goo of blood and other fluids but which time had dried.
The smell, she thought, mustâve been atrocious.
Carefully, she got down to set the case in the middle of the bedroom. Then, armed with the garbage bag and paper towels,
Mouth dripping, face still twisted from the gross-out, Ginny caught sight of her reflection. Her throat workedâshe wasnât sure if she meant to cry again until a deep, low and grinding clutch of laughter pushed past her lips.
Oh God. Oh gross.
Now she was even more happy Barb hadnât come over to help, because if sheâd come across a dead mouse in any form, especially one that had touched her face, sheâd have gone catatonic and had to be sedated. As it was, Ginny half thought she might puke, but a few sips of water settled her. So did some breathing.
It wasnât the mouse itself, since it was harmless and sad, a caricature of a rodent that had been squashed flat by some chasing tomcatâs mallet. It mustâve died in the closet and dehydrated or mummified. No, it was the fact it had landed on her mouth, her lips⦠Ginny shuddered and washed her face again.
Of all the gross things that had ever happened to her, including the dead squirrel, she thought this might be the worst. And as far as unexpected contact with deceased rodents went, Ginnyâd had her lifetime allotment. Still, the trauma was fading by the time she finished in the bathroom and went back to the babyâs room to gather up the poor thing and dispose of it along with all the dirty paper towels.
That task finished, it wouldâve been easy enough for her to abandon the rest of the closet cleaning for another day. Her ankle hurt, though it didnât seem to be swelling, and her heart was still beating a little too fast. Her head felt a little spinny. But if she didnât finish now, she wasnât sure who would.
Plusâ¦something had moved when the shelf shifted. A box, she thought. Or a suitcase. Something solid, definitely not any kind of dead thing. At least she hoped not.
The light bulb in the fixture hadnât shattered, thank God, so she didnât have to clean up or explain broken glass. But she had no idea where to get another one in the mess of boxes downstairs. Sheâd have to take one from another fixture, though they too were burned out, she discovered when she pulled the chain in the other two bedroom closets, wondering what might be lurking on their shelves. Finally, she took the one from her bedroom closet, mentally adding light bulbs to the list that never seemed to get any shorter.
Finally, light bulb replaced, stool settled firmly on the floor so it wouldnât tip, Ginny climbed up again to look at what was on the shelf. It was a suitcase, what her gran had called a âtrain case.â Her mom had used one as a makeup case when Ginny was small. Hers had a mirror inside and a removable shelf to separate the top from the bottom. It was blue and bore the initials of some dead aunt.
This case was of a similar size. Olive green, though the dust on it meant the color might indeed be brighter. Ginny pulled it gingerly toward her, careful not to tip this section of shelf in case it was as unsecured as its neighbor had been. The bulb sheâd replaced was brighter than its predecessor, bright enough to chase away all the shadows even in the farthest depths of the closet. Even so, she was so focused on the case that she didnât notice the bones until sheâd taken it by the handle and was half-turned to step down from the stool.
Tiny piles of bones, at least three, with some random bones scattered in between. Tiny skulls with long teeth. Beside the piles, tucked a little farther back on the shelf and on the opposite side of where sheâd found the mouse, the light glinted off several plastic sandwich bags with misshapen forms inside them. Fur, bones, the spread of what mustâve once been the goo of blood and other fluids but which time had dried.
The smell, she thought, mustâve been atrocious.
Carefully, she got down to set the case in the middle of the bedroom. Then, armed with the garbage bag and paper towels,
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