Haunted Household: Faucet Blade
Larry stood stunned for a moment as the RAAANGG rang.
Faucet Blade
The home hospice care worker had just left. Larry was prone on his couch, silently lamenting his fatal plight between sighs and gasps. The terrestrial television news station was grating on his fragile nerves, so he clicked the remote off; he didn’t aim at the TV, but the remote worked anyway. He reclined in silence, listening to his wheezing, weak whines. It would be several days before his next humiliating human visit, and after performing an internal diagnostic on himself—he felt he was likely to survive at least until then.
The end was near, but not as near as one who finds themselves in this position hopes.
Larry’s children had not abandoned him, well, not explicitly, but they were not bothered by the remnants of his grizzly gurgles. His children were living their own lives; time and compassion were beyond the scope of what they were willing to give. The kids, however, did give Larry some money, enough to grant his end a thin veneer, or pretense of filial care. Like all monetary gifts, the money they gave Larry had strings attached; it was meant for home repairs.
Larry’s final resting place was not shabby or dilapidated, but it needed some adjustments; the hospice care worker was happy to offer some suggestions. One of the first improvements was to the house’s plumbing. Besides the toilet and shower area, the biggest change was to the faucets. The former cross-knob faucet handles had all been replaced with slick modern blade handles.
The ringing RAAANGG of water drilling into the stainless-steel sink roused Larry from his roving death ideation.
The facet was on.
He wondered how long it had been on for. He wondered if the care worker had left it on, and he hadn’t noticed. He wondered if he would be able to make it to the kitchen to turn it off. Though his physical form was failing, an odd sense of propriety and human stubbornness remained in Larry.
He couldn’t let the sink run incessantly.
Could he? No!
Gathering up the scraps of his physical form, he rolled his feet onto the hardwood beneath him. Larry tugged at the IV containing his antiarrhythmic medication; the wheels on the IV pole went round and round as he labored towards his kitchen sink. The hallway was straight, and the carpets had all been removed, but despite this unimpeded path, Larry’s breath was failing rapidly. He was still able to utter curses, though; anger at these irresponsible inconveniences bolstered the remnants of his oxygen.
Larry reached across his body, straining toward the new blade faucet. He pushed the cold water handle, and it smoothly slid back to its off position. He grumbled and gagged a bit before turning around to slump back to his couch.
Following only two uneasy steps back, the sound of running water overpowered Larry’s wheezing. The kitchen faucet was on at full tilt again; the water was pounding the bottom of the shallow basin. Larry turned, and the cold-water blade pointed its edged finger at him with an accusing certainty.
Larry felt the accusation in his soul; he felt this decree was the hand of death.
Larry stood stunned for a moment as the RAAANGG rang.
Indecision mixed with exhaustion.
The running water struck out at him with a crackling whiplash. The stream rushing towards the drain had taken a sharp turn and lurched forward. It formed a lasso-like tendril of water. This tendril wrapped itself around Larry’s neck. The hydro tentacle pulled Larry’s head violently towards the blade handle. Larry was too enfeebled to resist, and the ergonomic metal entered his skull near the soft spot of his crown.
Larry’s vacant eyes peered down the drain as the cascading water washed pints of maroon life into the public sewer.
Week 3 Wire Brush.
Final Destination-esque!
This was also a great story! How long will the series run for?