Fiction

The Vengeful Summon

by Lynae Fisher 
04/07/26
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I sat on the low-cut stump gazing in wonder at the purple, red, and pink fiery sunset colors all stirred together in splendor over the distant treed hill.

—Oh, sorry. Allow me to introduce myself. For starters, I’m a mouse, so I typically don’t care for much company. It is no use trying to explain that to certain individuals, however—in particular, that crazy chipmunk that ran into me the other night, as I was enjoying watching the magnificent sunset in peaceful solitude.

“If you know something bad is going to happen, do you have to try and stop it?” asked the frazzled chipmunk, scurrying onto the stump, nearly knocking me over.

“I just got here.” I replied, disgusted at being interrupted from my peaceful musing. “I don’t even know what you are talking about —or who you are, for that matter.”

“Yeah, I know. You just moved here today,” the chipmunk chattered impatiently. “That’s why I thought you might have better insight on the matter.”

“Would you mind telling me what you are even talking about? I mean, I could give you the rough-cut Biblical…”

The chipmunk interrupted, “For starters, I and some of my pals moved here a while ago. There was an abundance of feed, so we stole a little now and then from the bird feeder. Then the squirrels moved in and stole even more and started destroying things, and …”

“Hold on a second. You are talking so fast I can hardly understand you!”

The chipmunk stood catching his breath.

“What do you think is going to happen that you might need to stop?”

The chipmunk turned his little head from side to side as if looking to see if anyone was watching or listening. Creeping closer and putting his mouth nearly in my ear, he whispered, “My friend plans to summon the weasel.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “What!!!” I shouted.

“Shhhh! Not so loud!” the chipmunk whispered frantically, shaking his tiny hands.

“Why would anyone call up the weasel? Is your friend insane? That weasel is like the rodent version of a serpent. Weasels are like a whole raccoon packed into a frame two or three times my length, but no bigger around. They are unstoppable! They kill everything they can sink their teeth into without mercy! They…”

“I know.”

“Then why? Why the weasel?”

“Because.” The chipmunk sat down and wrapped his fluffy tail around his dainty toes. “My friend has suffered greatly for his theft. Now he is so bitter that he thinks of nothing but revenge. Hate has eaten him up and poisoned him. All he wants is to get even with the one who hurt him, no matter the cost.”

“Doesn’t he know the weasel would destroy him too?”

“Maybe he does… but he probably hasn’t thought that far.”

“Why don’t you tell him? Why don’t you warn him and try to convince him not to call for the evil that will kill him too?”

“Last time I spoke to him —when he told me about his plan to call the weasel— I tried to calm him down, but he only grew angrier. My poor old pal, he turned on me, said he hated me, would sick the weasel on me too —as if the weasel would do his bidding.” The chipmunk hung his striped head. “I’m afraid he’ll kill me if he sees me again.”

“But he’ll get us all killed if you don’t.” I sighed.

“Maybe I should just pack up and get out of here before it’s too late. Of course, there probably won’t be a safe place to hide once the weasel is on the loose.”

We stood side-by-side watching the sunset like fire on the hill. The fiery rays shot across the ground towards us. Neither of us spoke for a moment. At last, I broke the silence.

“If a watchman is set on a tower and sees the enemy coming, he has two options: sound the alarm and annoy the people, or stay silent and let the enemy destroy those he is set to protect. If he sounds the alarm, it is their duty to decide what they will do. However, if he fails to warn them, their blood is on his head.”

“But he hates me already.”

“Maybe he will listen to your warning, maybe he will not. But you will have done your part.”

“I don’t know how he even plans to summon this weasel without just getting eaten on the spot. If he does manage to bring it here… there will be nothing left for us here. The only one who can lift a finger against the weasel is the very one the poor Chippy hates so much.”

“Remind your friend of this; if he continues to drink the poison of hatred, it will destroy him, though it will not likely harm the one he hates. Better to move on with what you have left than let bitterness burn up what’s left.”

“I’ll tell him.”

The fiery sunrays were almost fully retracted now. Still, we sat in peaceful silence, gazing at the last light of dusk.

--Lynae Fisher