The Curse of Sir Squeakerton

“I can’t let you do this,” Sir Squeakerton said in defiance of his brother, his ripped red cape waving in the silent wind. “I can’t let you kill them.”

He raised his red toothpick sword, unsure of what else to do. His tiny arm shook as he questioned if he would have the strength to use the weapon of power on the only family member he had left.

The musk of the lair stung Squeakerton’s tiny pink nose, bitterly reminding him of home. Mangler always needed a reminder, something to impede time’s natural ability to heal, and the old relics of their youth suited his purpose expertly. Among them was Paula and Georgie’s first toothpick sword, and the eyeglass cloth cape he had given Vivian. Squeakerton looked away from the demons of the past and instead upon the hunched white furry foe that bore a fractured heart.

“Don’t be so ignorant,” replied Mangler with his gruff squeak that sounded more like a cough than speech. “The humans have done NOTHING for us except kill our brethren and destroy our homes. Look at me, brother. Look at the damage they have done!” Mangler raised his twisted and broken arm that had been placed in a prosthetic. “Don’t you remember when this happened? When I was granted the name that has made me an outsider among our people? The others call me it out of fear, but not of me. Of them!”

Mangler pointed down through the vent with his good hand, towards the humans below. They sat peacefully in their room, completely unaware that their very existence was in the balance.

“They sit there all day, staring at those moving images, then they hunt us with joy! Joy, brother!” Mangler growled and looked back to his brother through his one good eye, a ruby sparkling with conviction. “We need to send a message.”

Sir Squeakerton stared down at the blissful humans, almost convinced. He felt the hate towards them, and for all the horrible things he had seen them do to not only his kind, but all the smallfolk that lived on Mother. Squeakerton shook his head as he reminded himself not to hate. Never to hate.

“You’re wrong,” Squeakerton said finally. “There is goodness out there. In them. And in you. You can stop this. I see it in your heart. You want to escape all this, and we can, together.”

Mangler wheezed harshly, his attempt at a laugh. He walked to the vent, a spot he had selected many years ago. His heart weighed heavily on him, not because of all the years of pent-up hate for the bigfolk, but for his brother’s stubbornness. He kept questioning himself on what he could do to make his brother, the knight, see the truth. See what the humans have done to Mother. To their family. To him. Mangler couldn’t understand why his brother could not hate the humans after what they had done to him.

“Brother,” Mangler growled with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Walk away with me,” Squeakerton pressed, stepping forward. “These people are innocents. They don’t know what they do.”

“Exactly!” Shouted Mangler, turning to his brother in excitement. “We need them to see the truth! They need to know we live lives. Have families!” Mangler stepped closer with his good hand out. “They need to see that we fall in love.”

Squeakerton shook his head and turned away, his red cape lightly whisking to his movement.

“This isn’t the way,” he said finally. “They’ll see it as an attack. You’ll turn them against us!”

“They’re already against us!” Growled Mangler in defiance.  “Don’t you see? There is no other way. This is our chance to make them pay for what they’ve done.” Mangler turned and quickly walked back to his doomsday machine. “This is our chance to save Mother.”

Sir Squeakerton stared at his brother and the doomsday machine; his heart torn by his brother’s twisted delusions. Squeakerton was bound to the Knight’s Order. He knew his duty. The machine was a weapon of absolute destruction, powered by dark magic, revealed only to those pledged to hate.

“You have been twisted by the Pale One,” said Sir Squeakerton sadly. “He was a sick and twisted old rat that knew nothing but hate and sorrow.”

“My whole life has been nothing but hate and sorrow!” Growled Mangler in response. “Haven’t you seen my pain? My suffering? No. You only see the humans. Well, I say you were the one twisted by them! The Pale One knew the truth! He knew what the humans were doing, and he also had a dream of how to stop them.” Mangler lightly caressed the doomsday machine. It sputtered in joyous attention, hungry for life energy. “And I have finished his dream.”

“You sound mad.”

“Mad?!” Mangler spun around in fury. “How dare you call me mad?! After you saw the bodies! The children, brother! Do you not remember the children?!”

Sir Squeakerton lowered his head in pain, his difficulty in controlling his emotions was starting to bleed through.

“Please, Mangler.”

“How can you call me that?” Mangler stepped forward, unable to stop himself from enjoying digging the emotional knife deeper into his brother’s heart. “How can you call me such a sickening name after you saw all those poor children dead?!”

“Stop. Don’t go down this path.”

Squeakerton lowered his sword and looked away. The gnawing in his heart grew. The truth burned him.

“What would father say? Or mother?” Mangler stepped closer. “What would they say if they saw how you let our family die? Let them be slaughtered by those beasts down there? And then!” Mangler wheezed, his twisted laughter. “And then you have the audacity to take THEIR side?” Mangler shook his head. “You’re the one that is mad, brother. Because you have turned your back on everything. EVERYTHING. And for what?”

Mangler stared at his brother, the knight. Squeakerton’s body tightened, and tears began to roll down his fluffy cheeks. He couldn’t bear to look at his brother.

