You Broke the Seal

I haven't slept in three days. It’s the scratching. It sounds like wet nails dragging against

the inside of the plaster in the bedroom wall, right by the headboard. I texted Mike (my

landlord) five times. He just sent back a thumbs-up emoji and said, “Probably settling.

Old house.” Bullshit. Settling doesn't have a rhythm. Scritch, scritch,

pause. Scritch, scritch, pause. Tonight,

I snapped. I drank two Red Bulls, grabbed a utility knife and a heavy-duty

flashlight. If Mike wasn't going to call an exterminator, I’d find the nest, kill whatever was

in there, and bill him for the patch job. I shoved the dresser aside.