I was curled up with a book, enjoying the buzz from my last glass of wine for the evening when I heard a sound that I could only describe as wet movement, like a barefoot child walking deliberately through a muddy field. I dog-eared the page I was on and set my book down. Sitting quietly, I was determined to make no noise while I waited for the sound to occur again. I didn’t have to wait long.

Squish, squelch the sound went. I followed the noises from room to room, pausing to wait for it, like I was playing some horrid game of Marco Polo. Though I half-expected to find some disgusting trail of slime or mud, there was no sign of anything strange at all.

As I zeroed in on the source, I moved from my bedroom to the bathroom. I was standing next to the sink the next time I heard it. Looking at the sink, I slowly peered forward so that I could see down into the drain.

I shrieked at the bloody and lidless eye that stared back at me.

More chilling were the words hoarsely whimpered.

“Please. Please help me.”