The Phantom Plumbing

October 6, 2011

by Melba

2 min read

Story Premise 2 min read (325 words)

"In the autumn of 2012, I was thirteen and staying at my friend Devon’s house after school. We were in his basement, glued to an old console, when we heard the distinct hiss and clatter of a bathroom faucet turning on upstairs. We shrugged it off—Devon’s older sister, Leah, must have been home early. But […]"

In the autumn of 2012, I was thirteen and staying at my friend Devon’s house after school. We were in his basement, glued to an old console, when we heard the distinct hiss and clatter of a bathroom faucet turning on upstairs. We shrugged it off—Devon’s older sister, Leah, must have been home early. But when we went up to grab snacks, we found the house eerily empty. A note on the kitchen counter read, ‘Gone to the city for a game. Back by 9.’

We paused, listening. The water was still running. We called out, but no one answered. Fear prickled our skin. We armed ourselves with golf clubs from the garage—a flimsy defense, we knew, but better than nothing. We crept through the house, checking every room, every closet, every corner. The water stopped as we reached the bathroom door. The room was empty, the sink dry, not a drop on the counter. The faucet looked untouched.

We returned to the hallway, hearts hammering. That’s when we heard it: heavy footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming up the basement stairs. The sound grew louder, closer. We bolted to the front living room and barricaded the door with furniture. We stayed there, shaking, for what felt like hours, until Devon’s parents came home and found us huddled in a corner. They searched the house and found nothing. No intruder, no explanation.

A week later, we were in the kitchen, the radio playing static between stations, when a glass jar of pickled beets leapt off the top shelf and shattered on the tile floor. No one was near the pantry. The radio crackled again, and then a voice—clear, calm, and utterly inhuman—whispered, ‘You’re not welcome here.’ We ran out the back door and never set foot in that house again.

To this day, I can’t explain what happened. But I know that house was angry, and it wanted us to know it.

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