by Gale Huxley

            Lily was on the razor edge of sleep the first time she heard the dripping.

           Normally, she would sweet talk her thoughts into considering the unidentified sound a lullaby. It was something she’d taught herself to do as a child, just before she’d been conditioned to expect danger. Her mother’s cries became laughter to her transforming ears by nine years old.

            Her mind, which seemed a punishing entity she shared her body with, couldn’t be soothed or worn into unconsciousness on this night. It was 3 a.m., and Lily had been trying to sleep for hours. Adjusting. Twisting. Flailing. Pulling the covers up and down and over. Occasionally letting a foot slip out until the fear of offering herself to an intruder overtook her. Murderers and ghouls could move past exposed faces, but not feet—feet were considered consent to the ill-intentioned.

 Images played on her eyelids of scratched wooden floors and broken blinds. This melted into a house ripped from its foundation, flying through the sky, held aloft by tilted shutters acting as awkward wings. Thinkofyourmother’sanklebreakingbonetendonthisisprophecyyou’realreadytwenty-twosoonsoonsoonseventysoondeadthennothingofcoursenothingandinbetweentherewillbehungercancerneverenoughexpectthebrightofabomb—this ongoing monologue accompanied the imagery as a prophecy. She knew the words to be true each night until morning exhausted the intensity of certainty, the pressing force of loss experienced before its time.

           The imagery was becoming more vivid when she heard the plop…plop.plop. The drops sounded innocent at first, like a timid visitor afraid to bother whoever lived inside. And then it was plunk.plunk.plunk plunk plunkplunk.  

           Lily sat up in bed. Her heart made a thunkthunkthunk that turned her into a vibrating instrument. She thought it was knocking at the door, but it didn’t sound like it came from a solid form. The noise was something that could morph.

          One leg over the bed and then the other. Two balls of feet pressed gently on the rug, then two heels caked in dead skin followed. She stood up.

          After standing under every right angle, she decided the sound couldn’t be coming from her boxed bedroom. The plunk of the drops intensified when she opened the door.

          The sound came from the kitchen. She was certain. 

          But the noise came from the hallway.

          Then, back to her bedroom.

          And then, then, then, from the living room. Bathroom. Kitchen. Closet. Bedroom. Pantry.

          Drops materialized where the stained ceiling met the walls. Lines of sweat rolled towards the floor.

          Small puddles formed, then began searching for each other, clinging together. They covered the floor in a murky ectoplasm. 

          The water rose to her ankles as if poured by a steady hand. A thick stack of unpaid bills drifted apart from each other, forming little islands. Sticky notes with unanswered, mostly ignored questions and demands slid down the refrigerator. The numerous little wallpaper rosebuds, faded from time, began to split and peel, revealing wood paneling.

For a moment, the mess of the room reminded her of a living room all too familiar. Except there wouldn’t be a man laid out on a recliner stinking of smoke, his forearm acting as a mask for sleep or desperate tears.

         A hoarse laughter came from above. It was hard to tell if it was human. The sound was recognizable, but she was listening from a submerged place. A cackle accompanied the deep, raspy “ha ha ha.” Lily remembered that other people lived in the apartment building. She could hear them through the thin walls, floors, and ceilings each evening when she came home from the coffee shop. She heard them when she returned in the early morning from the bar.

         Lily waded to the counter and climbed on top of it. Her fingertips brushed the ceiling. She jumped and hit it. Drops the size of her fist pushed out from a few holes that beat on the crown of her head. The holes collapsed into a waterfall. She rode the stream back to the floor and waded toward the entrance of her apartment.

         After fighting the front door open, she walked and tripped and crawled upstairs. Gritty water seeped into her mouth and plastered thin hair to her face.

         Her neighbor’s door was open. The water was at her knees. A bald man and a white-haired woman sat across from each other in a pink kiddy pool in their living room. An inflatable sea horse head protruded from the man’s side; a curled tail came out from behind the women. The two splashed water at each other.

       “Stop it, you old bag.”

        “Okay, honey. Whatever you say.”

        And then more splashing followed by laughter.

        Lily called to them, but they didn’t hear her. She watched their walls, which were coated in a layer of running water. The water level rose. The pool rotated and drifted. As it neared the door, the couple saw her.

        “What’re you doing, sweetie?” the old woman asked her. 

          Lily didn’t respond. She was on her tiptoes. The water was to her waist.

         “My grandson’s pool is already sinking from our weight, but you can join if you want to,” the man said.

Aren’t you scared?

Why aren’t you leaving?

What about your things? 

            “Aren’t…” 

            “Why…”

            “What…”

             She tried to complete each sentence, but only the first word came out every time she opened her mouth.

            From above, someone cried out. It didn’t sound like laughter. 

            Below, there was banging.

            The pool spun and drifted. The two looked at her, concerned about the young woman in front of them, but that was all. 

            She half-leaped to them like a dancer. The couple helped her in, each took a trembling arm.

The floor caved when she sat across from them. They fell into her apartment. The three remained in the pool. All bills and sticky notes had drowned. The couple continued squabbling and playing. Lily rested her head on the float. She listened to the sloshing of water all around them. It sounded like a belly full of liquid.