The Faucet - Short Horror Story

Madelyn took a deep breath and counted to ten. Unclenching her fists, she read the note scrawled on the dry erase board in the kitchen.

'Gone fishin. See you when I get back Monday night.'

Derek, her live-in boyfriend, had made a solemn vow he'd stay home this Labor Day weekend and help with household chores.

Had he done the responsible thing and gotten them finished before hitting the road thereby freeing himself from responsibility and Madelyn's wrath?

Nope. A glance at the overfilled garbage can in the corner of the kitchen answered that question.

Drip. Drip.

As did the familiar and much-loathed sound of the steadily dripping faucet in the bathroom. Madelyn had taken to wearing earplugs to bed at night. Derek said the noise didn't bother him. It had become a silent war between them. Derek knew if it took him long enough to fix, good-ole-Maddie would just do it herself.

"Not this time, jackass."

Grabbing a can of Lysol from the cupboard she gave the kitchen a generous spray before heading to the living room and her laptop. She'd check her FriendSpace account and see what was going on tonight. Maybe it was time to dust off the Victoria Secret halter-top and see what else was out there.

He's out there. Lock your doors.

Madelyn frowned at the bulletin posted by Casey on her FriendSpace page. This was strange behavior for her best friend of 15 years whose usual updates consisted of sunny, uplifting quotes and the latest antics of her two-year-old son. Madelyn's fingers flew across the keys.

'What's going on? Who's out there?'

A soft 'pop' alerted Madelyn to a reply.

'You haven't heard? Is Derek home?'

Madelyn frowned. 'No, he left with the guys hours ago.'

'Bad timing.'

'Why?' Madelyn felt her stomach churn. It wasn't like Casey to be so cryptic.

A link to a news story popped up on the IM.

Lewisville - Police now believe the six murders that have taken place within the six months are the work of a serial killer. Unlike most serial murderers, this guy does not bury his victims in a remote location or make any attempt to hide his crime. Each victim, three male, three female all in their late twenties, early thirties were each found by a family member in their own home, their throats slit with no other evidence of physical harm and no outward signs of struggle.

Maddie couldn't read the rest of the article.

'Casey, I've heard about these murders. Didn't these killings start up in Springfield? Since when are they happening this far south?'

'They think he's moving town by town. Each month, another victim turns up dead in the town right next to the one where a murder took place a month before.'

Maddie's churning stomach flipped. She forced her suddenly cold fingers to type.

'Casey, the last murder took place in Southbury.'

'I know. A month ago.'

Southbury was only a ten-minute drive away. She'd heard about that murder on the radio. The body of a twenty-six year old graduate student named Melanie had been found in the basement. From what she recalled of the story, her boyfriend found her hanging from the rafters upside down, throat slit. He'd slipped on her blood and given himself a concussion on the concrete floor before calling 911. When they'd played the 911 tape, Maddie had turned it off.

When the phone rang, Maddie screamed.

Checking the caller ID, she sighed and pressed the phone to her ear. "Casey, warn me next time!"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to hear a voice instead of the clicking of the keys. Jacob's down for a nap and Charlie won't be home for an hour."

Maddie closed her laptop and leaned back into the couch. "I get it. Derek won't be home until Monday night. Lucky me."

"What's his deal? Doesn't he do this to you every month? He keeps saying he's going to stay home and help."

"I know. The garbage is piled to the ceiling, the grass is so high you could lose Jacob in it and the faucet in the bathroom is still dripping."

"I don't think you're going to win that battle."

"I should just fix it myself but doesn't it just reinforce his asinine behavior?"

Casey chortled. "Listen, why don't you come by tomorrow? We're having an early Labor Day picnic/ birthday party for Charlie."

Maddie agreed to go and the two friends continued their conversation until a startled gasp from Casey cut them short.

"What's wrong?"

Casey responded was a squeal of delight. "Oh, nothing. Charlie brought me home the most beautiful bouquet of roses. They're gorgeous!"

Maddie rolled her eyes at the giggling and kissing noises. "How about I let you go?"

Clicking off, Maddie curled up on the couch and flicked through the TV. News. Weather. Spanish channel. Discovery. History. Discovery.

As the mating habits of the giant tortoise played out on the screen, Maddie felt her eyelids growing heavy.

***

Drip. Drip.

Groaning, Maddie pushed herself up onto her elbows and listened.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

No, it wasn't a nightmare. It was the faucet again, waking her up as usual. She glanced at the TV. A giant tarantula had replaced the amorous turtles.

"Ick." Maddie clicked off the TV.

Padding to the fridge, she grabbed some leftover Chinese food and popped it into the microwave.

Though she tried to ignore it, the smell of rotting chicken and banana clashed horribly with duck sauce. Sighing, Maddie tied up the overflowing trash bag, slung it over her shoulder and headed outside.

It was a cool, cloudless night. An almost full moon hung contentedly in a sea of winking stars.

The motion-activated security light that should have gone on when she reached the driveway did not.

"Dammit Derek!" Yet another thing her jerk boyfriend promised he'd fix.

Something skittered in the bushes making her jump.

Maddie threw open the dumpster door, heaved in the sack of trash and let the door slam closed as she raced back inside.

Back upstairs, Maddie checked the locks on each window while she let her dinner cool.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

She avoided the bathroom. She was determined to make Derek fix one thing himself.

Maddie surfed the net while she ate, catching up on emails and catalog shopping. She couldn't believe Christmas was only three months away. When she had three people checked off her shopping list, she moved onto the dishes and swept the floor.

Returning the broom to the closet, she pushed aside a tackle box and a pair of hiking boots to get to the Electrolux.

"Might as well vacuum like a good housewife while I'm at it," Maddie said aloud, unraveling the cord.

When she'd sucked up the last of the Carpet Fresh, she turned off the vacuum.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Maddie paused. Was it her ears or was the dripping getting worse?

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Rolling her eyes, she opened the bathroom door and turned on the light. Obstinance be damned, she wasn't going to let a leak turn into a flood.

Derek's toolbox stood open on the checkered tile. A Philips head and two small screws gleamed in the overhead light.

Maddie frowned and walked to the sink. The faucet wasn't leaking. The basin was dry.

So he fixed the leak then what? He left everything on the floor for me to clean up?

Grabbing the tools and replacing them in their respective compartments, Maddie laid the toolbox down on the closed toilet lid and took a deep breath in through her nose. She wasn't going to let this get to her. When Derek returned from his fishing trip...

As her brain registered the metallic scent in the air, an image flashed in her mind.

Derek's tackle box by lay kiddy corner to his favorite hiking boots.

Drip. Drip.

A stream of icy horror slid down her spine sending a shock of cold radiating through her limbs. Gooseflesh crawled its way to the surface of her skin.

Drip. Drip.

She felt a greasy wave of nausea as she turned toward the sound.

The cabernet color of the heavy shower drapes beat in time with each frantic pulse of a heart that was now in her throat.

As she reached out a hand, the curtain seemed to breath, the fabric caressing her trembling fingertips.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She yanked back the curtain

Derek's body hung upside down, suspended from a thick rope attached to the skylight. Slowly, it revolved, as if in some macabre attempt at a greeting, revealing thick, dark stains soaking through a favorite blue fishing T-shirt. The throat was slit ear to ear. A steady trickle of blood poured from the wound, traveled down a pale, naked arm and slid from a swollen digit.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Maddie opened her mouth and screamed.