Drip, Drip, Drip

Ellen is tired. She walks into the bedroom undresses and slips into her nightgown. After lying on the bed for about fifteen minutes and almost asleep, she hears a dripping sound. Drip, drip, drip. A short pause then the dripping sound resumes. Drip, drip, drip.

Well it cannot be the bathroom faucet. She had that fixed two weeks ago. Drip, drip, drip. The master bedroom had its own bath and she peers over in that direction. The sound did not appear to be coming from there. Now being more awake than tired she tries to focus on the origin of the sound. She is comfortable and too lazy to get up. The bedroom windows with the shades partly open soak through a small amount of light from the streetlights outside revealing a partial tinted view of interior of the bedroom. Most of the room details hidden in shadows.

Then she hears the dripping sound again. Drip, drip, drip. The source seems to be coming from inside the room. She looks over and can see drips landing on her coffee table. “Great the roof is leaking, what next?” she said to herself silently. Then she noticed it is not raining and remembers the rain stopped hours ago. Drip, drip, drip.

Although cozy under the warm blankets, she gets up and takes a couple steps to turn on the table lamp. She sits back down on the bed and looks at the coffee table. Once her eyes adjusted to the light she could she the drips are not water but a red color and the dripping has stopped.

Did the upstairs neighbor spill something? She thought about calling and decided not too because of the late hour. Then a terrible thought enters her mind. Was the upstairs neighbor bleeding or hurt or even worse a crime or murder victim? Should she call the police and have them check it out? Better to be on the safe side she thought.

She turns around and reaches for her cell phone out of the purse by the nightstand. Drip, drip, drip. There it is again. As she turns back around, she sees a stranger in the bedroom. He is tall with dark hair and a ghost complexion with blood dripping from his mouth. Drip, drip, drip. Before she can scream, he has her in his grasp. Two white fangs are the last things she sees. The ceiling not the source of the drips but the coffee table has both blood drops of Ellen and her neighbor. Drip, drip, drip

THE END

© 2015 Denny E. Marshall

E-mail: Denny E. Marshall

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