This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/job_galloway10158 on 2024-11-20 13:15:50+00:00.
It’s taken me far too long to write all of this down. But for a number of reasons, it has been difficult for me. One of them being the challenges of typing with one hand. But I’m scared I’ll forget everything that’s happened. It’s been a few too many years and some details are starting to slip away in my mind. And if I’m going to write it down, then I might as well share it. That was always the plan anyways. I’ve talked to an editor a few times about possibly publishing my experiences. But it turns out you have to write something before you can publish it. So, this is my story, or at least some of it. Please let me know if you guys would like me continue.
Class was in less than an hour, and I had already stretched my last shower way too long. With a fistful of mismatched clothes and a towel wrapped around me—high on my chest, like a woman, to hide my ever-growing fat supply—I wandered across the hall to the dorm bathroom. My bare feet slapped against the dark brown tile as I made my way to the middle shower.
Always the middle one. It was my favorite. The water pressure was stronger there than anywhere else I had ever found, and it ran hot enough to scald if I let it. Often, I would curl up in a ball under the stream and savor the heat for as long as I could. Not this time, though. I was already late.
I showered as anyone might, while also taking time to enjoy it. About five minutes in, eyes closed, trying to lose myself in the steam, I thought I heard a voice. Not full words, but bits of sounds—S’s and T’s poking through the white noise of the water. I lowered the pressure, listening closer.
“Do you have a moment to talk?”
It was so faint, barely a whisper above the hum of the pipes. I could almost convince myself I had imagined it. Almost.
Stepping out of the shower immediately, I wrapped my towel around myself and stepped back onto the cold tile. I checked each stall, even glanced out into the hall, hoping to catch someone running away down the hall, laughing at their own prank. But no one was there.
Back in the shower, I tried to ignore the feeling. Tried to lose myself in the steam again. But the sounds—those same, creeping consonants—slipped through, just at the edge of hearing. I switched the shower off at an instant. I was certain someone was messing with me. My showers were one of the few times that I could lose myself. That I could pretend I was not who, what or where I am. And someone was ruining it. “What?!” I said deep and loud, trying to sound like my dad. The response came from my feet.
“You can hear me.”
I looked down expecting nothing because there shouldn't have been anything there to see. And there wasn't. Just stained tile and a rusty drain. I finally resorted to asking the cliche question I had been avoiding up until this point. “Who’s there?”
“So you can hear me.”
I froze. The drain. It was coming from the drain. I couldn't comprehend why I was hearing a voice in a drain and didn't even attempt to conjure up an explanation. The voice was distinctly male and smooth as butter. But it was muffled and faded like he was speaking underwater. It was equally alluring as it was eerie. Like your favorite anchorman talking through a straw. My heart felt like it was bouncing around my ribcage. “What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.”
“Luis, you can hear me, that's great Luis.”
A cold chill traveled down my spine. It knew my name. There was something in the drain and it knew my name. “Who are you?” I paused “A-and how do you know who I am?” I added last second.
“I don't have a name, Luis, Is that okay? That I don't have a name?”
I caught myself dwelling on the question before anything else. It doesn't have a name? It continued before I could wrap my head around what it just said.
“I want to talk to you, Luis. Can we talk?”
Cold, wet, and naked, I had pinned myself in the corner of the shower stall, trying to get away but unable to move. For some reason, I felt compelled to respond. “Yes” I said.
“Great! T-rust me it will be worth your time. I’m here to help you, Luis. Someone like me shows up when I am needed. And you need me, Luis.”
It was so... giddy. I wanted it to stop saying my name, it sounded like my school counselors in high school. Trying to foster an artificial connection by wearing out your name in every sentence. I didn't know how to respond, so I waited for it to keep going.
“You are in pain Luis. I can feel it. You have foul things inside you. Dirt, grime, rot, they weigh you down. Everyone has rot, Luis, but not everyone has to keep it”
It intrigued me. I think there are few humans that are in positions where they would humor a creature in a drain promising the impossible. But then again, desperate, lonely men—men like me—are different. When you’ve spent enough time carrying your own bitterness, your own private regrets, you start to listen to anything that offers relief, even if it crawls up from a drain. I slid to the floor and shuffled closer to the voice. “How?” I said “How do you get rid of it”
“Turn on the faucet, let it run as hot as possible. And step under the water. I will bleed your rot away and it will leave you forever.”
“Where does it go?” I said.
“Here. The drain.”
“What do you get?” I said, “What do you get out of this?” I clarified before it could respond.
“My motivations are my own. What's important is the help I’m offering you. You do not have to accept.”
His happy-go-lucky cadence had fallen away, and I was met with a grim tone that told me I had asked too many questions.
“If you so please, use the shower as I told you and I will shed you of some of your rot. Return and I will do it again!”
It used Its nice voice again. I waited for a minute or so to see if it would speak again. When nothing came, I rose to my feet and looked at the shower handle. I twisted it on and gradually increased the heat. Ever so slowly getting closer to its terminal temperature. I hesitated before I turned it the last bit of the way. I considered my options, but it wasn't really a difficult choice. I had nothing to lose or leave behind besides bad memories and wasted opportunities. I was going to see this through.
I closed my eyes, feeling the water sear down my body. And I waited—waited to feel lighter, to feel something slip away. Instead, my skin began to prickle and sting. What started as pins and needles became bowie knives and acid as I began to burn and writhe under the scalding water. I opened my eyes and saw small black dots decorating my entire body. When I looked closer, I could see that my pores were expelling small bits of dark resin. The pain was my pores stretching to unnatural levels to push out the rot. Horrified, I tried to brush the globs off me which sent shockwaves of pain right down to the bone. I didn't try that move again. Slowly, each one was squeezed out and fell to the floor to be swept down the drain. The drain moaned and gurgled as it drank up every drop. The shower ran cold, and I knew it was over. I was left shaking, my skin enflamed and raw, my mouth was horribly dry. Red streaks from my crying pores trailed down my body, and my stomach kept churning, over and over again. But I felt lighter.
I waited a few weeks to get a better idea of how exactly I was affected. After the redness of my skin faded away and my pores shrunk to their normal size, I really started to feel it. Things felt.... better. I had visibly shed some of my belly fat and my cheeks clung tighter to my face. But the best of all was the feeling that followed me everywhere. It was as vibrant and electric as it was soothing. I could constantly feel it radiating through my body and shooting out of my fingertips. It obscured the memories that were weighing me down. It made me feel like, for the first time in a while, things were going to be okay.
The weeks passed and I savored every second. There was a part of me that wanted to address the creature in the drain. A part of me that wanted to react like most people would and obsess over how bizarre my encounter was while also considering the ramifications of transacting with a creature in the plumbing. But it produced results where every spark of hope I had before failed to. I wasn't going to ruin this.
One afternoon, my new grin I had been sporting was replaced by a deep frown when I saw the grade on my history midterm. I was certain I had aced it; I studied the material as well as I normally do, and my previous exam grades were exceptional. This frustrated me as it was proof that I wasn't all better, I could still fail. And if I could fail once, I could and likely would fail again. I didn't want to fail; I wanted to get better. I decided to wear my frown all the way back to my dorm.
I stood in the stall, the faucet off, staring down at the drain, fighting off a new rise of negative thoughts. I studied the darkness that hung below the rusty metal grid. I looked for an eye, tooth, finger, something, anything that I could associate with the voice. I was going to say something, maybe ask specifically for it to make me smarter. But I didn't think I could stand to hear that velvety echo of a voice again. I turned the knob all the way to the right without hesitating. Letting the water engulf me entirely, I clenched my teeth, trying to be ready for what I knew was coming.