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Short StoriesMore Coming Soon! Copyright 2020
Dripping by E.S Winter All rights reserved. Any unauthorized distribution or plagiarism may result in legal action. Drip... drip... drip. "That dripping again... Where's it coming from?" I don't know when the dripping started, I only remember the first time I heard it. A grating sound in the midst of my gray, bland kitchen. I was filling the sink, my mind entertaining mundane thoughts like any ordinary person, on any ordinary day. And it was... until that moment. drip. I heard the sound, but I ignored it. Then I heard it again... again... again. I looked up, expecting to see water splattering from the sink spout, but there was none. drip. The sound came again. I searched the room expecting to find a leaking pipe, a crack in the ceiling, a faulty window- but nothing, and again... drip. I looked down, a single circle of red dotting the floor. I kneeled beside it, my eyes strained, hands shaking, I smeared the color with a finger and examined it. It looked like... no... couldn't be. I brought it to my lips, only to confirm what I suspected. It tasted like... Blood. I stood suddenly, wildly searching the room, and heard it again- drip... drip... drip. I whipped around, more droplets of deep crimson just inches from my feet. Looking up at the ceiling, there were no obvious marks, no stains to indicate a leaky roof. Confusion swelled inside me, and so did panic. I called out, praying no one would answer... I lived alone. My heart pounded as I waited, every small creak of the house, every shifting pipe creeping up my skin, into my bones. No answer came, and I let myself breathe. The dripping had stopped. I took a rag to the floor, wiping away the memory and my fear with it. I threw the rag and its mysterious contents down the laundry shoot. "It must have been a bit of paint I hadn't noticed that spilled on the floor, maybe from the previous owners." I convinced myself. I hadn't lived there long, although... I was pretty sure the walls had always been gray. I continued with my chore, washing the filth from my weeks old dishes. I never was any good at looking after things. Minutes ticked by as I repeated the steps; Wash. Rinse. Wash. Rinse. Wash- drip. I froze. Slowly, I tilted my eyes down at the dish water. It had turned red. Blood red. I lifted my hands, raising them as thick runs of scarlet trickled down to my elbows. Panic. I scrambled to my linen closet in the hall, throwing open the door and snatching a towel, desperately scrubbing the color from my skin, from the closet door, but the stain remained. I became hysterical, racing to the bathroom for soap, lathering the suds all over my arms and scratching at the remnants with my nails. Finally, the only red that remained were the marks left from scrubbing so hard. With a relieved sigh, sweat on my brow, I sunk to the bathroom floor and lay there for a while. Once I had calmed down. I dragged myself to my feet, crossing the bathroom, the hall, the kitchen, until I stood at the sink, still full of water. Looking more closely now, I realized the water was brighter than I imagined, more like an orange-red. "Must be the pipes, maybe they're rusted." I turned on the tap, and it did sputter a bit, although the water ran clear. "I must be losing my mind." I thought, draining the sink and telling myself to call someone. Some human interaction would help. I walked into the living room and picked up the phone, dialing my mothers' number from memory. There were a couple of rings, a short pause, and then- "We're sorry, this number is out of service, if you would like to-" "That's strange..." I thought, "Did she change her number again?" Suddenly there was static, and then the line went silent. "Hello?" I greeted the blankness on the other side. There was a shuffling sound, and then- "Behind you." drip. I spun around, ready for whoever was waiting, only to find nothing there. Nothing except... footprints. Bloody footprints that lead all the way from the kitchen where I'd just been, and stopping about two strides from where I was standing. Hysteria set in. I slammed the phone down and bolted to the door, violently scrambling to undo the locks. I threw myself through the opening and raced across the grass, not daring to stop or look back until I reached the fence line. I lived at the edge of town, close enough for convenience but far enough to be very inconvenient in my current situation. With the only phone back at the house and no neighbors, I couldn't call for help, and even if I could, who would believe such a bizarre thing? I also didn't own a vehicle, thanks to my empty bank account. The only option was to head back into the terrifying chamber that was my home and get to the phone, before... 