For over a week Ms. Hilden looked for answers about the previous owners of the house. She and Mr. Samson tried speaking to Art about his strange habits and whether or not he knew the people that used to live in the old building, but he would always look straight through them. They both felt helpless.
One morning, as December approached ever nearer, the landlady found that Art was nowhere to be found inside the boarding house. Mr. Samson went into the woods once more after one final request. He returned to Ms. Hilden with an uncharacteristically somber expression on his face. “I’m sorry…” He began, but then went silent and slumped into a chair.
“Whatever has happened?”
“I’m sorry. Oh, it’s terrible. I waited outside for what felt like an hour, but there was nobody there. So, I thought I should check inside the building…”
“Did you find him?”
“Yes and no. He was in one of the rooms, looking as if he was resting peacefully. I think he succumbed to the cold in his sleep.”
“Oh, no. Oh, no… Samson, I should have done more.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“I should have talked some sense into him.”
“You know he didn’t listen to anyone. It isn’t your fault. There was something the matter with him.”
Some time passed and the two had put the troubling incident behind them. That is until a woman named Mrs. Green approached Ms. Hilden. Mrs. Green was a reclusive woman that ordinarily would not speak to anyone, but she heard that the landlady had been asking questions about the house in the woods and decided to come forth.
She told the landlady that the previous residents were a youthful mother and her son. Mrs. Green understood it that the house was given to the mother by the father, though he might as well had been a ghost as far as she was concerned. The woman died young from a serious infection, so the son then went to live with his grandparents in the city.
Mrs. Green adjusted the collar of her blouse while finishing her tale, “How do I know this? My late husband and I knew the boy’s grandparents when they lived in town. We stay in contact.
They’re good people. Out of their kindness they allowed their grandson to keep the old rat that he was so attached to, but after it died he stole money from their savings box and hopped a train away from home. They had written me to ask around for information about the child. I haven’t bothered until now, however, thinking my efforts wouldn’t do any good. Perhaps that was a mistake.”
Rats and Hats 