The Promenade of Art was lined on each side with beautiful vases, intricately decorated in various styles — Chinese, Roman, Greek… Randy gaped at the collection with reverence as he remembered Glorioso’s story. The mice had used the vases to amplify their voices, shouting to make the humans believe the house was haunted. As he imagined this, he was startled from his reverie by whispers echoing from a nearby vase. Approaching cautiously, he peeked through a hole at the bottom and saw three young mice arguing.
“This is the most fun you’ll ever have,” the largest of the three said, a muscular mouse who must have been a week older than Randy. “A golden opportunity!”
“Sounds great, Tabasco, but my brother Chimichurri is sick. Isn’t that right, Chimichurri?”
“Right you are, Cilantro. My back’s killing me, I feel… I feel like I'm on the brink of death!” Chimichurri said.
“You didn’t mention this before,” Tabasco said, tilting his head back to eye them with suspicion.
“Mark my words, Tabasco. This could be the end!” Cilantro reiterated, while Chimichurri mimicked a pained expression.
“Chimichurri, my dear Chimichurri. Don’t sour my heart with such awful words. Let’s hope you pull through!” Cilantro said.
They sobbed loudly and insincerely, stopping abruptly when Chimichurri spotted Randy’s bright orange jumper. “Hey! I know you! You’re the only-child.”
“Hello,” Randy said, staring at the floor and shuffling his feet awkwardly. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll just go now.”
“No, no, come on in!” Tabasco said, putting an arm around Randy. “You’re among friends!”
“Tabasco is awfully friendly when he wants something,” Cilantro muttered to his brother.
“Today’s your lucky day, Randy!” Tabasco said. “We’re having fun, and we want you to be a part of it.”
“What? Why?” Randy asked. No one was ever this friendly to him.
“Oh, it’s thrilling!” Chimichurri said. “Basically, you just have to—”
Tabasco thumped him on the back, cutting him off. “Why spoil the surprise? It’ll be fun!” he grinned.
“Hello everyone!” a silky voice announced behind Randy. He turned and saw the most beautiful she-mouse he’d ever laid eyes on. She had long, dark eyelashes that framed big, round eyes, and ears that were perfectly shaped, like delicate, translucent petals. Randy couldn’t even breathe, his eyes glued to her.
Tabasco quickly grabbed her paw. “This is my girlfriend, Paprika.”
Randy felt a pang of jealousy mixed with admiration.
“Is everyone coming?” Paprika asked, her gaze sweeping over the group and then lingering on Randy, her smile warm and inviting.
“We really want to go,” Cilantro said, “but Chimichurri has terrible back pains.”
“Ouch!” Chimichurri exclaimed.
“Does it hurt here?” Cilantro asked, lightly touching his back.
“Oh, yes!”
“How about here?”
“Oh, yes indeed!”
“And here?”
“That’s not my back, but now that you mention it, it hurts terribly too!”
“Oh, you poor thing!” Paprika said. “You should have warm milk and go to bed.”
“I think I will. If I’m to survive, that’s my only hope. Thank you, Paprika.”
“Go home and drink your milk, you cowards!” Tabasco barked.
“Tabasco!” Paprika protested. “How can you be so mean to someone so sick?”
“Injured… ha! Good thing I found someone brave with a zest for life. Isn’t that right…? What's your name again?”
“Randy,” he answered, lost in reverie while gazing at Paprika.
“Hello, Randy. I’m Paprika!” she said, with a big, friendly smile. Even her teeth were so beautiful, Randy thought, his brain momentarily short-circuiting. He couldn't believe that anyone, especially someone like her, would smile at him like that. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to impress her, to prove that he was worthy of her attention. He'd do anything she asked, anything at all!
“I am Tabasco,” the large mouse extended a paw towards Randy.
Randy, eager to please, extended his own paw in return. But instead of a friendly handshake, Tabasco grabbed Randy's paw, pulled him close, twisted him around with ease and then locked his neck in the crook of his arm. With his other paw, he rubbed the top of Randy's head with his knuckles.
"That’s a good lad, Randy, good lad!" Tabasco boomed with a manic energy.
Cilantro and Chimichurri, their earlier ailments apparently forgotten, roared with laughter.
Randy was not particularly amused. He felt a tad humiliated, especially in front of Paprika. But since no one was ever this friendly to him — and Tabasco was twice his size — he decided it was best to swallow his displeasure.