'it'... got to me. I got up the little courage I had and made my way slowly back, bitter wind pounding me forward across the grass, towards the door. At the entrance, I paused- took a deep breath- and stepped inside. The house was exactly as I had left it, only the footprints were gone. My mouth hung with disbelief as I searched the kitchen, the living room. Not a single drop remained. I ran the events back through my mind, but came up empty. I must have been dreaming... dreamed the whole thing. "I really am losing it." Tired, I settled onto the couch to rest my weary mind. The wind pressing against the windows, the dreary day seeping in through the shutters. I sat silently, gazing with vacant eyes at my bare walls, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision, sleep clouding my thoughts as I started to fall asleep. Falling... falling.... f..a..l...l...i....n.....g. drip. My eyes flew open. I was standing in my bedroom. I didn't remember waking, or how I got from the couch to my room. As I looked around for some sign or clue, my eyes fell on the mirror. I wasn't alone. A man stood there, a man I didn't recognize. Blood covered his shoulders, his hair, his face, draining from his ears, a horrific expression across his sunken eyes. I frantically searched the room, there was no one else but me, no stranger in my home- only in the mirror. I didn't wait. I ran desperately to the phone in the living room, dialing numbers from memory. My mother. My friends. My relatives. Each call starting and ending the same. Disconnected. Disconnected. Disconnected. I ran erratically from room to room, each time crossing a mirror, a window, any reflection, all sending waves of panic and terror up my spine as the bloody man appeared in them. One after another, chasing me down as I screamed desperately for help, his own face contorting to mimic mine. The room began to spin, and I thought I might pass out, then a voice- "Behind you." I froze. Slowly I turned towards the bathroom. The bloody man reflected in the surface of the wall mirror, and it came again- "Behind you." His mouth didn't move, but I could hear it clear as a bell. I forced myself to turn around, again there was no one. "Behind you!" Again, his mouth didn't move, but this time his eyes met mine. He gave a slow nod, and a strange feeling crept over me, but still I didn't understand. I tried to comprehend, tried to think about what he might want from me, but I had nothing. I scratched the back of my head in confusion and frustration, and that's when I felt it. A large hole in the back of my skull. I traced a shaking finger over it, and slipped it inside. First one finger, then three, then my entire fist, I could feel the entirety of my skull. I stood motionless. Unfathomable sickness settling in the pit of my stomach, and then- drip. I stared down at my feet, covered in blood, dripping from the wound and streaming in thick rivers down my back, my arms, my legs, onto the floor where it stained the carpet. And suddenly... I understood. The dripping, the blood in the sink, the footsteps, the bloody man... They were me. And the loved ones who never answered... because there were none. The number I had been dialing from memory... was my own. It was only me, alone, with my blood and my regret. A single moment came flooding back. A memory of a life I had hated, despised, a life I would have traded for anything else, if only the pain would stop. No money. No job. No loved ones. Nothing but the void of empty regret and longing. A longing I had right now to be anything, anywhere, but here. I made my way to the bedroom, bloody footsteps following in my wake. My eyes fell on the bed where a deep, black stain enveloped the sheets, and blankets, and floor underneath. Another memory, a moment... that moment... where I had pulled a trigger and welcomed ideas of a fantasy. Ecstasy encasing me as my last thoughts swam in my head, visions of bright light and gold beings and warm hands, visions that flickered... and died. Visions that told me nothing of the cruel reality that waited. The cold and empty house. The dreary, mundane, horrifying reality that replayed over and over in unending loops. The silence. And just me, alone. "It can't be..." I sat down on the bed, denial befriending me, sinking into the black stain. "It can't be... it can't..." I lay down, my hands on my bloody face, head swimming. My eyes grew heavy... too heavy... and when the black stain started to devour me, I let it. Deeper. Deeper I sank. Until the thoughts and memories ran together and I couldn't tell one from the next. Deeper. Deeper. D e e p e r "Wait!" I cried out, and my eyes shot open. "Wait, NO!" I ripped myself from the bedroom, running from my reality. "This can't be right!" My stomach was rolling in sickening swells, so I stood over the sink in the kitchen, feeling like I might vomit. "Don't disappear again!" I told myself. "I'm here. I'm here, I'm here!" There was a sudden, deafening pain in my head, a blast of heat and the smell of smoke. "I... what... am I doing?" I tried to fight the blackness invading my mind, pulling me into its abyss. drip... "No, fight it! Why am I here? Why was I..." drip... "Try to remember... Don't disappear! Don't forget!" drip... "Where... Where am I?" drip... drip... drip... "That dripping again... Where's it coming from?" For other Stories, Live Streams, Q&A, and more, follow Winter on instagram! @Equinoxiumstudios |