The Christmas Rat by Avi Page B

sound, followed almost instantly by a spike of pain in my left leg. I screamed, twisted around, and stayed on my feet only because I was holding onto the doorknob. Then I pushed against it. The door opened. I dove forward toward the steps just as another crossbow bolt whizzed past me.
    From the floor I swung, and, using my feet, kicked the door shut. Then, on all fours, I scrambled up the steps.
    I reached the first floor. Gulping for air, I stopped and listened. I could hear the elevator. It was moving up. It was Anje—following me like some kind of stalker.
    I headed up the steps, running all the way. Maybe I could beat him.
    By the time I reached the second-floor landing I knew Anje would get there first. He’d be waiting for me on the fifth floor. I looked down. Blood was dripping into my slipper.
    I made myself sit on the steps, next to the door marked SECOND FLOOR. I rolled up my pant leg and looked at my wound. The crossbow bolt had grazed my calf. It was cut all right, but I could see for myself it was mostly just bleeding.
    I tried to think. Maybe, I thought, I’d be safest staying where I was.
    I listened. I could hear nothing.
    Using the banister as support I pulled myself up and opened the door a crack. From what I could see, the hallway was deserted. No sound of the elevator.
    I let the door close and made my way up to the third floor. There I did as before: opened the door and peeked out. Again there was nothing.
    The same on the fourth floor.
    And the fifth. My floor. When I reached it, I was afraid to look out. Still, I knew what I had to do. Cautiously, using my fingertips, I pried open the door a little.
    I could see nothing, but there was a rush of air. I noticed that the hall window was open.
    Did that mean that Anje had left that way? Or was this some kind of trick he was playing? I sure didn’t hear the elevator. Maybe he was still in it, waiting for me to go by.
    My heart thudding, I opened the door further. Wherever he was, no one was in the hall. I pulled the door key from my pocket.
    Taking a deep breath, I jumped out into the hall and ran as fast as I had ever run. Reaching our door, I slipped the key into the lock, got the door open, and squeezed inside.
    It took me less than two seconds to lock the door behind me. Double-lock it.
    Inside, I made my way to the bathroom, where I washed the blood off my leg, trying to make sure I didn’t spatter any. I put a bandage on it and I crept to bed.
    I looked at the clock. Past midnight. That made it Christmas morning.
    I lay under my blankets, shivering with fear. Had I saved the rat or not? I think I had saved myself. I just didn’t know.

C HRISTMAS
    â€œE ric,” my mom called. “You slug-a-bed! It’s Christmas morning!”
    I got up and checked the clock. It was almost nine-thirty. Considering what morning it was, that really was late.
    I inspected my leg. There was a little blood, but actually it was just a scratch. No big deal.
    We gathered around the tree.
    Following tradition, my dad said, “Eric, open your sock first.”
    I went to it. It was stuffed, with a big orange—another tradition—poking out the top.
    I lay the stocking on the coffee table. My folks stood around to watch me open it. Big smiles on their faces. The most common things were on the top, the best always at the bottom.
    First came the orange. Then some nuts. A package of mechanical pencils. A Swiss Army knife. Candy, of course. Two tickets to a Yankee baseball game in the spring. I was getting close to the end. When I reached all of the way to the bottom I touched something soft and furry.
    The rat.
    Was it dead or alive?
    I touched it again and . . . it moved.
    I jerked my hand out of the stocking and held the top shut with two hands.
    â€œBe right back!” I shouted.
    â€œEric! Where are you going?” Dad cried after me.
    I didn’t answer. I was down the elevator, into the lobby. I yanked the lobby door,