At first they aren’t much noticed. They’re seen in ones and twos, caught in kitchen cellars, or crawling over shoes. The people start to talk about the problems that they make. Just what it is that they should do, what precautions they should take. Some are laying poison out, some are grabbing brooms. Cats are hunting everywhere, in each and every room. It’s not enough, the rats still spread, determined in their doom. A week goes by, their numbers grow, the stored grain’s getting thin. The fields are bare, rats ate it all, no harvest’s coming in. Nothing done can stop the rats, and, much to their chagrin, the town concedes against the rats they simply cannot win. 

The young are in a panic. Their screaming fills the air. The old are much more stoic, absorbed in silent prayer. Many carry handkerchiefs to mop a teary face. We’ll not humiliate them in this very special case, for I would be found sobbing, curled up fetal on the ground if these vicious rats in masses came laid siege within my town. Cupboards barren, money spent, the water’s stained and brown. They chew and gnaw and bite and 20 claw, they scratch and make a mess. They’re everywhere and all at once, a growth we can’t suppress. We’re on the brink, we’re at wit’s end, and now I must confess I’m off to drink one with a friend, I do humbly acquiesce. 

Jerome the gnome, mayor of Hamelin, sat fat and official, defended by a broad oak mayoral desk. You’ve met once before, so you know what’s in store from this self serving whore. “You lousy, sub intellect, bleating, furred moo! I’m blaming this whole god damn mess upon you! You were cheap and indulgent, you let them begin, and now they’re amok! Tell me, where they’re not in!? An election is coming, just a twelvemonth to go. You’re fired! It’s all on you. Get me re-elected. I’ll find you something new. Now call in those guys that came in from the zoo.” 

“You there! You guys go round up these rats. You can use nets, bullets or cats. I don’t care what you do and I won’t ask you why, but those rats have to go or we’re all going to die.”

In runs a man with a worried nervous look. In his hand he holds but one sad lonely chewed up tattered book. “It’s all that’s left! They’ve come and eaten every single page. Our knowledge, lore and custom gained in struggles over ages gone in days. This infestation must be stopped! Or the mayor’s head, off it will be chopped!” 

Here comes a girl, a forehead full of furls. So young to be anxious, but she’s trying to be brave. “These rats, my lord! Have no respect, they fill each nook and cave within my home and in the street. They cannot decently behave! I’ve come upon a prayer that the state my soul will save!” 

A third shuffles in, this one just a child, “My tummy is empty, I haven’t eaten for a while. No grain, one can’t get fed. Can one of you here spare some bread?” 

“Out, child, now! That’s enough of your complaints.” He was pushed out the door and later put into restraints. 

“You bastards are staining my triumphant campaign! My career is over and my secrets out! My guilt and my shame! No! I’ll not have it. We’re stopping this game. Set fire to the buildings. We’ll burn the place down!”, when in pokes the head of a mysterious clown. Or colourful, one might say. “I’m Piper. I can help, if you’ll pay.”