Gross

Susah the stable owner’s daughter had told Î that their barn was infested with mice, rats, and several baleful looking frogs. Susah had been the one to go for help when Î had fallen down the stairs, so she decided to repay the favour.

Î placed the rat corpse she had stuffed with a golem scroll on the hay strewn floor of the barn. The rat’s fur was starting to fall out, and bits of it clung to her hand. Its tail was dry and stiff, and its tongue tended to hang from its mouth. It made Î sick to look at. The whole affair of making the golem had been gross, so that was what she decided to name it.

“I name you Gross. Ki—”

Gross came to life the moment its name left her lips. The golem killed its first mouse faster than Î could give the command. Gross hadn’t even opened its eyes. Î thought it was just as well, they might have fallen out, but it did give Gross a decidedly dopey look in spite of the blood dripping from its fangs. Gross was anything but dopey, however. He was furious.

The moment the mouse stopped twitching Gross tore after a rat which was climbing up the wall. Gross leapt like a flea, easily reaching twice Î’s height, and clamped his jaws around the other rat’s tail. Then Gross leapt backwards, pulling the other rat with it. They fought as they fell, a ball of teeth, malice, and desperation. By the time they landed, the living rat was dead and Gross was searching for its next foe. One of the baleful frogs watched it dispassionately as it approached. Though Gross’s eyes were closed it seemed to feel the frog’s malignant glare, for the golem changed course a moment later and went to wreak vengeance on a less disdainful foe.

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Î had been sick of the spectacle the moment Gross had killed his first mouse, by the seventh she thought she might throw up. She left the barn and headed up to the manor. Emet would want to see her again as it was only the early afternoon, but Î decided Emet could wait. If Î did any more work today she doubted she’d be able to eat supper.

The stable owner was far more pleased with Î’s work. Two days later, he commented around at dinner that he had finally found the one responsible for the miraculous purging of their barn. He’d seen a sleepy looking rat leap from the loft onto a very nervous looking mouse. The rat had been covered in so many wounds and was missing so much fur it was a wonder it was still standing, but by Stalwart’s Peace, it could fight. The mouse was dead before the rat’s feet touched the ground.

“Of course,” he’d said, spearing a thin sliver of meat with his prong, “the frogs don’t know what to do. I saw them on one of the hay bales, squatting around in a circle like they was having some sort of meeting or something. The sleepy rat hasn’t touched them. Knows its limits I suppose. Still, it’s killin’ scores a pests a day,” he thumped the table joyfully, “The barn’ll be clear in a few weeks if it can keep this up.”

He then launched into a play by play account of some of its most spectacular and bloody battles. His wife and children, who had been trying to focus on eating, suddenly found they had lost their appetites.