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'Drip Drip Drip'
I can't stand the sound. I've been trying to sleep for at least 5 hours now, or what seems like as long. But the incessant noise just keeps me on the borders of consciousness. It’s like a call to keep me from peaceful sleep, would that I could ever sleep peacefully anyway.
Eventually I succumb to the noise and remove the covers from my bed, my skin prickling in the cold night air as I do so. My body screams for me to stay under those warm covers, but I resist somehow and manage to place both feet on the hard wood floor. Grabbing for my robe, I quickly place it around my freezing body and tie the cord that holds it together. That cord could just as easily be holding me together as well, It would only take one tug to unravel everything. Perhaps it would be best if that happened, but not yet, not just yet.
Corridors, why do they always seem so haunting at night? Under the circumstances I’m amazed I can walk down this one at all. Open doors cry out to me on all sides, but I know their rooms are lifeless, their contents merely dust or decay. So why do I still shiver? I’ll put it down to the cold, but perhaps in the back of my mind I know there is something else wrong with this place.
I reach the kitchen. The food is mostly spoilt now, or eaten by the rats that have made their home here. It is here that I believe the sound emanates from. Yesterday this was a warm room, smells of fresh bread and soup floating in the air. In the dead of night, the room takes on a more sinister tone. But who am I kidding? Yesterday could have been months ago, my mind cannot work in days any longer, every hour blends in to the next.
There were workers here once, employees and residents. Some of them are still here, but none of them speak to me any more. It would be nice to have some company, but then I can’t blame anyone for passing by without a word. Still, I find myself getting closer to the annoying noise that prevents me from my sleep; the noise which is more defined now and each splash sends a shiver down my spine.
Almost without thinking I open the door that will lead to the source of the sound. I should really be more careful, you never know who is waiting around the corner at this time of night. At last I can see where the drips are coming from and I now know what to do about it. It is a simple matter of finding a bucket with which to catch the drops, my own stupid fault for not seeing to this in the first place. With luck, I see that someone has left just the object I require under a nearby sink.
With some satisfaction I pick up the dismembered head of my former doctor and place it in the bucket. No more will it drip on the floor, disturbing my sleep. I place it next to the body of one of the kitchen staff and face the short walk back to my room where my warm bed awaits.
I can't stand the sound. I've been trying to sleep for at least 5 hours now, or what seems like as long. But the incessant noise just keeps me on the borders of consciousness. It’s like a call to keep me from peaceful sleep, would that I could ever sleep peacefully anyway.
Eventually I succumb to the noise and remove the covers from my bed, my skin prickling in the cold night air as I do so. My body screams for me to stay under those warm covers, but I resist somehow and manage to place both feet on the hard wood floor. Grabbing for my robe, I quickly place it around my freezing body and tie the cord that holds it together. That cord could just as easily be holding me together as well, It would only take one tug to unravel everything. Perhaps it would be best if that happened, but not yet, not just yet.
Corridors, why do they always seem so haunting at night? Under the circumstances I’m amazed I can walk down this one at all. Open doors cry out to me on all sides, but I know their rooms are lifeless, their contents merely dust or decay. So why do I still shiver? I’ll put it down to the cold, but perhaps in the back of my mind I know there is something else wrong with this place.
I reach the kitchen. The food is mostly spoilt now, or eaten by the rats that have made their home here. It is here that I believe the sound emanates from. Yesterday this was a warm room, smells of fresh bread and soup floating in the air. In the dead of night, the room takes on a more sinister tone. But who am I kidding? Yesterday could have been months ago, my mind cannot work in days any longer, every hour blends in to the next.
There were workers here once, employees and residents. Some of them are still here, but none of them speak to me any more. It would be nice to have some company, but then I can’t blame anyone for passing by without a word. Still, I find myself getting closer to the annoying noise that prevents me from my sleep; the noise which is more defined now and each splash sends a shiver down my spine.
Almost without thinking I open the door that will lead to the source of the sound. I should really be more careful, you never know who is waiting around the corner at this time of night. At last I can see where the drips are coming from and I now know what to do about it. It is a simple matter of finding a bucket with which to catch the drops, my own stupid fault for not seeing to this in the first place. With luck, I see that someone has left just the object I require under a nearby sink.
With some satisfaction I pick up the dismembered head of my former doctor and place it in the bucket. No more will it drip on the floor, disturbing my sleep. I place it next to the body of one of the kitchen staff and face the short walk back to my room where my warm bed awaits.
Ooohh - vacancies. Can I send you my CV?
Enjoyable 'short' tale while it lasted.
Enjoyable 'short' tale while it lasted.
In the penultimate paragraph I had some idea of what the "drip" was, but a dismembered head? Very good, and very nicely written.
Heheh.
Nice one.
