Colby Jackson was only nine years old, an age that children still believe in monsters. His fear was not unfounded, for he lived in a world where one was always looking over their shoulder for dark wizards. It was all too easy to get swallowed up by a demon just by taking a morning stroll down to the mailbox.

It wasn't a dark and stormy night. In fact, the skies were clear and a thousand stars shone, lighting up the night. The curtains of Colby's room were drawn, and shadows danced across his bedroom walls. He was calm and drifting to sleep, exhausted from the day's work. That was when he heard the noise. Scratch-scratch. Scratch-scratch. It was coming from under the bed. Colby froze in his bed, and held his breath. He pulled his covers up over his head, and squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn't a pygmy menace. It couldn't be. They were really rare, and almost never attacked humans. 'Be brave,' Colby told himself. It must have just been a creak from his rickety old bed, or maybe he had even imagined it. Then it came again. Scratch-scratch. 

Colby couldn't stand not knowing. He pushed off the covers and swung his upper body over the side of the bed. It was dark, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust from the glow of his nightlight to pitch darkness. Suddenly, right in front of his face, the pygmy menace appeared. Only... It wasn't a pygmy menace. It was a mouse. He jumped back, surprised but relieved. 

"Shoo," he told it. "Go on now." But the mouse didn't move. It stared at him with wide, intent eyes. It was like it knew something. Something Colby didn't know. He frowned and shook his head. It was trying to tell him something. Lucky he didn't say the crazy though aloud, he might've been sent to have his brain examined. Mice weren't capable of that much thought. Much less communication with humans. There was just something about this mouse though. Why was it here? 

"Are you hungry?" Colby asked, cursing himself for talking to a mouse.  

"Yes, actually," the mouse replied. In his shock, Colby sprung backward slamming his head hard against the headboard of his bed. "Ah, I understand your fear. Mice are very frightening, yes?" Colby gaped, not sure whether to answer calmly or scream for help. He did neither, and instead rubbed his throbbing head. He pinched his arm hard, thinking he was dreaming, then winced from the additional pain. 

He reached for his lamp, the closest thing within arm's length that could be used as a weapon, if necessary. Wielding it in what he hoped looked threatening and powerful, he went with option a, answer calmly. "Mice aren't frightening really. I- well, I thought you were a pygmy menace."

"An understandable mistake for a, let's see, nine-year-old to make." 

"How do you know all this about me?" Colby demanded, a note of fear creeping into his voice.

"I named you."

"What?" That, of all things, was not what Colby was expecting to hear.

"You see, I'm not an ordinary mouse. Similarly, you are not an ordinary boy. Because of me. You're welcome, by the way."

"But how-"

"It's impolite to interrupt," the not-so-ordinary mouse interrupted. "And I am aware of my hypocritical statements. It's called humor, boy." 

This would be an interesting conversation topic. 'Last night I met a talking mouse under my bed. It named me, and has an incredible sense of humor. Not to mention some very good manners. I tried to interrupt it, and boy did it tell me.' 

"Do you like cheese?" the mouse randomly inquired. No further explanations, no introductions, just a 'do you like cheese?'. 

When Colby replied with a small "yes," just for the sake of politeness, it hit him. Many times over the years had someone commented about the fact that Colby's name, was Colby Jackson. Like the cheese colby jack, you know? He'd been made fun of for it, and wouldn't soon forget the taunts from his class bullies. His parents had said there'd been a mistake with his name. It was supposed to be Benjamin, but by some miracle Colby had gone down in the record books. There was no changing the record books, they had told him sympathetically. He hadn't thought about it much, and didn't particularly mind. But what if he had just found the reason for the name incident? The mouse a few feet away from him had just after all, just said that it named Colby.

"Looks like you bumped your head one to many times, Colby," the mouse said. Maybe it was right. There was a talking mouse in Colby's bedroom. A talking mouse. 

"Did you change my name in the record books?" Colby inquired. 

"No, but good guess. Come with me now, I'll show you everything."