The Drain
Everything started when Ami’s daughter stopped bathing. She was seven and had always loved baths. Now she refused.
“Why won’t you get in the tub?”
“I don’t want to.”
“You need to wash.”
“I’ll use the shower.”
Ami let her use the shower. But two weeks later, the shower broke. The plumber said he could fix it next week. Until then, Rina would have to use the bath.
“No.”
“It’s just for a few days.”
“I won’t.”
“Tell me why.”
Rina looked at the bathtub. “The drain talks to me.”
Ami knelt beside the tub. “What does it say?”
“It knows my name. It asks me to come closer.”
“Drains don’t talk.”
“This one does.”
Ami filled the tub and got in herself to prove it was safe. She lay there for ten minutes. The drain gurgled when she pulled the plug. Normal water sounds. Nothing else.
“See? It’s fine.”
Rina stood in the doorway. “It only talks when I’m alone.”
That night, Ami heard bathwater running. She got up and went to the bathroom. Rina stood beside the full tub, staring at the drain.
“What are you doing?”
“Listening.”
“To what?”
“Shh.”
Ami stood beside her. She heard water lapping at the sides of the tub. Nothing else.
“There’s nothing there. Get in bed.”
Rina didn’t move. She leaned over the tub, putting her ear close to the drain. “It says you can’t hear it because you’re not who it wants.”
Ami pulled the plug. The water drained in a spiral. Rina watched it go down.
“It’s still there,” she said. “Under the water.”
The next morning, Ami examined the drain. Standard metal grate, normal pipes underneath. She unscrewed it and looked inside with a torch. Empty pipe going down. Old building. Old plumbing. Nothing unusual.
She screwed the grate back on.
That afternoon, while her daughter was at school, Ami ran a bath. She got in and lay there, listening.
Nothing.
Then, beneath the normal sound of water moving, she heard something else. A faint voice. Coming from the drain.
She sat up. The voice stopped.
She lay back down and held her breath. The voice returned. Whispering. At first she couldn’t make out the words. Then they became clear.
It was saying her daughter’s name.
Ami got out of the bath. Her hands were shaking.
She called the building superintendent.
“I need the pipes checked. The bathtub drain is making a noise.”
“What kind of noise?”
“Like… voices.”
“Voices?”
“Please just check the pipes.”
He came that evening, ran water, listened to the drain, checked the plumbing. “Everything seems fine. Sometimes old pipes make odd sounds. Air in the system.”
“It’s not air.”
“What do you think it is?”
Ami didn’t answer.
After he left, Ami put her ear near the drain.
The voice came immediately. Clearer now.
“Rina… Rina… Come here, Rina.”
She covered the drain with a towel. The voice continued underneath.
“Who are you?” Ami spoke to the drain.
The voice stopped. Silence. Then it started again, the same as before.
“Rina… Come to the water… Rina.”
It had not answered. It would not answer. She understood this suddenly: it had no answer to give.
Ami packed essentials and woke Rina. “We’re going to Grandmother’s house.”
They left before dawn. For two weeks, everything was fine.
Then one night, Ami heard Rina talking in the bathroom. She opened the door. Rina was kneeling beside the bathtub.
“Who are you talking to?”
“The drain. It followed us here. It says it’s been waiting. It says I should get in the water now.”
Ami pulled her daughter away from the tub. She leaned close to this different drain, in this different house, with its different pipes. And she heard it. That same voice, calling her daughter’s name.
Ami sealed every drain in her mother’s house with tape and towels. But the voices continued. They came through the toilet, through the kitchen sink, through the shower. Everywhere water went down, the voices were there.
She stopped letting Rina bathe. She used wet cloths to clean her instead.
But Rina started sleepwalking. Ami would wake to find her daughter standing in the bathroom, staring at the covered drain.
“It says I don’t have a choice,” Rina said. “It says eventually everyone goes down. The water takes everyone.”
Ami didn’t sleep anymore. She sat outside the bathroom every night, making sure Rina didn’t go in.
One morning, she woke on the floor. She’d fallen asleep. The bathroom door was open.
The tub was full of water and Rina sat on the edge, her feet dangling in it.
“Rina, get out.”
“It’s nice. The water is warm.”
“Get out now.”
Rina smiled. “The voice says it doesn’t hurt. She says it’s very easy. You just have to stop fighting.”
Ami pulled her daughter out of the tub. Rina didn’t resist. She was humming. A tune Ami didn’t recognise.
“Where did you learn that song?”
“The voice taught me. It’s the song it sings while it waits. It’s been singing it for a long time. It says I’ll know all the words soon. It says we’ll be singing it together.”
Ami drained the tub. As the water went down, she heard it clearly: a child’s song. The same tune Rina had been humming.
She unscrewed the drain cover. The pipe went down into darkness. The singing continued from below.
Ami shouted into the drain: “Take me instead! Leave my daughter alone.”
The singing stopped. Silence. Then the voice returned.
“You’re too big. You won’t fit. I need someone small. Someone who can go down easily.”
Ami felt like she was drowning in her worst nightmare.
“Please.”
That night, it rained.
She heard the voice in every drain, louder than before, calling her daughter’s name.
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So excellent! 👏🏻
So spooky!