“I’m glad you’re coming. We’ll have fun, I promise,” Paprika said to him as she patted him lightly on the back.
Randy opened his mouth to reply, to assure her that he was indeed a very fun mouse, but only a strangled gasp escaped his lips.
“Well then, let’s go!” Tabasco said, grabbing Paprika’s hand. The group moved out, leaving Chimichurri and Cilantro behind.
“Poor sucker, he’s under her spell,” Chimichurri said.
“He’ll be alright. He looks lucky,” Cilantro replied.
Randy followed the couple down the promenade, passing several more vases until they entered one with two holes, one of which faced a tunnel in the wall.
“Randy, go first?” Paprika asked gently. “We may need to help Tabasco in from each side.”
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Randy eyed the hole with trepidation. It was new, and he loved new things. But it was also awfully small and dark. He couldn't fathom how Tabasco, with his rather robust physique, was going to squeeze through. Still, he didn't want to appear cowardly in front of Paprika. So, with a deep breath, Randy went in first, wiggling through the narrow opening with a surprising lack of difficulty.
Then it was Tabasco's turn.
"Almost there!" he grunted, pushing and straining, his muscles bulging with the effort.
Paprika dutifully assisted his transition. "Let me help!" she said, and then proceeded to kick him in the rear with a series of increasingly forceful shoves.
Tabasco's eyes bulged with each kick, and Randy, despite himself, stifled a laugh, his ribs aching from the sheer absurdity of the situation.
"Randy, pull from your side!" Paprika instructed, continuing her motivational kicks.
Randy grabbed Tabasco's outstretched paws and pulled with all his might. Finally, with a final, triumphant pop, Tabasco's body squeezed through the hole, leaving him panting and slightly disheveled.
"Where are we going?" Randy asked, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space as they moved on through the dark tunnel lined with pipes.
"The Thread Mines. Didn't Tabasco tell you?" Paprika asked, giving Tabasco a quick disapproving look.
"I wanted it to be a surprise," Tabasco said, flashing an unnerving grin. "Don't ruin it!"
"Ah, okay. It'll be fun, Randy. Don't worry!" Paprika reassured him with a smile.
They eventually reached their destination: an enormous space filled to the brim with human clothing. Jackets, trousers, dresses, and shirts were everywhere — some torn, salvaged, and piled haphazardly, others looming high in the distance, clinging to hangers.
"Here we are!" Paprika declared with excitement. “The mines have been closed for a few days. I heard Euphemia found some chamber with milk underneath.”
Still processing the sheer volume of human garments, Randy was ushered towards a scaffold next to a large wool coat hanging from a high rack. He clambered up after the others, soon reaching the top.
From their vantage point, they could see the full extent of the "Thread Mines": an old walk-in closet, crammed with gigantic human clothes, dappled with sunlight streaming through translucent windows.
"Okay, I'll go first!" Paprika announced, grabbing a long thread from a wool coat and tying it securely around her feet.
"No!" Tabasco said sharply. "Randy goes first. He deserves the honour as our guest, don't you think?"
"Oh, sure! I am so sorry. So thoughtful of you, Tabasco," said Paprika, her cheeks flushing slightly.
"Go first where?" Randy asked, his innocence as genuine as his confusion.
Paprika pointed towards the dark, gaping abyss below.
"Down there!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with a mischievous glint. "We're jumping with threads tied to our feet. My grandad used to do this as a kid. It's fun and safe!"
Randy's infatuation with Paprika, which had been steadily clouding his judgment, momentarily cleared. Jumping into the inky blackness below, with only a thin thread to prevent a rather abrupt and messy end, did not sound like his idea of fun. Nor did it sound particularly safe.
"Come on, Randy!" Tabasco challenged. "You don't want Paprika to think you're a coward, do you?"
Randy glanced at Paprika, her expectant face radiating excitement. He certainly didn't want to look like a coward in front of her, but this was just plain crazy.
Before he could voice his objections, Paprika was already tying a knot around his feet. Her hands were soft and warm, and her silky tone was soothing as she explained the intricacies of the knot, a skill she had learned from her adventurous grandfather.
"Alright, you are all set," Paprika said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. She gave the thread a sharp tug to demonstrate its supposed strength.
Randy remained unconvinced. He looked down into the shadowy abyss, a fresh wave of trepidation washing over him.
"Nice view!" Randy said, a little too enthusiastic, as he took a very, very long breath, hoping to delay the inevitable jump.
