10 – Nina

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Ian squeezed the last of the gray water from the mop and leaned it against the wall.

“My parents didn’t want me going to school for a few days after that,” he said, “but I had to see. I checked that grave on the weekend with Trystyn — the one I saw the dead man slip into.”

“The mud around it was churned up,” Trystyn said, “like the stone lid had been moved and then moved back.”

Ian nodded gravely. “It looked like it moved a lot, like it happens every night. By the way, the floor’s done.”

“Thanks,” the Caretaker said. “Only six of you left to go. McQueen, Hagman, do either of you have a tale to tell?”

The two boys looked to Chuck, who shook his head. They gave him a single nod and shook their heads at the Caretaker in unison.

“I see. Well, everyone else, let’s clear away the chairs and tables, seeing as how they’ve just been left on the side of the room. How about another from someone else? How about you — the little girl.”

The little girl pointed to herself. “Me?”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ve got a strange story to tell. Everyone else does.”

“I guess.”

Chuck groaned. “Great. We have to hear from the smelly kid.”

The Caretaker opened the side doors to the utility room, eyes narrowed at Chuck, and told him and his goons to load the first three tables in. He then called to the girl, “What’s your name, kid?”

“Nina,” Nina said.

“Well then, Nina, tell me what happened.”

Nina’s Story

Six days ago, I found a ring. It didn’t look special, but it had this nice effect my dad calls iridescent, and it fit my middle finger perfectly. It fit so well I forgot I even had it on.

On the walk home from school, I caught sight of something in a drain. It moved out of focus before I gave it any real attention, but every time I passed another drain, I caught that same darting movement from the corner of my eye. It wasn’t until I was rummaging in my bag for my door key that I recognized another pair staring back up at me from under our gutter pipe.

“Hello?” I said, and tried to get a closer look.

Whatever it was squirted my face with stagnant sewer water and disappeared. I was left stinking and ran straight for the shower as soon as I got inside. A strange gurgling sound came from the drain and I thought maybe my dad had clogged it with his back hair again, but then I saw the eye. The creature’s eye was staring up through the shower drain.

I screamed and ran back to my room, unable to bring myself to wash. I didn’t even wash the next day, sleeping with the residue after simply towel-drying whatever sewage gunk was still on my face.

Everyone avoided me — everyone except Chuck and his goons, who made a point of pinching their noses and waving their hands in front of their faces whenever I passed by.

I didn’t wash that night either, instead hiding under my covers and telling my parents I felt ill.

Later that night, I heard a scratching above me. I teased my head out from under the covers and watched as a small hole appeared in my ceiling. Then, from behind the hole, the eye.

I screamed and my parents rushed in.

“What’s the matter?” Mum asked. “Did you have a nightmare?”

I pointed to the hole. A drop of water fell from it, landing on Dad’s face.

“Jeez, that’s cold!” he said. “No wonder you screamed.”

Mum gave me a kiss on the head.

“Sleep on the couch tonight and we’ll fix the leak in the morning.” She sniffed. “Ew. First, go have a shower — you stink.”

“I’ll move your bed away from the leak,” Dad said.

With both my parents up and on the same floor, I felt safer. I dropped my clothes in the laundry basket, placed my ring on the side of the sink, and stepped into the steam, relishing the hot water and the feeling of being clean.

I didn’t notice anything odd until a clawed shadow ran up the glass door. I tried to scream again, but my voice came out as a squeak. Trembling, I opened the door a crack.

Extending out with an impossible multitude of elbows was the longest arm I’d ever seen. Its skin was sickly green and dotted with liver spots. I shivered in the heat as it stretched across the bathroom, noticing how it didn’t have four fingers and one thumb, but three fingers and two — one where a pinkie ought to be.

It homed in on the sink, slipped the ring onto its middle finger, and vanished back down the toilet, that finger flipped up at me.