I am not edible, please

Bienvenue a France! It was a long, long journey. I didn't even get a chance to sleep the last night in Italy––we drove from Florence to Rome, packed up the bags, dropped off the cars, navigated the airport for a six AM flight, then drove three hours from Paris to Tours. By the time we reached our final destination, I felt strained past my breaking point. I staggered upstairs and face planted on the bed. The end of everything.

But at three o' clock, in the dead, dark hours of the morning, I was wrenched from my sleep by a sharp pain in my finger. I frantically flung my hand and jerked upright, waking Emme, who had been sharing the bed. Clutching my finger, I looked around. And I saw…

Nothing

I hastily apologized to Emme for what I assumed had been overreacting (one time I woke up certain that somebody had dropped a bowling ball on my stomach, only to discover it was a shoe) though my finger really did hurt. I was ready to roll over and go back to sleep until Emme turned on her phone and shone the light on my hand.

There was fresh blood pooling on my finger.

We both froze. I was pretty sure something had bitten me, presumably a bug, but what monster of a bug causes that much pain and draws that much blood? AND WAS IT CRAWLING AROUND IN MY BLANKETS? All I knew was that my finger hadn't been bleeding when I went to bed, and now it was.

As you can imagine, I was somewhat alarmed.

After some bleary-eyed searching in the eerie glow of the flashlight (because of course the bulb in the room was burnt out), we wearily gave up, hoping that whatever-it-was wouldn't strike again.

The light went out. Something starting scuffling along the floor.

Does this mean I'm going to get the black plague now??

Emme swung the flashlight toward the source of the noise to reveal a shaggy-haired door mouse with glowing eyes and blood dripping from its snout. Okay, maybe not. Maybe it was kinda cute at first. But after thirty minutes of throwing shoes (and missing) and repositioning all possessions to high shelves, this mouse definitely developed an evil glint to his demeanor. I mean, it had been eating me. I realize that French cheese requires an "acquired taste," but really, little mouse, I HAVE YOUR TEETH MARKS ON MY FINGER.

You're so goin' down.