A Soapy Nightmare

Under a brilliant crescent moon, in a small suburban house nestled between two tall oak trees, a young puppy named Rocco stirred in his bed. Rocco was no ordinary puppy. Though barely six months old, his world was one of deep contemplation, rich imagination, and, most importantly, anxiety-ridden thoughts that often spiraled wildly out of control.

Rocco, a caramel-furred ball of fluff with floppy ears and wide, expressive eyes, had recently overheard something dreadful.

“Tomorrow’s bath day,” his human, a cheerful woman named Kate, had declared while scratching behind his ears.

Bath day. The words echoed in Rocco’s head like the toll of a bell in a gothic horror tale. His nightmares that evening would soon prove just how deeply the idea had burrowed into his psyche.

Rocco’s dream began in a peculiar place, a sprawling, shadowy bathroom far larger than any he had seen before. The tiles stretched endlessly, cold and glistening under dim, flickering light. A bathtub rose from the center, impossibly massive, filled with frothy, malevolent bubbles that seemed to shift and writhe with a life of their own.

From the corners of the room came an eerie melody, soft and haunting at first. It built into a grand, discordant cacophony. Rocco padded backward, ears pinned flat against his head, his tail tucked so far under his body it might as well have vanished.

“Who dares enter my domain?” a gurgling voice called from the tub, the bubbles frothing more violently. “Do you not know the consequences of avoiding cleanliness?”

Rocco whimpered. He tried to turn and run, but his paws felt glued to the slick tiles.

From the depths of the tub, a figure began to emerge—a rubber duck with glowing red eyes, crowned in a tiara of foam. The duck quacked maniacally, spinning in the air before landing with a splash that sent waves of water lapping toward the trembling pup.

“Puppy Rocco!” the duck bellowed. “You have evaded me for too long. Your fur reeks of grass and mischief, and your paws of forbidden snacks! You must be cleansed!”

“Cleanse?” Rocco stammered. “Wh-what does that mean?”

“It means…” The duck’s voice grew hushed, the room eerily silent save for the occasional drip from the faucet. “SOAP!”

At the sound of the word, the tub erupted into chaos. Soap bars of all shapes and sizes leapt out, cackling as they pirouetted toward him. Lavender-scented bottles of shampoo danced along the edge of the tub, their lids snapping open like menacing jaws. A tidal wave of warm, soapy water began to rise, glistening with rainbows and the promise of terror.

Rocco yelped and took off, his legs finally responding. He sprinted across the endless bathroom, zigzagging to dodge an army of washcloths that flopped after him like sinister jellyfish. A particularly aggressive loofah cornered him, swishing ominously as it hummed a taunting tune.

“This is it,” Rocco panted, his back against the cold tile wall. “This is how it ends. A good boy’s nightmare.”

Just as the loofah lunged, a familiar voice rang out, cutting through the chaos.

“Stop, you monsters! He’s just a puppy!”

Rocco’s heart leapt. From the shadows emerged a figure of great stature (at least, by Rocco’s standards): Sir Snuffles, his loyal stuffed bear. Snuffles, dressed in a dashing cape and wielding a toothbrush as a sword, charged forward. With a valiant swipe, he sent the loofah tumbling across the room.

“Snuffles!” Rocco cried, tears of relief filling his eyes. “You came!”

“Of course I did, my boy!” Snuffles replied, striking a heroic pose. “No one terrifies my best friend and gets away with it. Now, let’s get you out of here!”

Together, they darted through the labyrinthine bathroom, dodging the onslaught of soap bars and rogue shampoo bottles. The tub, however, seemed to sense their escape. With a guttural gurgle, it unleashed its final form: a towering tidal wave of water and bubbles. The rubber duck stood atop the wave, wings spread like a general commanding an army.

“You can’t escape CLEANLINESS!” the duck screeched.

The wave crashed down, swallowing everything in its path. Rocco felt himself swept away, spinning helplessly as bubbles filled his nose and ears. His vision blurred, and he could hear Snuffles calling his name faintly, the brave bear’s voice drowned out by the roaring foam.

“Roccooooooo!”

Rocco jolted awake, panting and tangled in his blanket. The comforting sight of his cozy bed and familiar living room grounded him, but the nightmare lingered. The smell of impending doom—shampoo and soap—was very real. From the bathroom came the sound of running water.

“Bath time, buddy!” Kate called cheerfully.

“Nooooo!” Rocco barked, scrambling under the couch. He pressed himself as flat as his squishy little body would allow, his heart racing.

Kate’s footsteps approached, her shadow falling over his hiding spot. “Rocco, come on. It’s not that bad, I promise.”

To Rocco, these words were lies straight from the mouth of the evil rubber duck. His paws dug into the carpet as Kate gently tugged at him, her tone coaxing but determined.

Despite his protests, Rocco soon found himself cradled in Kate’s arms, carried toward the watery abyss. The bathroom was nothing like his nightmare—bright, warm, and inviting—but the sight of the tub still filled him with dread. The water swirled innocently, but to Rocco, it might as well have been a portal to another dimension.

As Kate lowered him into the water, Rocco’s whimpers turned to dramatic, theatrical howls. He flailed his paws, splashing water everywhere, and shot Kate a look of pure betrayal.

“Traitor!” he barked, though it came out as more of a squeaky yip.

“Oh, Rocco,” Kate laughed, running her hands through his fur. “You’re so dramatic.”

To his surprise, the warm water wasn’t quite as terrible as he’d imagined. The shampoo, though bubbly and persistent, didn’t cackle or attack him. Kate’s gentle scrubbing was oddly comforting, and soon he found himself relaxing, much to his dismay.

“This… this isn’t so bad,” Rocco admitted to himself, though he would never say it aloud.

When the ordeal was finally over, Kate wrapped him in a fluffy towel, rubbing him dry while cooing sweet nothings. Rocco sulked, determined to cling to his pride. But as she scratched behind his ears and whispered, “Good boy,” he felt a spark of hope. Maybe bath time wasn’t the end of the world after all.

That night, Rocco returned to his dreams. This time, the bathroom was smaller, cozier. The tub, though still vast, seemed less threatening. The rubber duck floated lazily on the surface, no longer menacing but serene.

“Well done, young pup,” the duck said, its red eyes now a warm yellow. “You’ve faced your fears and come out the other side… clean.”

Rocco puffed out his chest, feeling a swell of courage. “Yeah, well… don’t think this means I like baths.”

The duck chuckled, spinning in a slow circle. “Of course not. But remember this: bravery is not the absence of fear—it’s doing what must be done, even when you’re afraid.”

With that, the dream faded, leaving Rocco with a strange sense of pride. The next morning, as he sniffed his freshly cleaned fur, he couldn’t help but wag his tail ever so slightly.

Maybe bath time wasn’t so bad. But just in case, he vowed to keep a close eye on any rubber ducks lurking around the house.