Lab Rats represents a delightful (for me, anyway) departure from the typical On the Fringes of Reality stuff. While my usual contemporary horror and gothic-inspired horror tales explore familiar human fears, this piece asks a wonderfully twisted question: what happens when the laboratory hierarchy gets completely flipped? The result is “body horror” with a sense of humour. If you laugh, great; if you recoil, great. Maybe you’ll do both.
Lab Rats
“You’ll love the enrichment activities,” Penny said, her whiskers quivering as she spoke. She’d developed that habit around day thirty, along with the unfortunate tendency to gnaw on pencils. The fresh stitches on her scalp from yesterday’s neural injection had mostly stopped itching. “Dr Whiskers is particularly proud of the maze.”
The newcomer, Gerald, pressed himself against the observation glass. “Those are rats. Rats in lab coats.”
“Evolved rats,” Penny corrected, stuffing a handful of sunflower seeds into her cheek pouches. She’d learned to save them from breakfast. The patch of grey fur grafted behind her left ear prickled constantly—a maddening itch she’d grown to love. “Brilliant creatures, really. Started as Professor Hartwell’s project—something about enhancing rodent intelligence with human neural tissue. Back when I had my marketing job, I never imagined…” She trailed off, whiskers twitching. “Well. Worked rather too well.”
Three white rats clustered around a clipboard, their tiny spectacles glinting under fluorescent lights. The largest one—Dr Whiskers, presumably—pointed at Gerald with a miniature pen.
“Subject 247 appears agitated,” Dr Whiskers squeaked to his colleagues. “Schedule him for the standard welcome injection—the serotonin cocktail with the delightful side effects. And perhaps introduce him to the running wheel earlier than scheduled.”
Gerald watched in horror as Penny dropped to all fours and scurried towards a food dispenser, her movements unnaturally quick and low to the ground. She’d been here six months, according to her chart. Her hair had grown coarse and grey, her front teeth noticeably longer. Small patches of transplanted rat skin dotted her arms like a patchwork quilt.
“The irony is delicious,” continued Dr Whiskers, making notes. “Professor Hartwell wanted to create super-intelligent rats. Instead, he’s given us the opportunity to study human devolution. We’re documenting the precise point where homo sapiens reverts to a more… primitive state.”
The smallest rat, Dr Cheddar, nodded sagely. “Fascinating how quickly they adapt. Subject 183 has begun exhibiting classic burrowing behaviours. And their social structures are becoming increasingly hierarchical—just like ours were, before the enhancement.”
Gerald felt sick. This was insane. He was a university lecturer, for God’s sake—he had a mortgage, a cat, a life waiting outside. But the smell of cheese was overwhelming, and something deep in his brain whispered that struggling was pointless. His arm throbbed where they’d inserted the IV during intake.
“Don’t fight it,” Penny called cheerfully, now gnawing contentedly on a cardboard tube. “The injections only sting for a moment, and the skin grafts are practically painless once the fur grows in. The wheels are actually quite fun once you get the hang of it. And Tuesday is maze day—there’s always gouda at the end!”
Gerald’s stomach cramped—not with hunger but with a hollow, gnawing ache. The smell of cheese was intoxicating now, drowning out his human thoughts. Somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, he thought: Maybe the middle isn’t so bad.
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