Creepy - Day 17 - The Tub Girl

Episode Date: October 17, 2019

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The 31 Days of Horror. Day 17. The Tub Girl. Written by Mr. Michael's Squid on Reddit No Sleep. Who's the tub girl? The sweet voice of my four-year-old Jessica asked from down the hall. I panicked. Horrified she'd stumbled across an innocent shepherding.

image of internet filth. Do not click on that, honey. I shouted. Excellent banging my forehead on the underside of the kitchen cabinet I lay under to work on the sink strain. Pan I pumped adrenaline into my bloodstream as I jumped to my feet and ran into the living room. I expected to see a vulgar image on an iPad in her hands.

Her eyes wide and her mind already corrupted. My wife and I only let her play with the tablet on the weekend. A little reward like the Saturday morning cartoon. tunes of our days. We set all the parental control as possible and even removed the browser, but even the most vigilant parent knows childproofing translates to challenge accepted to a kid. I raced over to see her small, curious face standing there at the door of the bathroom. I breathed out heavily in relief. She was talking about her bathtub. What do you mean, sweetie? I asked trying to mask my worry with a smile.

The girl in the tub. Who is she? Jess asked. Her wide blue eyes full of genuine wonder under her damp corn silk hair. Uh, what girl? I asked as I walked up to her and gave her head a tossling before realizing my hand were greasy from the pipes. The quiet one that repeats what I say, Jess said. I walked over to the bathroom.

The overprotective father in me eager to assuage any concern. I leaned in to see an empty tub beaded with bathwater. My eyes landed on the drain. I'm here of one and a half inch hole. I entertained the notion of a pixie hiding the drain for a second, then shook my head and smiled as I understood what she probably heard. Oh, that's just an echo, honey. I began to explain.

Sounds travel in waves, and when the waves bounce back, I use my hands to gesture, they make an echo. You're hearing your own voice moments later, like a boomerang. Just nodded, then scroves. grunched her brows in confusion again. What's a boomerang? She asked with a sweet giggle at the sound of the word. I smiled and bet my knees to be on eye level with her.

I have one in the attic from when I was a kid, and we can play outside with it as soon as daddy finished is fixing the sink, okay? The wonder and her eyes gave me all the fuel I needed to allay my worries. Promise? She asked as she raised her eyebrows. Promise.

I returned to the kitchen with her a little. you'll never know until you think your four-year-old daughter has stumbled across scat porn. The kitchen drain had been backing up ever since we bought the house a few years back, when Jess was just a newborn. The two plumbers that hired simply chalked it up to hard water, naming the price nearly five digits long to rip out and reinstall new piping. That was a hard no. My wife and I were in the hole after mortgaging the house as is,

so it would be on my little project. I shimmy back under the kitchen cabinet and make sure the water valves were off. I used a wide mouth wrench to loosen the traditional locknut strainer, which I twisted with all my might. When I finally pulled loose the U-pipe of the sink trap, a black tendril of wet hair plopped down on my face. I coughed with disgust and crawled out from under there spitting away the foul taste. I peered back under, staring at the long curl of oil black hair with both revulsion and disbelief. It was a lot of hair, inky black, and at least eight inches in length was visible. I wondered if the previous owner had run a salon out of her kitchen.

The tingle on the back of my neck intensified to fall on dread as I watched a sod and clump of hair sucked back into the drain pipe. Out of view and further into the pipes beneath the floor. It had to have been some sort of suction with the clog shifting down the tubes. I tried to rationalize, but... and I heard the scream. Jess. I ran over the doorway, feet thumping on the old wooden floor as I arrived at the bathroom.

Jess was standing in front of the bathroom door, holding her elbows tight. Her pouting mouth shivered as she began to wail. The fresh tears drew rivers down in rosy cheeks. I'm here, I said holding her in my arms. What's wrong, sweetie? I asked, feeling her warm tears seep onto my shoulder through my shirt. She discontinued to loudly cry as she pointed to the bathroom, the source of her distress. I walked back over to the bathroom and frozen my tracks looking at the tub into what was inside.

There were two long, thin fingers poking out of the drain. Grayish, hooking talons waterlogged yet impossibly slim. Foggy white fingernails grew out translucent and frayed. They looked inhuman. But unlike any animal paw I'd ever seen, in my mind raced to understand how it had gotten there. Maybe it was part of some toy or some prop from past Halloween. I hoped. But then they moved.

The clawed fingers began twisting around and scratching the inside of the porcelain tub with a high-pitched sound that wobbled my legs. The whole deformed hand came out, similar to a webless pink bat's wing. its impossibly slender fingers pale and pruned. Its skin was like soggy crumpled paper over warped twigs of bone. I yelped as it spayed and reached out. A raspy gurgling deep, croaking, bubbled up from the bathroom sink. Jess screamed. Only then alerting me she'd been watching from behind my legs.

I spun around and grabbed her shoulders, telling her as calmly as I could must her to go upstairs to a room while Daddy fixes it. But I knew there was no fixing it. I retreated, staring at the hideous claws, I slammed the bathroom door closed. I called the police and watched the door nervously until they arrived, all the while hearing those unsettling gurgling sounds in the ringing squeals and slaps of damp flesh on the tub basin. After the responding officers spoke to me and investigated, animal control was called. I spent a half hour in the living room, consoling Jess as they tried to determine what it was.

Soon they left, and more calls were made, and more cars arrived. The animal control van drove off, quickly replaced by ambulances and police cruisers that lit up our street with flashing red and blue lights that drew my neighbors to their windows to gawk. One of the EMT workers choked out, dear God, and ran from the bathroom in horror. Soon after my daughter and I were escorted outside our house and advised to book a hotel for a few days. A detective who arrived tried to shield us from the emerging details, but I overheard what they'd found from a traumatized paramedic, who was crying like a child on the porch as we waited for a cab to arrive. I then listened to each horrible detail of what they discovered within the pipes of my home.

By what they gathered, a previous owner of the home appeared to have given birth to a very very very, a premature infant while in the tub, and it had been pushed either intentionally or accidentally down into the drain. The premature infant had gotten lodged in the connecting pipe as it traveled further beneath the flooring, which intersected with the drain from the kitchen sink to mix together as gray water. Food particles from the kitchen drain have provided nutrients each time they had been washed down into the drain, keeping her alive. I cringed as I listened to the Details, trying my best not to let my legs collapse beneath me. Details like a ring of mashed teeth protruding from a tube of malformed gums,

allowing her to feed as she grew. Her body had formed in the confines of that narrow prison, a crushed serpentine deformation that grew longer and longer, year after unimaginable year. I listened to it in horror as I heard a paramedic mention the tub girl had been living, if you can call it that, in the drain for what they estimate to have been nearly 20 years. By the time the cab arrived, I was shaking and in shock.

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