Bright morning sunlight filtered through the tree branches at the back of the yard, creating mottled patterns as the frosted glass of the kitchen windows diffused the rays across the walls and surfaces of the kitchen.

  Matt flinched awake, the light blinding to his awakening senses. Turning his head away, the memories of last night started to unfold in his mind. The curious strangeness of all that had happened was rudely shoved to the side by the more primal feelings of struggle, terror and pain. Like waking from the worst of nightmares, his breath came ragged and fast, hyperventilating as his brain strove to piece together the images now seemingly seared into his vision.

  Disturbingly clear was the remembrance of the garish wounds he had suffered from tooth and claw. The habit of many years dealing with the morning after getting battered on a rugby, football or AFL field, Matt winced and waited for the eruption of pain and stiffness that his middle-aged body was all too familiar with.

  He waited.

  Horrible pain and limbs as stiff as boards…. failed to happen.

  After a minute or so of unrealised dread, Matt dared to open his eyes again and look around, finally sweeping his vision down across his body. From a slightly propped up position on the sturdy kitchen table, hemmed in by cushions, he slowly took in the swathes of bandages covering large areas of skin. Copious bloodstains seeping through most of these wrappings made his breath catch once again. The memory of the vicious attack that no amount of life experience could prepare him for - could prepare anyone for, he thought – set his heart racing again. Closing eyes already squinting against the bright morning light, he fought to get control of rising panic.

  The rapid thumping heartbeat subsided, and Matt steeled himself to open his eyes and see what kind of mess his body was in. A towel wrapped around his waist and nether regions was the full extent of his modesty, and he wondered who had drawn the short straw of relieving him of the blood-soaked boxer shorts. The sheer volume of reddened bandages painted a grisly picture, and he tentatively raised his hand to move aside some cushions.

  Once again, crippling pain failed to materialise.

  Either last night was a hideously detailed dream or I’m still asleep, he thought. There was some residual stiffness from his semi-comatose sleep on the table, but even that was fading as his circulation started to pick up pace with his first tentative movements.

  Gingerly, he brushed trembling fingers over some of the larger bandaged areas. In some places he felt the distinct bumps of stitches, but nowhere was the sharp, raw pain of a fresh wound. Neither was there the numbness of pain killers that might explain the fact that he felt…..well, if not good, then more damn acceptable than anyone who had gone through a life and death struggle with an oversized mutant rodent only hours before had any expectation to feel.

  After testing out each limb one by one, always expecting the onset of pain, Matt finally accepted that he might just be the luckiest person on the planet. Either that or the afterlife was considerably less selective and stranger than any religion he had heard about. Striking the latter option off as ‘unlikely’, he took a chance and levered himself up into a sitting position, swinging bandage wrapped legs off the table and slowly standing up on the cold kitchen floor.

  Still wondering at the absence of the familiar aches, always present after an afternoon of trying to compete against larger, faster and younger opponents, Matt took in his surroundings. He vaguely remembered flashes of the trip across the road – Alan’s grip around his ribs, blood trickling down his body and steaming in the cold night air, shadows dancing around, before darkness had taken him once more.

  Feeling movement behind, he turned back toward the back door of the kitchen and froze. Seated in the shadow of the curtain was an enormous black….cat, he supposed, although ‘big-ass tiger painted black’ felt more accurate. Heart pumping once more, breath stuck in his throat, he ever-so-slowly backed away, waiting for the charging pounce that would end him.

  Terror gradually gave way to curiosity as the giant feline slowly raised a paw and began cleaning satin-like fur. Shining ripples waved through the lustrous coat, matted in places with some viscous liquid. A long tail languidly waved out from behind the shadowy shape, a distinctive white stripe capturing his attention.

  “Nala?” Matt whispered in a trembling voice, halting his retreat in disbelief. The cat’s eyes focused on him, briefly blinking as if in acknowledgement, before returning to the cleaning of her coat.

  Although not usually a pet-person, Kira’s instant and growing bond with the group of affectionate kittens had resulted in regular updates about their activities – regardless of any disinterest on his part. He silently thanked his daughter for searing the cats’ distinguishing marks into his brain, quietly and cautiously making his way out of the room toward the front of the house.

  Pausing at the door of the living room, he looked down at the slumbering and entwined forms of Alan and Carry, his gentle snores mixing with her soft breaths.

  Suddenly feeling self-conscious at the sight of his friends at rest, he softly coughed.

