Drip, drip.


There was an old woman. She lived on her own in a large and ancient wooden house deep in the Irish countryside. The old woman’s name was Doris Simpkins. Mrs Simpkins was a widow. Her children were long since grown up and had moved away. The house was half covered in dust sheets. She never went into some of the rooms. The furniture was mostly over a century old. The carpets were tatty and worn. The entire place was frowsty and in need of repair. The wooden floorboards creaked along the dimly lit corridors and the whole house groaned at times.  The grey haired old woman in her frumpy dresses sometimes felt frightened by the sound of the walls grumbling.

Mrs Simpkins’ only companion was a big dog. Her dog was black and grey in patches. This kindly dog was a mixture of breeds. He was named wolfie since he resembled a wolf.

When Mrs Simpkins was abed at night wolfie was sleep on the floor beside the bed. Sometimes at night Mrs Simpkins would feel sad or scared. She would put her right hand down for her faithful to dog to lick. Wolfie’s lick would reassure the lonely old lady.

Late one night Mrs Simpkins awoke with a start. What was that?  Was that the sound of footsteps? She felt her heart racing. The ancient woman lowered her right hand for a lick from her dear dog. But there was no lick. No wolfie, what? She quickly withdrew her hand. Then she lowered her hand again but this time slowly. She left her hand dangling. But still there was no lick. Mrs Simpkins grew anxious. She pull her hand back under the duvet. This had never happened before. Dare she call her pet’s name? She mustered up the courage. She lowered her hand once more and whispered. ”Wolfie? Wolfie?”. But there was no sound. She said his name again but this time not so softly. ‘Wolfie? Wolfie?” Yet there was no response. She pull her hand back in under the covers. She listened intently. Was there the faint sound of his breathing? No breathing. But there was a sound. It was….

drip, drip.

Yes, then again she heard that curious sound.

drip, drip.

There was an unmistakable dripping sound emanating from the bathroom. The unfortunate old woman was scared out of her wits. She did not budge and inch  but drew the duvet tightly around her. She lay trembling until well after sunup. Only then did she find it in her to leave her bed. The dripping had not stopped all night. When went to the bathroom and gingerly opened the door.

There she saw wolfie dead -tied to the shower and blood dripping from his mouth.



About Calers

Born Belfast 1971. I read history at Edinburgh. I did a Master's at UCL. I have semi-libertarian right wing opinions. I am married with a daughter and a son. I am allergic to cats. I am the falling hope of the not so stern and somewhat bending Tories. I am a legal beagle rather than and eagle. Big up the Commonwealth of Nations.

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