The Night the Rats Took Over My Bird Feeders.

The Night the Rats Took Over My Bird Feeder

by Darklady

It started like most cursed evenings do — quiet, suspiciously normal, and far too uneventful to trust.

I was sitting in the dark, watching TV, letting my brain slowly melt from the news cycle when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned toward the back window, expecting maybe a moth or one of those stoned city raccoons.

What I got...

was twelve massive, greasy, city rats dangling off my bird feeder like they were in the middle of some back-alley burlesque performance.

No, not near the feeder.

ON IT.

Bodies draped like fur-covered sausages in a claw grip of pure desperation. Their tails were coiling around the chains, twitching like spell cords, and every one of them was spinning or swinging or snatching seeds like their lives depended on it.

It was less "feeder" and more "rodent Cirque du Soleil."

They were not afraid.

They were not ashamed.

They had taken over the feeder like a cult seizing sacred ground.

I stood up, stunned.

Mouth open.

Cupping my mug like it would protect me.

One of them looked at me — dead in the eye — while casually eating sunflower seeds with his tiny creepy paws like:

“This is ours now, witch.”

I did what any dark witch would do when her territory is breached by a dozen twitchy-tailed warlocks:

I flung open the back door.

Stepped into the dark with bare feet and unbrushed hair, channeling a power older than caffeine.

And I said:

"Sket"

That’s it.

One word.

No wand.

No Latin.

Just full pissed-off-witch energy and a single syllable of banishment.

Twelve rats froze mid-spin.

One dropped a sunflower seed.

And then — like a horror film in fast-forward — they all jumped, scurried, and vanished under the fence like the nightmare mob they were.

I removed the feeders that night.

But I swear to Nyx… I could feel them watching me.

Tiny eyes. Little whispers.

“She’s awake. She knows.”

I know they were just being rats.

They weren’t evil.

They weren’t plotting.

But I have rules. And that night? They broke the pact.

And I took the seed back.

Witch’s Closing Word:

I don’t blame them.

Not in a city where trash flows like cursed water, where the humans have made filth into lifestyle and call it “crisis.”

But if the rats are coming to my yard, dancing on my feeders, and daring to look me in the eye?

Then I’m putting out the word:

“You can spin.

You can dance.

But you better SKET when the witch steps out.”

— Darklady