Drip… drip… drip.
The fucking noise wouldn’t stop.
Eventually he found the energy to go take a look, wandering bleary-eyed into his bathroom. Water leaked in droplets from the tap. He sniffed and rubbed his nose before leaning across the sink and pushing the handle tightly to the left. The water stopped leaking. Satisfied, he gave a soft sigh of relief and flicked the light switch off before heading back into his bedroom.
He blinked at the bright light from his computer screen, momentarily blinded as he flopped back down into his seat. It only took a few minutes for him to relax and continue his work. He was satisfied. Soon the only noise that filled the room was the clatter of the keyboard. As a writer he required as much silence as possible, it helped him to think.
He stopped typing.
Drip… drip… drip.
Another sigh escaped his lips, this time echoing his frustration. He violently wheeled the chair back across the floor and stepped out into the dark hallway.
Drip… drip… creak… drip.
He paused, startled by the strange noise. For several moments he stood without breathing before his senses began to rush back to him. Carefully he reached for the light switch, bracing himself against the wall so as not to disturb the floorboards again with his footsteps.
The hallway was suddenly illuminated. He blinked but saw nothing - he was indeed alone. With a slight shiver he walked quietly to the bathroom and frowned at the dripping tap. Again he leaned across and pushed the handle tightly to the left.
Drip… drip… it wouldn’t stop. The water continued to leak. He clicked his tongue, irritated. He reached over the sink again.
Creak.
He froze, filled with a sharp fear. There was nothing but the dripping tap. Shaking the paralysis away he reached over and pushed hard against the handle. The dripping slowed and stopped. He stood for a moment or two before leaving the bathroom and padding back into the hallway to his bedroom. He left the lights on this time.
He exhaled and gave a light groan when he settled back into his chair at the computer, if only to fill the empty house with a more human sound. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was late. He had work to do, though; he wanted to at least finish this chapter before settling into bed. He rubbed his eyes and leaned in towards the screen, pausing again as he read the words emblazoned in bold beneath his last paragraph.
“LET THE WATER RUN”
The chair was wheeled back from the desk. He felt his heart pounding; surely he could not have typed this. He leaned in closer to the screen. He was tired. Perhaps he had somehow misread the text. No, he had not been mistaken. His ears twitched and he perked up, tilting his head slightly.
Drip… drip… drip…
Oh shi-
Credited to Scotty from Terror Tortellini