In the days that followed, the concept of death occupied Randy’s mind rather invasively. One moment he was staring at the dreaded cheese, the next he was contemplating non-existence, and he wasn’t sure which one was worse. He also learned, to his great dismay, that mice didn’t exactly live long lives — no more than thirty-six moons, if you were lucky.
That realisation fuelled a profound, rushing urge to explore the world around him before his short time was up. Unfortunately, Rosaline wasn’t particularly keen on letting him go adventuring.
"Mum, pleeeeease?" Randy would whine, clinging to her apron strings tenaciously. "Just a little peek beyond the square? I'll be good, I promise!"
Rosaline remained unmoved. But Randy was furiously persistent, every hour of every day. Finally, after days of relentless begging and dramatic pronouncements of his impending doom, Rosaline cracked.
"Alright, alright!" she huffed. "You can go beyond the town square. But only to the Agonising Gardens, and only if you deliver this cheese to Fenela at her tapestry exhibition."
And that was how Randy found himself, bright and early the next morning, trudging through Villagloriosa with an oversized parcel of cheese, sporting his eye-searing orange garment that Rosaline had knitted.
The Agonising Gardens were, in fact, less "agonising" and more "astonishing." They were located in what had once been a grand human living room, a space now transformed by generations of industrious mice. Dozens of flower pots were stacked into several towering pyramids: verdant ziggurats teeming with life. Hanging plants cascaded down the sides like emerald waterfalls.
Everywhere he looked, there were running wheels, spiraling staircases, and precarious-looking bridges, all interconnected in a dizzying display of ingenuity. Randy paused, gaping at everything, speechless.
The running wheels were the main attraction of the gardens. For reasons that remain a mystery to even the wisest of mice, these spinning contraptions held an irresistible allure. Once a mouse hopped inside and started running, they were incapable of stopping. This wheel infatuation caused endless frustrations, tears, and tiny tantrums when their allotted wheel time was up and the little mice were pulled away from them.
The queues for these wheels snaked through the gardens, winding over bridges, under hanging vines, and all the way back to the entrance.
Randy balked at the idea of queueing but the wheels were so alluring that he couldn’t resist having a go. Sadly, he quickly realised that large mouse families at the front saved places in line for their numerous siblings. Randy, being an only-child, had no such privilege. He was shunted further and further back, his dreams of wheel-induced bliss fading with each passing shove.
After much waiting, a stream of unfiltered sunlight pouring from a gap in the translucent curtains drove him away from the queue. A thrill, a dangerous and delicious curiosity, shot through Randy. What was out there outside Villagloriosa?
He scrambled up the flower pots, his little claws finding purchase on the rough clay, heading towards the window ledge. From up there, he could see the whole garden spread out below him, a miniature world of green and brown, the mice scurrying in the queues like ants.
He felt a strange sense of power as he reached the window sill, a feeling promptly interrupted when Oregano popped from behind the curtain.
"Mr. Randy Crackers!"
Randy yelped and nearly plummeted into the abyss below, his cheese parcel swinging wildly, but Oregano caught him just in time.
“You can’t be in here!” Oregano said.
"Why not?" Randy asked as he regained his composure.
Mr. Oregano blinked, his frown deepening. No one ever asked, "Why?" It was unsettling, like finding out his favourite cheese had suddenly developed legs and started tap-dancing.
"Because… well… because it's the law!"
"Why is it the law not to look outside?"
"Euphemia says it's bad for kids — you can only look outside with an adult!" Mr. Oregano said, waving his finger around.
"You're an adult. Show me."
Mr. Oregano's whiskers curled in indignation. "Definitely not!"
"Definitely not an adult, or definitely not showing me?" Randy pressed, enjoying this verbal sparring more than he probably should have.
"Don't be cheeky, Mr. Randy!"
"But I really want to see, Mr. Oregano!" Randy pleaded, his tone shifting to one of wide-eyed innocence, an act he'd perfected on his mother.
"Do I look like the town's entertainment?" Mr. Oregano grumbled. "I'm a guard — now go down or you'll get a spanking!"
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Randy, sensing he'd pushed his luck far enough, scurried back down the flower pots to deliver his mother’s cheese.
Fenela's exhibition was tucked away at the back of the room, inside a large, disused fireplace whose dark opening resembled a shadowy cave.
Randy, already tired of the burden of his cheese parcel, stepped inside with a quiet relief. The atmosphere shifted to one of primal awe. The air was quieter, calmer, and most of the light came from a few strategically placed candles, their gentle glow illuminating the tapestries that adorned the walls.
And there, amidst her woven creations, sat Fenela. She was an old mouse, her fur the colour of faded parchment, her paws gnarled with age. But her eyes, though crinkled at the corners, shone with a kindly light.
"Hello Randy," she said, her voice a soft, rustling sound, like leaves in a gentle breeze. "Forgive me if I don't get up, my joints ache something fierce today."
"Hello, how did you know my name?" Randy replied, his tone more solemn, a little more respectful in this peaceful space.
