shOwer
"Sachiko-san," She whispered, her voice soft and dry, devoid of emotion. In the distance I could hear the sound of running water, the gentle crash of almost-rain impacting on the surface of the water as the shower whispered a careful melody in the background. "Sachiko-san, last night I had a dream that I was crawling backwards."
I had known Rumiko since we were children. Our families had lived in the same apartment building for at least six years. When adulthood had arrived we had both shared many of the same experiences. We had attended the same school, kissed the same kinds of boys, each time being careful not to allow the drama of adulthood to unfold too swiftly for fear that maybe, beneath the waves of responsibility and experience we might lose touch of our childhood friendship - our hands slipping away from one another as we are pulled downstream and into the vast ocean of the adult world.
The sound of the water continued, filling the long stretches of silence between her words.
"Rumiko..." I whispered quietly into the warm plastic of the telephone.
There were no lights on in the house, just the faint movement of the television in the living room and the drifting sound of the traffic outside, washing up against the shores of the city.
"Sachiko-san, please don't laugh at me," The distant voice whispered. "But it felt so real. I can still remember the feel of the leaves beneath my hands and the taste of dirt in my mouth.
"Rumiko let me help you..." I whispered, holding the phone close as tears began to warm my cheeks.
"I remember the feel of the earth and the slow, scraping crack of leaves and twigs as my body was pulled backwards across the ground."
Her voice shivered, oblivious to my pleading. "I remember what it was like to be there, Sachiko-san, crawling amongst the dirt like a wounded animal waiting for death...and I remember the well, Sachiko," Her voice broke, the calm emotionless tone of her words dissipating. The sounds of the water from the shower rose in volume, as if some unseen hand were slowly driving up the pressure. "There was a well, Sachiko," Rumiko's voice continued, now urgent and filled with dread. "There was something in the well!" She wept now, heavy tears falling into the phone's receiver. The drum of the water increased, joined now by the sound of something else, a soft, shuddering moving sound. "There was something in the well, Sachiko!" Rumiko panted, her voice loud and shrill as the sound of movement, of something drifting up from beneath the gathered waves of the shower water threatened to drown out her words. "There was something in the well! Something in the well!"
The phone fell from my hands, clattering loudly upon the kitchen tiles. I scrabbled backwards in the dark, knocking paper and the like from the table as I dropped to the floor, desperately trying to gather the phone once more into my hands
"Rumiko!" I screamed. "Rumiko!"
My trembling hands fell upon the phone and I hauled it up, the sound of my own heart hammering loud in my ears. Rumiko's voice was silent; the only sound the distant rumble of water. "Rumiko!" I cried once more, my hands shaking so much that I could barely keep the phone held to my ear.
There was a soft click and the sound of the water died abruptly as the line was cut.
"Rumiko..." I whispered one last time.
From the darkness of the living room, the pale glow of the static on the television was as sharp as any knife. The video recorder clicked once and the unmarked tape emerged slowly from within.
With trembling hands I dropped the phone into my lap. Upstairs the sound of the water, now cold and stagnant in the bathtub, whispered invitingly.