"Very pretty," Tabasco said, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Jump."
"So exciting!" Paprika exclaimed with anticipation.
"Very much so," Randy said, his laughter sounding forced and slightly hysterical as he looked down with rising fear. "Okay, I'll count to three, then jump."
"Ooooone…" he drawled. "Hey, Paprika, what was your grandpa like? Did he invent this game?"
"Jump!" Tabasco said with a growing impatience.
"Right, okay, yes, sooo, oooone… This is a captivating sight! Thank you for bringing me! In fact, I—"
"Jump!" Tabasco exclaimed, his face now hot red with barely suppressed rage.
"I'm going, I am going. Mum says never rush good cheese!" Randy blurted out, a desperate attempt to buy himself a few more precious seconds.
"You're not making cheese," Tabasco pointed out flatly.
"A really insightful observation, Tabasco. Let's talk about that for half an hour," Randy responded, his mind racing for any possible distraction.
Paprika intervened. "Tabasco, let Randy take his time. It's normal for him to be nervous."
Randy felt a surge of gratitude towards Paprika, a feeling that quickly morphed into a renewed desire to impress her. He couldn't look like a coward in front of her. No, sir.
"Ooooone…" he began again, slightly more confident.
But Tabasco, his patience finally snapping, decided to take matters into his own hands. He stepped forward and, with a forceful shove, pushed Randy off the edge.
Paprika gasped in protest, but Randy was already falling, spiraling down into the abyss.
"I'm dead!" Randy thought, his mind racing through a rather morbid highlight reel of his short life. "Cemetery, then milk, then cheese, then Aunt Ruda's stomach! Not good!"
But the floor wasn't approaching as fast as he expected. In fact, dangling there, suspended by the thread, was… rather enjoyable. After a few moments of spinning and twirling, feeling like a tiny pendulum, he gently touched down on the floor.
He looked up and saw Tabasco and Paprika peering down at him from the wardrobe.
"It's safe and lots of fun!" Randy shouted up to them, his chest inflated with a bravado he could only feel now that his feet were firmly on the floor.
"Really? He's okay!" Tabasco said with some surprise. "I'm next."
"You just brought him because you did not believe me, did you?" Paprika accused, her eyes flashing with anger.
"Of course I believed you, Paprika," said Tabasco, smooth and reassuring.
But before Paprika could retort, he saw something that made his fur stand on end: small figures moving quickly towards Randy. They weren't friendly figures. They were guards.
"Quick! Hide!" Tabasco hissed, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by a sharp urgency.
Randy was in a bit of a predicament. Standing in the middle of the room in his bright orange jumper, he was spotted instantly. He froze, not sure what he had done wrong but certain he was already guilty.
"We should help him," Paprika whispered, getting ready to go down.
But Tabasco held her back.
"That's Elder Guard Boldo," he said, barely containing his fear. "He hates young mice."
"You there!" Boldo barked. "How dare you come here? And why's that thread hanging from you?" he demanded, his guards flanking him, their faces stern and unyielding.
"I…" Randy stammered, his gaze darting upwards, but his friends were gone, vanished into the folds of the human clothing. "I'm just… touring. I heard this place was pretty."
"Not pretty. Forbidden. Unless you are a thread miner. Are you a thread miner?" Boldo accused, his guards moving closer, their shadows looming large.
"Well, no… but I can be if you want me to?" Randy offered with a nervous smile.
Sheriff Boldo's gaze narrowed. "Where are your friends?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room.
"I… I came alone. I'm always alone."
"This town isn't your playground!" Boldo declared.
"Okay," Randy said, avoiding his penetrating stare. Boldo didn’t look particularly receptive to his opinions.
"Let's go. I'll take you home and talk to your mother. I'm tired of cleaning up messes," Boldo said as he signaled his guards to grab Randy.
And so, a defeated Randy was escorted home, where he received the biggest verbal wallop of his short life.
"How could you?!"
"What were you thinking?!"
"Now you're the centre of attention!"
"Everyone will mock you!"
"People will say I'm a bad mother!"
"Now I'll never have grandchildren! What shall I do?!"
Rosaline went on and on, while Romero, Randy's father, sat quietly, his disapproving stare cutting deeper than all the shouting. And at the end, Randy, thoroughly chastised and utterly miserable, was grounded for three long days, a long time for a mouse with a thirst for adventure.