  “Al, Carry, are you two ok?”

  At the sound of his voice, the couple stirred. First Alan, and the shift caused Carry to grumble sleepily. Cracking open his eyes, Alan replied sleepily.

  “Morning mate, how’s it go….”

  He sat bolt upright, eyes wide in disbelief. The sudden movement threatened to dump Carry onto the floor with a startled exclamation, but Alan caught her in his arms and held on as she set her feet down, looking around in bewilderment before staring at Matt with the same shocked expression.

  “Matt…. what are… how… you shouldn’t be….” She stuttered, completely failing to get a single sentence together. Jumping up from Alan’s grasp and moving swiftly to Matt’s side, she started examining his bandages, checking bindings and fit. Satisfied that nothing looked in danger of imminent re-opening, she hustled Alan over.

  “Let’s get him back on the table so I can check over these properly. I can’t believe he’s awake, let alone moving. The blood loss alone should have kept him under for days, and there’s no way he should be moving about.” She shook her head with every word, astounded by the sight of her friend.

  Matt held up a conciliatory hand. “I know Carry, I thought exactly the same. I’ve been waiting for the pain to kick in, but there’s nothing. No numbness, dizziness, pain, stiffness…. well, no more than usual…”

  “Don’t you go getting stiff around my lady!” Alan chuckled in mock outrage. “I’ve got that covered.”

  Carry sighed in resignation. “Will you ever grow up?! Now is not the time – he got torn to pieces last night and somehow, he’s now up and moving around like it was a regular evening. This isn’t right Al!”

  “I know babe, I…well, you know me. Sorry.” Alan said, moving to and folding her in a hug. “But it must be a good thing that he has recovered quickly?”

  “You don’t understand. The state he was in when you brought him back – I’ve seen people like that before. Those nights in A&E when some drunk idiot thinks he can fly, or dodge traffic, or fight the whole bar.” She shuddered in his arms, the initial concern for Matt eclipsed by remembering the trauma of seeing the results of societies many follies, usually stemming from alcohol, carelessness or naivete.

  “You learn to detach yourself from the horrible things you must deal with. The broken bodies, seeing…. parts…. which should never see the light of day. You hope…you pray...that the next bloody lump the ambulance brings in isn’t your friend, your family….”

  She tailed off, sobbing gently. Matt stood there awkwardly, not knowing how to react to this uncharacteristic vulnerability from the nurse. Alan stood still, cradling her in his arms, stroking her hair as she gradually gathered her wits again and wiped her eyes.

  “Anyway.” She said with a deep breath, disentangling herself from her partners’ arms. “Enough of that. Back into the kitchen Tapper. Alan, help him onto the table.”

  The two men walked slowly back into the kitchen. Alan initially supporting Matt’s progress but feeling his friend’s steadiness, he let go and watched closely, ready to catch the bandaged man if he stumbled. Matt made his way back into the kitchen, pausing slightly as Nala came into view, lapping at a water bowl that was comically too small for her increased size.

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  “Yeah, not sure what is happening there.” Alan said, following Matt into the room. “All four of the little critters are – well, not little anymore – and they really were our guardian beasts. They ripped a couple of those rat things to shreds quicker than I could move. After that, the others seemed to keep away. Not that it helped the rest of the neighbourhood – I ain’t never forgetting some of the things we heard last night.” He shuddered at the memory.

  “Once we get you checked out, I’m going to look outside, see if the kitties will come with me to check on some of the others. I’ll be careful love.” He said, as Carry looked ready to protest. “But we can’t stay inside forever, and there might be people needing help.”

  She looked ready to argue this but relented and turned back to Matt. Leaning him back into a pile of cushions, she carefully checked over the many wounds she had stitched.

  “There’s no fresh blood, and you’re moving pretty freely, so somehow you’ve managed to escape serious muscle and ligament damage.” She muttered, half to herself as she continued her checks. “I can’t explain that at all, several of these were deep.”

  Seemingly wrestling with her thoughts, she came to a decision and withdrew a set of scissors from her first aid kit, before carefully cutting through one of the larger bandages. Clinically removing each layer of bandage without any rush she then paused, the dark stitches vaguely visible through the wrapping. Taking a breath, she slowly pulled it back, anxious to put as little stress as possible on the wound.

  Which wasn’t there.

