At Home: All Quiet

"Drip, Drip, Drip."

It has been like this for months now. I was haunted by the constant dripping of the… faucet? Between the weathered wooden floor, and odorous fumes of this house, I wasn't quite sure where the noise was coming from.

I woke up. Immediately, my eyes were strained by the darkness of the room. I turned to the clock, 2:37am. Every night I laid in bed waiting for the noise to come find me. Tired, I struggled to pull myself up. My body felt heavier, but more frail. Finally, I made my way to the switch, and turned on the lights, my eyes bled from the brightness. With each step, I held my breath, I was inching closer to the noise. I was careful, I made sure to avoid the screaming floorboards. Their screeches only pushed me farther away from it. I left my room, and began to wander into the darkness, it swallowed me whole. Until now, I had never noticed the emptiness. I should have felt lonely, but I didn't.

First, I had to check the bathroom. I peeked my head into the room and slowly entered. The cold tiles kissed my feet as I searched for the switch. "Click". Light, finally. I checked behind the forever yellow shower curtains to see if the shower head was dripping. Nothing. Neither was the sink, so I moved on. I made my way to the kitchen. The stairs, just as rotten as the rest of the house, barley held my weight. It seemed that with one wrong step, I wouldn't need to be worrying about hearing the noise, but rather hearing nothing. I walked past the front door and made a right, the kitchen. Again, I flipped the switch only to find: nothing. Faintly, I heard the crickets sing to me, it sounded like a lullaby. I surrendered, tonight the noise had won.

I went back upstairs, to my room. I laid for hours, but sleep didn't come back to me that night. Motionless, staring at the crumbling ceiling. As I listened, the dripping became quieter, with each breath, the noise moved further, and further away. I must have fallen asleep at some point because I was in the attic, except that time, I hadn't walked there. The attic was dark, the air was thick, it was suffocating. It was empty, all the boxes gone. I felt a quiet breath along my neck, my mother's voice like an echo.

"Behind.. you-"

"Mom?"

As I swiftly turned around, a dark figure emerged and raced out the door. It was followed by a loud crashing of the door. Again, I woke up. Only this time, I was gasping for air, clutching the sheets. In a cold sweat, my mind had completely spiraled. I couldn’t recall the last time she had entered my mind, or if she had ever left at all.

I got up.

The only reason I was still in that house was because I was searching for something: a reason, a reminder of her, an answer. She had been gone for four months now. She left no letter, no message, just gone. She had been going through a hard time. My mother, she never really had anyone-- besides me. It was always just us. I assumed that maybe she had finally decided to get her life together, move out, start over. Or maybe she had found someone new, another lover? But I wasn't sure. Some nights, I was so angry at her. She had abandoned me. Most night’s, I missed her.

That vision lingered, hour by hour, minute after minute, I was left unnerved. The moment felt like a memory, it was so near yet so distant. That feeling didn't dissolve with the morning light, or with the falling of the sun. Behind you. I positioned myself on the edge of the bed, pressing my palms into the mattress. I hadn't been up there since she left, it was her personal storage unit. There was no reason for me to be up there– until now– it was just dust and our old boxes. Boxes that should have stayed closed.

I got up.

I checked the clock, 5:43 am. I dragged myself out of my bed and slowly walked, out of my room and towards the door. The door guarded the staircase, that staircase, the one to the attic. The staircase, like me, was left abandoned. I hesitated.

Shortly, I ended up back in my room but the noise didn't stop, instead it intensified, each droplet a ringing against my ear. I made my decision. The noise must have been coming from the attic. I was back in the dark hallway before I could change my mind. The lock was rusted, sealed shut and there was no key. I began pulling the door handle, with all my force, it opened. A gust of grey hit me. It was a void of darkness, silence; dust coated each and every step. There were no light switches, just one bulb with a small string attached. I pulled it lightly and it shined. The bulb flickered weakly, straining against the dark, but eventually lost. I squinted and took a deep breath.

The air carried a distinct scent, it was acidic. With each step I held my breath and tip-toed to the top. It was nearly pitch black, I couldn't make out any shape hiding in the attic. Looking around I noticed a small box of lighters. I reached for it and lit a small lantern, until now, I had thought it was solely decoration.

I held it out in front of me and began to move, slowly tracing the perimeter of the attic, the lantern casting long, wavering shadows across the walls as I went. The lantern breathed a warm yellow glow. Slowly, the shapes emerged amidst the darkness. I maneuvered through the darkness cautiously, watching my every step. Everything remained steady, untouched, that place hadn't been touched since she left.

But the smell only grew stronger. The stench coated my throat, polluted my lungs, and pinched my nose. The smell was putrid — it was coming from somewhere close. It wasn't acidic anymore but rather metallic, an iron-like scent. I slowly raised the lantern. There was one place I hadn't yet checked. The old bathtub. It was an antique tub, cast iron coated with a thick layer of porcelain enamel. Ever since we moved here, it remained in the attic. The tub stood still on four rusted legs, each one practically skinned. I slowly walked toward it.

Slowly. Very slowly.

"Drip."

There it was again, so I moved closer.

"Drip."

I followed the chime of the droplets.

I was closer.

I lifted the lantern and froze. She was there, she had always been there.

"Mom? Please God.."

I heard myself pleading, calling for her in hopes for some kind of response. I stumbled backward, gasping for air. All the color drained from my face. Shaking, I tried to focus my eyes on the image, I was completely disoriented. The lantern twirled around in my grip as my mom laid there, still. She was sitting in the tub, positioned upright. Her hand reached for me, but barely. The once pearl white bathtub was now stained maroon, a dark deep maroon. On the floor beside her, a puddle of red majority of which had already seeped into the wooden floors. On the tip of her finger, blood dripped.

She had been the noise which haunted me all these nights.

Flies swarmed her, their buzzing felt like they were calling for help — calling for me. Her legs stretched across the bathtub. Her hair shielded her face. I tried to move closer to her, but my feet sank into the moist floors. Four months. She had been there for four months. I studied the stillness of her body. I stood paralyzed, what could I even do? I tried to tuck her hair behind her ear, I wanted to see her face, I needed to. I kneeled and quietly whispered something into her ear, somethingI should have said far more often when she was still there to hear it.

I sat down beside her and listened for the only thing I would ever hear her say again.

"Drip, Drip, Drip."