“I gave your mother the fabric for the jumper you are wearing,” she said, pointing at the item.
“Oh yes, this,” Randy said, looking at his jumper with little love. “Do you like it?”
She regarded the piece of clothing briefly. How it stood out in the dark.
“It’s… well… it’s interesting.” she said, forcing a smile.
“This cheese is for you,” Randy said, giving her the parcel.
“Oh dear, no, she did not have to. I had too much of that fabric anyway.”
“Please take it,” Randy pleaded. “Otherwise she will make me eat it, she makes me eat too much cheese.”
“Oh, that’s a good mother. Lucky you! Her cheese is wonderful,” she said, grabbing the parcel and placing it on her lap.
"But I don't like cheese," Randy confessed, bracing himself for the inevitable gasp of horror.
"Oh dear, don't say that. No, no, no. Mice in town will get offended."
"I know," Randy sighed. "But you seem like someone who would understand."
"Only the oldest of us can fully appreciate what it is to live without cheese. The daily chaos, the hunger and madness that used to surround us. It all ended when Euphemia brought us cheese galore. When she found all that milk underground and taught us the ways of reason. The perfection of cheese," Fenela said, her gaze sweeping over the tapestries that surrounded her. "Just look around you, Randy. Every tapestry tells a story."
"The things on the walls?" Randy asked, gesturing towards the woven scenes.
"Indeed," Fenela replied with quiet pride.
Randy wandered closer, staring at the beautiful pieces with their due reverence. The tapestries were incredible, vibrant scenes woven with threads of every imaginable colour.
"Did you make them yourself? They look very impressive." Randy asked, genuinely awed.
"Thank you. Weaving is my trade."
Most of the tapestries depicted familiar scenes from Villagloriosa's history: the construction of the mansion by humans, Glorioso’s visions of a cheese-filled future, and his heroic stand against his creators. But three tapestries, tucked away in the darkest corner of the fireplace, were different. They were darker, more dramatic. They sent shivers down his spine.
"What are those?" Randy asked, pointing with a hesitant paw.
Fenela's expression grew somber, taking on a hushed tone. "They depict three well-known terrifying stories, Randy."
Randy's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"They are cautionary tales for those who dare to venture too deeply into The Wild," Fenela confirmed.
She paused, her eyes drifting into the shadows, as if the tapestries themselves held a dark power.
"What's the story behind this one?" Randy asked, pointing to the first tapestry, which showed a mouse facing off against a monstrous four-legged clawed beast. It was slashing at the mouse with its claws and spitting out fire.
"That's a cat,” Fenela explained. ”A creature from The Wild. It first strikes you with its razor-sharp claws and then, while you are still alive, it roasts you with its fire breath. Many mice who ventured to The Wild perished by this beast — horrific, frightfully horrific, Randy."
Randy gasped, then pointed to the next tapestry, which depicted what looked like an ugly, giant mouse lifting another mouse by the neck with one of its claws, choking him. "And that one?"
"That's a rat. They are evil creatures that prowl The Wild in search of mice to eat — sometimes they even kill for pleasure. Here you can see it strangling a poor mouse who had ventured too far into The Wild."
Randy shuddered, more perturbed by this image than the previous one. "Have you ever seen these beasts in real life?" he asked, trembling slightly.
Fenela shook her head. "No, Randy, but Euphemia described them to me in vivid detail, and she reviewed my work for accuracy. You know, she almost died once at the hands of a rat; it was horrific — the things she has gone through for us…"
He pointed to the final tapestry, the most disturbing of them all. It showed a mouse, his fur matted and dirty, his eyes wild, his claws elongated and black, holding some kind of dark fruit. His face was stretched out in a frightful grimace, a grotesque parody of a scream.
"And this story?" Randy asked.
Fenela took a deep breath, her face filling with sorrow. "That’s, in my opinion, the worst of all fates. The mouse is Euphemia’s husband, the love of her life. He was the smartest mouse in town; he knew things that no one knew. Some even say he could understand the symbols that humans use to communicate.
“But alas, his quest for knowledge took him too far, too deep inside the entrails of The Wild, where his brain began to rot after consuming too much Wild food. He became so feral that he couldn’t recognize his family anymore and eventually wandered off, never to be seen again. Tragic, exceedingly tragic, Randy.”
Randy stood there, silent for a long time, staring at the tapestries. The vibrant scenes of heroism and cheese now seemed pale and distant compared to these terrifying glimpses into the dangers of the outside world.
Fenela smiled gently. "Remember, Randy," she said, "these stories exist to protect us, to teach us that The Wild is a dangerous place and that we are lucky to be here in Villagloriosa — a perfect place with all the cheese a mouse needs."
Randy went home in a daze. He couldn't hear the mice in the garden making fun of his jumper, his mind wholly occupied with the fascinating and terrifying stories of monsters and madness in The Wild. Perhaps avoiding The Wild was wise, even if that meant a lifetime of cheese. Depressing, exceedingly depressing…