  Carry stopped. Blinked. Looked again. Rubbed her eyes, before hesitantly leaning in close to the patch of skin she had just revealed. The stitches were there, clear as day, black thread against weathered skin, but there was no sign of any cut, any blemish at all underneath them. It was as if she had just put some stitches in for a joke, or practice, or…. some unfathomable reason. It made even less sense than the invasion by giant rodents and super-sized adorable kittens.

  “Alan, take a look. Let me know what you see.” She said, backing away and running a glass of water. One hand steadying herself against the sink, she slowly drank it down as Alan moved to the table and peered down at the anomalous patch of skin.

  “What am I looking for Caz?” He said, somewhat confused. “It was bloody dark and he was covered with blood last night, looks like you put a set of stitches over a patch of blood, not a cut. Bit of a waste, but nothing terrible.”

  She moved back to the table, running her eyes over the rest of Matt’s bandages, as he laid there perplexed.

  “There’s a reason I checked that one first. Any deeper and it could have nicked an artery, and we would probably have lost him. I’m not prepared for that kind of emergency here. There’s another layer of stitches under that layer, to pull the muscle together. That one alone should have kept him in bed for a week, maybe longer. But it’s gone. Like it never happened. But it did.” Her voice took on a desperate tone as she gripped the edge of the table like a vice. “What the hell is going on?!”

  As her voice shrilly sounded in the room, there was movement from upstairs, and Matt’s mind snapped back into focus.

  “Al – Kira, Arlee, are they OK?” He asked desperately.

  “All good mate.” Alan replied. “They slept up on our bed, with a couple of the best guard cats money can buy keeping an eye on them.”

  Any further conversation was interrupted by a fast-moving Kira, bouncing off one wall to careen into Alan and end up by her father’s side. Flinging arms around him, she gripped tight, before jumping back with an anguished look on her face.

  “Sorry! Sorry! I’ve just hurt him more? Dad? Are you OK?”

  Matt raised a hand and pulled Kira to him once more, her touch far more careful this time. As he gripped her tight, she returned the clasp, mumbling between sobs of relief.

  Arlee followed next, face pale as she entered the now crowded kitchen and made her way quickly to the table. Wrapping her husband and daughter in her arms, she took several deep, slow breaths, calming herself. Upon being woken by Carry’s voice and the subsequent eruption of her daughter leaving the bed at high speed, the night’s events had come back in full. Seeing Matt sat up and moving flooded her with a wave of relief, like opening the windows of a house long left shut up, the clear breeze sweeping away odours and stagnant air. Gingerly disentangling herself, as Kira refused to let go, she turned to her dear friend.

  “Thank you Carry, you saved him. I…I…couldn’t think straight when we saw him last night, after fighting off one of those things. I don’t know what would have happened if Alan hadn’t come to get us.” She turned a grateful smile to the tall man, leaning against the doorframe and recovering from an accidental elbow to the ribs as Kira had entered the room at high speed.

  The interaction calmed Carry from her mounting confusion, and she laid a gentle hand on Arlee’s arm, wordlessly comforting her friend, before turning back to Matt. Moving over, she tapped Kira on the shoulder.

  “Let go now love, I need to check your dad over to make sure he’s ok. You can give him another hug once we know he’s not going to re-open anything.”

  Kira stepped back quickly, nervously half-smiling down at Matt, who returned the look. Carry stepped forward and methodically checked and removed each bandage in turn, until the floor resembled a Christmas Day after macabrely wrapped presents had been torn open by a bunch of children. With each new patch of exposed skin her agitation grew, and when the final wrapping had settled into the soft pile at their feet, she stood, stupefied.

  Apart from some old scars, there wasn’t a fresh mark anywhere on Matt’s skin. The gashes and punctures from raking claws and stabbing teeth had vanished, as if they had shared a terrible nightmare, which the light of day had banished.

  They crowded closer, each wearing a disbelieving expression.

  “I’m not seeing things, am I?” Alan asked after several breaths had passed. “Did we all imagine that Tapster got put through a shredder last night, or is this an actual bloody miracle?”

  Nobody replied – there was no sensible answer to make. They had all witnessed the terrible, open wounds that the rat had inflicted. Alan’s half-joke about miracles made more sense than anything else running through their thoughts.

  Carry picked up her first aid kit from the chair and opened it up, wearing a quizzical expression as she carefully sorted through the organised interior, categorising and counting under her breath as she went. As the others became aware of this, they turned, as she looked up at them.

