I was working in my fathers shoe shop...
This was the late 90's and I must've been about 13 or 14 years old. Although I knew little about shoes, my father was a bit of an expert and could mend just about anything. The new-fangled Nike Airs and Reebok Pumps and what not were a bit more troublesome, being made of synthetic plastics instead of the more traditional leather and proved to be in most cases impossible to repair. These had to be shipped off to the original manufacturer at little profit to us.

Therefore our main customer base was a dwindling older type, who generally knew how to look after their quality leather footwear. To cut a long story short we were starting to lose a lot of money thanks to the global corporations and my fathers health was suffering for it. In fact much of our workshop lay with semi-complete shoes and boots in varying states of disrepair. Things were looking grim...

It was late one Thursday night when I was playing 'Zombies Ate my Neighbours' on the SNES that it first happened. In the murky darkness of the repair room I could see one scurry across the floor. Spookily illuminated in the blue 16-bit haze of my T.V. I saw another pack of 3 or so dart behind a lathe, dragging some expensive Italian leather in their wake.

I'm a pussycat at best so immediately discarded the SNES control-pad, callously ignoring the plight of my Zombie-afflicted Neighbours and escaped to my bedroom in a panic, knocking over an plush pair of Roger Vivier custom womans heels. Amid heavy breathing through a brown paper-bag I knew that something had to be done. If word got out that we were infested then we would surely be shut down. With my father bed-ridden then the solution was clear - and somewhat final.

Taking my MAG-light I ventured to the basement to look for the rat poison. The almost comedy skull and cross-bones on a paint-tin full of what looked like 'hundreds and thousands' was re-assuringly menacing although I was careful not to get any in my eyes which were now tired and weary. The weight of the future of our shoe-shop lay awkwardly on my back, like a decaying Capybara.

As I passed the Grandfather-clock I noted the time as 3 minutes past 1 in the morning. Shit - I had spent far too long playing that damned Nintendo. On a school night as well. I pushed this thought to the back of my mind as I liberally sprinkled the brightly coloured Zinc Phosphides in corners and work surfaces, being careful to avoid the footwear of the customers. My pulse was racing - painfully aware that any one of those bastards could leap out at any second and sink their rabid little fangs into the space between my toes. The scene from Arachnophobia with the old man getting out of bed was playing on my mind.

Having emptied something like 2 Kg's of sheer powder death upon the room I slinked off to my room, cramming a towel at the base of the door like I was escaping an inferno.

My alarm woke me at 6am - enough time to get up before father and remove any incriminating evidence. I tentatively made my way through the house. I was scared, but excited in a way that fishermen get excited. Forgive me lord but I was eager for a mass rodentcide on the grandest of scales.

I entered the workshop - the brilliant white light of the morning sun blinded me through the shuttered windows. When I rubbed my eyes and came to my senses I could not believe them. Each and every one of the mid-repair shoes had been lovingly returned to a point of prominence, standing proud at their now sublime completion. There was the custom Vivier boots, grand and glorious in their splendour. In my mind I pondered whether my father had made a miraculous recovery and toiled through the night, having been woken by my murderous twilight folly.

I spotted a small pile of what looked like vomit at the foot of a table. I followed the trail, a murky brown/green colour towards a small hole in the skirting board at the base of the wall. I slumped to my belly, careful not to disturb the liquid mess and put my eye to the rat-hole. Surely the poison had worked a treat! What a success this morning had become!

I could make out the faint outline of what looked like a number of bodies. But something was different. With the impatient fervent of a boy unwrapping a Birthday present I dragged open some more of the hole, letting further light in.

I looked intently at one of the poor blighters sad, cold glassy face and let out a howl. These were not rats. These were the lifeblood of the shop. These were benevolent Shoe-Elves and I had murdered them. Clearly they had completed the work for the night, feasted on some treats and crawled back to their den to die a slow and painful death.


To answer the question, I cremated the bodies of 13 Shoe-Elves behind the shop using Lynx Africa and a 10p lighter. Sometimes I think about that fateful night and cry myself to sleep.
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:40, Reply)