From Below

I moved into this old farmhouse about 6 months ago. The place was a steal, and it’s beautiful, a small acreage in the country surrounded by lush fields of tall corn and velvety soybeans with a small timber of towering pines and underbrush separating the fields from the yard. A steadily flowing creek laden with colorful rock formations cuts through timber, sending a calming babble adrift through the air. I live alone, with the exception of my cat companion, Cleo. 

Everything had been playing out really well. The days were full of the distant humming of cars on a highway that was miles away, and the closer, more pronounced harmony of pheasants flying over the fields, birds singing their comforting melodies, and chipmunks squeaking cheerfully to let each other know when they’ve found a seed smorgasbord. The nights were quiet, except for the lulling whisper of frogs in the creek running through the pines. The house seemed dead. Once in a while a cricket would chirp, driving Cleo into a frenzy. It was nice – maybe too nice. 

I noticed, as the weeks wore on, a small gurgling sound began to emanate from the bathtub drain. It was small at first, just one or two glug glugs at night after my shower. The house was old, so I figured that was the problem. Most days, if I used the sink right after, the shower would spit a little extra water out as if an air bubble had been caught in the line and was then released with some added pressure. Old pipes, old drains. I picked up some declogging solvents from the store and gave the shower drain a generous pour. The gurgling didn’t stop. It continued a little bit more every day. I tried showering in the morning, and that suppressed the incessant glugging for a while, but soon it would consume the peacefulness of the day. It was worse at night but didn’t last as long. 

There must be a huge clog somewhere, maybe a small animal got caught in a pipe or there was a rupture in a line leading to the sewer. 

I called plumbing and heating, but the agency claimed there had been a man at the house checking and replacing pipes before I bought the place following a routine inspection. The only suggestion they could muster was more declogging agents. It was beginning to be unbearable. It would glug glug for hours. Most nights it would be all night long, right up until shortly before I had to get up in the morning. I couldn’t sleep. When I did fall asleep, the glugging sound would wake me up again.

One night, after I had drifted off, a blood curdling shriek spewed from the pipes in the wall of my bedroom. Cleo shot off the bed, and I followed after her. I hadn’t slept for a couple of weeks. The insomnia was getting to me. I tiptoed down the hall and saw a sizeable shadow rise up the wall facing the bathroom. 

That can’t be real.

It billowed and stood for a moment before collapsing to the floor with that same tinkling of a little extra water dribbling from the shower head. Hesitantly, I peeked around the doorframe, but nothing was there. Cleo quietly perched herself in the corridor, staring at the shower as if she could see something I couldn’t. I chalked the shadow up to sleep deprivation messing with my head.

I called plumbing and heating again the next day because that screech was not a mind trick, but the guy said he was booked up for about a week. He did mention something about old houses with radiators that whistle loudly when the heat kicks on. But it’s summer, and I don’t have radiators.

I thought he had been here to fix the pipes already…how does he not know that the house doesn’t have radiators?

I made the next available appointment, fuming that I had to wait so long, especially since it appeared as though they lied about inspecting the house before I moved in. I relinquished all hope of ever getting the problem fixed. Night fell, yet again, and then it happened. The nightly glugging began, but this time, an odor accompanied it. A foul seawater and mildew funk, like low tide on an oppressively hot Florida day. I ran hot water and vinegar down the drain, hoping to suppress the smell, but nothing helped. I felt like I was starting to go insane.

Maybe I’m imagining the whole thing. Again, it’s an old house, with old plumbing, and maybe something crawled into the walls and died. 

I didn’t want to think about it anymore; there were too many scenarios running through my head. With any luck, the smell would dissipate over the next few days and everything would be fine. Exhausted, I trudged to my bedroom and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I was awakened around 1 a.m. by that same horrible screeching, echoing throughout the house, and what sounded like someone slapping the tile floor with a wet sock. A sense of dread washed over me, a cold sweat dripping down my temples. I carefully stepped out of bed and crept toward the bathroom. Cleo was already standing in the doorway, eyes wide and fixated on the horror inside. I slowly poked my head around the door jamb as it hoisted itself over the side of the bathtub. The stench of raw sewage slapped me in the face. It was a murky seaweed green, covered in sludge and looked as if it was made entirely of hair. It towered before me, dripping with shower slop; a cavernous hole in its upper body opened and a shrill howl exploded from deep within its core, blasting me with a cold gust of dank drainpipe air, blowing the hair straight back from my head, and sending gunk flying into oblivion. I couldn’t move. It slithered toward me, squelching as it oozed across the bathroom floor touching my exposed feet. The tendrils of hair weaved through my toes, twisted around my ankles and slid up my legs, encasing me in a slimy, hair carcass. Darkness consumed me, and silence fell over the house.

A dull whistle began to crescendo deep in my eardrums, ripping me out of unconsciousness. I awoke with a jolt to the familiar sensation of a tail tickling my feet, my hand immersed in a freshly spewn hairball. I frantically glanced around the room but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The ringing in my ears quieted to a rhythmic hum while Cleo was at my feet, snoring soundly as if nothing happened.