  “I keep this well stocked, because why not?” She said, hands trembling slightly. “Last night I used most of my tape, bandages, stitching and plasters…. but it’s all here. It’s like it magically restocked overnight.”

  Moving to Alan, she reached up and quickly ripped a small plaster from his temple.

  “Ow! Caz, what…”

  She tapped his nose to shut him up, before pulling his head down, to get a better look.

  “Yesterday, after the… whatever…. I cleaned up yet another cut Al had given himself when his new stick was the winner in their little tussle. Today, there’s nothing there, no cut, blood, anything to show that he got beaten up by an inanimate object. Look!” She thrust Alan’s head toward Arlee and Kira.

  Alan took this in somewhat good graces, before straightening up.

  “Well, if we’re all healing like bloody Wolverine, why is this still stinging?” He complained, displaying a small cut on the edge of his hand. “I snagged myself on some broken glass when I picked Matt up off the floor.”

  Kira bounced over excitedly. “Aunty Carry didn’t take care of that one, did she? You went all man-mode and ignored it.”

  Her eyes lit up as imagination took over. “Maybe she’s turned into one of those holy people from that game with all the weird dice, Dad? You know, the one you tried to explain to Lara and me one day, when we wanted to watch TV, but you were watching something old and boring about a guy trying to rescue a princess with a fancy frisbee.”

  Matt chuckled at the memory, the umpteenth viewing of Krull having been cut short by the exasperating pair, who were convinced at the time that some Youtuber was the pinnacle of entertainment.

  “A healer, yes? That would be cool, and very useful if last night isn’t a one-off. How do you feel Carry? Anything different? Vast restorative energy ready to burst from your fingertips and wash away the cuts and bruises of a man beset by a stick?”

  Alan bristled jokingly at the ongoing mockery, but held his tongue as Carry shook her head.

  “Nothing feels different, except…” She paused, as if sorting through her feelings. “There’s something about my kit that feels…right, maybe? When I’m holding it? Does that make sense?”

  Kira was now almost bouncing off the ceiling. “OMG, I thought it was just me! That’s exactly how I feel about the book Dad gave me yesterday. It was interesting and all, but I found myself lugging it around everywhere, like it didn’t want to be put down.”

  Matt sat back into the cushions and thought, pushing his memory back past the blood and pain, back to the previous afternoon, when the unexplained phenomenon had first struck. He remembered weaving together the beginnings of the patch that he would finish later that evening. The feeling of completion had been a new sensation, and the utter astonishment when the patch had been a key part of his survival, providing light when it was needed most.

  He looked down, but his boxer shorts were nowhere in sight. With an embarrassed cough, he turned to Carry.

  “What happened to my boxers please?”

  She paused before replying. “We had to cut them off you Matt. You had so many wounds everywhere, we had to make sure there wasn’t anything bleeding, although…” She arched an eyebrow, with a small, wicked smile, “….my big manly man got strangely reticent to help with that.”

  Alan had a flustered look on his face. “I don’t mess with another guy’s junk love, you’ve had the specialist training for that.”

  Carry sighed dramatically. “I must have missed that part of the training. Anyway, unless blood red rag is your thing Matt, they are done with. They’re in the bin.”

  “I know it’s a bit weird, but could you get them for me please? Something happened last night and I need to make sure I’m not going bananas. More bananas.”

  Arlee had been listening intently, but as the others glanced at each other uncertainly, she turned and opened the bin. Her breath caught as she hesitantly reached down and picked up the once-grey strips of cloth, now stiff and crusted with dry blood. Holding them between a finger and thumb, she laid them back on the table by Matt’s side.

  He reached over, turning them over once and again, until the patch of cloth lay face up, the rough threads caked in his blood.

  “Kira, bring the curtains closed please.”

  Unusually, this wasn’t met with questions, as his daughter turned and pulled the thick drapes across the window and door, cutting off most of the light. A single ray pierced across the room to fall on the far wall, but all else was shadowed.

  Slowly reaching down, Matt laid his fingers on the patch. At first there was no reaction, but even as his brain sought for an alternate explanation for the light that had shone from it last night, a gentle glow awoke, before strengthening to a bright, but not blinding radiance.

  Long shadows streamed away behind the group, clustered around his seated position, and for a long moment, there was no sound, no movement. Then in his own distinctive style, and a passable Robbie Coltrane impression, Alan spoke.

  “Bloody hell, yer a wizard Matty!”