“Don’t do this.” Squeakerton begged between his teeth.

Mangler stepped forward with grotesque grace, ready to break his brother’s spirit. The abysmal sickness of Squeakerton’s empathy for all living things made Mangler pity him. A weakness that he once tried to repair, but this time, Mangler reminded himself, he would not try to help his brother rid himself of this disease. He finally decided to stop trying to help those that don’t wish to be helped. This time, he would let his brother’s emotions control him as a human would.

“What made you give everything up?” Mangler asked. “Why did you forsake your entire race and all the other smallfolk on Mother? What about Georgie? Paula? Dammit brother, what about Vivian?”

Squeakerton let out a painful gasp at the utterance of her name as the emotional knife twisted deeper into his heart. Tears rivered through the tiny furs of his furry little face.

“You remember Vivian, don’t you?” Pressed Mangler. “Or is her face one of the many you have tossed into the darkness to save you the pain?” Mangler shook his head and looked back over the ledge and at the humans blissfully laughing amongst their human holiday. “You see, I never forgot her face. Nor any of theirs. I see them every day. I see them when I close my eyes. When I look at you. When I sleep. I cannot escape them, nor would I ever want to. I could never let myself forget them.” Mangler looked down at his twisted and mangled arm. “I loved them. They were my family. And the humans killed them.” Mangler looked at his brother, the knight, who was incapable of looking back. “And for that, I will NEVER forgive them. No matter what they did for me or anything else alive. That is why I must send this message. Humans are like us. They love each other. If I wipe out this city, they’ll finally see the message I sent to them. They’ll understand what they’ve done.”

Sir Squeakerton closed his eyes tightly. He saw the children. He saw the city, his city, reduced to nothing but a mass graveyard. He had seen the damage of the doomsday device. The evils of dark magic used against an entire race.  

“Why do you lie to yourself?” Asked Squeakerton after resettling his emotions. “Why can’t you see what really happened that day?”

   “The humans exterminated us.” Snarled Mangler. “That’s what happened!”

   “No, brother,” Squeakerton said, finally accepting his responsibility for that night. “You did.”

   “Don’t try to trick me. I know what tactics the Order taught you.”

   “You were there! You remember setting the dials. You set them. You killed our city. I…” Squeakerton tightened his fist. “I had the chance to stop you, but I wasn’t strong enough.”

   “I tire of this.” Mangler turned to the doomsday machine and started to prepare it. “You’re delusional.”

“Don’t do this, brother.” Sir Squeakerton raised his toothpick sword of power. “Don’t turn on that machine. I won’t fail in my duty this time. I won’t let you kill more innocents because of my weakness.”

Mangler noticed the sword in his brother’s hand and felt his heart shatter. He shook his head.

“I’ll not fight you. You’re family, and I’ll never do anything to harm you.” Mangler wiped the tears from his red eye, then turned and stepped towards the blurred image of his brother, the knight, who attempted to avoid Mangler’s cycloptic gaze. “I have lost too much to lose you too.” He lowered his head. “There is only one thing you can do to stop me from using the machine on them. Only one thing.” A heavy lump in Mangler’s throat made it difficult for him to speak.  “And if you do that, brother, then you’re truly lost.”

Sir Squeakerton squeezed his eyelids tightly, pushing the tears from his eyes. With the realization that Mangler’s delusions were too deep to fix, and that his hatred could never be cured, his mind fell blank. His emotions clogged his every function as his duty was clear. His hands shook, and his body numbed and stiffened. He finally allowed himself to look his brother in the eyes.

Mangler shifted, and Sir Squeakerton plunged the sword of power into his brother’s heart.

Mangler stopped and gasped as air rushed from his lungs. He looked down at his brother, his heart finally shattered beyond repair. Words couldn’t come to his twisted mouth. Habitually, Mangler’s mouth opened and closed with repetition, though no air came or went.

Squeakerton grabbed his brother tightly and softly let him down, tears poured from his eyes as he stared back into his brother’s weakening face. It burned him to see the look of disappointment; of betrayal; of heartbreak. Mangler could never understand what he had done, and the confusion upon his face seared Squeakerton’s mind like a branding iron. He watched as his brother grew stiff and lifeless in his arms; eyes locked until the light in his eye went out.

Sir Squeakerton sat there for a while, holding the last member of his family in his arms, something that felt far too familiar for comfort. He cried until there was no feeling left in his body, and the lights below had all gone out. Now only the purple and green pulsing warp light from the doomsday machine illuminated Mangler’s lair, its unsatisfaction with Mangler’s life energy agitating it.

Squeakerton looked up to the machine, at his brother’s life’s work, a testament to the ingenuity and genius of mouse kind everywhere. A weapon of destruction. Now to be forgotten just like all the lives of the smallfolk that had been wiped out by the humans.

Sir Squeakerton looked back down at his brother’s corpse still in his hands.

“Oh… my dear brother,” he said with sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

He squeezed his little brother one last time, knowing he would always be alone now. It was the curse placed upon him all those years ago. The prophecy had finally been fulfilled.