Even more spooky as I always have to get up in the middle of the night to stop certain dripping sounds.
Nice one.
Even more spooky as I always have to get up in the middle of the night to stop certain dripping sounds.
Originally written for Meka Dragon's 'Story about a noise/sound' contest, no?
Excellent story, good twist.
Excellent story, good twist.
'Drip Drip Drip'
I can't stand the sound. I've been trying to sleep for at least 5 hours now, or what seems like as long. But the incessant noise just keeps me on the borders of consciousness. It’s like a call to keep me from peaceful sleep, would that I could ever sleep peacefully anyway.
Eventually I succumb to the noise and remove the covers from my bed, my skin prickling in the cold night air as I do so. My body screams for me to stay under those warm covers, but I resist somehow and manage to place both feet on the hard wood floor. Grabbing for my robe, I quickly place it around my freezing body and tie the cord that holds it together. That cord could just as easily be holding me together as well, It would only take one tug to unravel everything. Perhaps it would be best if that happened, but not yet, not just yet.
Corridors, why do they always seem so haunting at night? Under the circumstances I’m amazed I can walk down this one at all. Open doors cry out to me on all sides, but I know their rooms are lifeless, their contents merely dust or decay. So why do I still shiver? I’ll put it down to the cold, but perhaps in the back of my mind I know there is something else wrong with this place.
I reach the kitchen. The food is mostly spoilt now, or eaten by the rats that have made their home here. It is here that I believe the sound emanates from. Yesterday this was a warm room, smells of fresh bread and soup floating in the air. In the dead of night, the room takes on a more sinister tone. But who am I kidding? Yesterday could have been months ago, my mind cannot work in days any longer, every hour blends in to the next.
There were workers here once, employees and residents. Some of them are still here, but none of them speak to me any more. It would be nice to have some company, but then I can’t blame anyone for passing by without a word. Still, I find myself getting closer to the annoying noise that prevents me from my sleep; the noise which is more defined now and each splash sends a shiver down my spine.
Almost without thinking I open the door that will lead to the source of the sound. I should really be more careful, you never know who is waiting around the corner at this time of night. At last I can see where the drips are coming from and I now know what to do about it. It is a simple matter of finding a bucket with which to catch the drops, my own stupid fault for not seeing to this in the first place. With luck, I see that someone has left just the object I require under a nearby sink.
With some satisfaction I pick up the dismembered head of my former doctor and place it in the bucket. No more will it drip on the floor, disturbing my sleep. I place it next to the body of one of the kitchen staff and face the short walk back to my room where my warm bed awaits.
I can't stand the sound. I've been trying to sleep for at least 5 hours now, or what seems like as long. But the incessant noise just keeps me on the borders of consciousness. It’s like a call to keep me from peaceful sleep, would that I could ever sleep peacefully anyway.
Eventually I succumb to the noise and remove the covers from my bed, my skin prickling in the cold night air as I do so. My body screams for me to stay under those warm covers, but I resist somehow and manage to place both feet on the hard wood floor. Grabbing for my robe, I quickly place it around my freezing body and tie the cord that holds it together. That cord could just as easily be holding me together as well, It would only take one tug to unravel everything. Perhaps it would be best if that happened, but not yet, not just yet.
Corridors, why do they always seem so haunting at night? Under the circumstances I’m amazed I can walk down this one at all. Open doors cry out to me on all sides, but I know their rooms are lifeless, their contents merely dust or decay. So why do I still shiver? I’ll put it down to the cold, but perhaps in the back of my mind I know there is something else wrong with this place.
I reach the kitchen. The food is mostly spoilt now, or eaten by the rats that have made their home here. It is here that I believe the sound emanates from. Yesterday this was a warm room, smells of fresh bread and soup floating in the air. In the dead of night, the room takes on a more sinister tone. But who am I kidding? Yesterday could have been months ago, my mind cannot work in days any longer, every hour blends in to the next.
There were workers here once, employees and residents. Some of them are still here, but none of them speak to me any more. It would be nice to have some company, but then I can’t blame anyone for passing by without a word. Still, I find myself getting closer to the annoying noise that prevents me from my sleep; the noise which is more defined now and each splash sends a shiver down my spine.
Almost without thinking I open the door that will lead to the source of the sound. I should really be more careful, you never know who is waiting around the corner at this time of night. At last I can see where the drips are coming from and I now know what to do about it. It is a simple matter of finding a bucket with which to catch the drops, my own stupid fault for not seeing to this in the first place. With luck, I see that someone has left just the object I require under a nearby sink.
With some satisfaction I pick up the dismembered head of my former doctor and place it in the bucket. No more will it drip on the floor, disturbing my sleep. I place it next to the body of one of the kitchen staff and face the short walk back to my room where my warm bed awaits.