The Poisoned Well

It all started when Damon tried to make tea. The water from the tap hissed, but not due to high pressure. The hiss was more serpentine, more alive, as if the water was angry at having to come out of the tap. He turned it off quickly before filling the kettle from a few bottles of water instead. He more or less forgot about it until he started rinsing out his mug when he was done with his tea.

The sink hissed again. Still, he wanted to rinse out his mug, so I gritted his teeth and braved the hissing spray of water. The water steamed as it hit his mug, but he managed to rinse it out. However, before putting the mug on the drying rack, he noticed it had a strange smell. It smelled like burning sulfur. He dried the mug off with a dish towel then put it on the drying rack, and made a mental note to say something to Bette about it later that day.

He looked around on the internet briefly, searching why his water smells like sulfur, or why it might be hissing, or steaming. When he was done, he had a short list of things to look into: the water softener, the water heater, the pressure tank. He had just assumed that there was a pipe from outside that went inside his house, and that took care of all his water needs. By the afternoon, he became a domain expert in well-based home water systems. Then he took his flashlight down to the basement and looked at the system.

Damon never went into the basement, except to occasionally check on the circuit breaker, or to put the unused holiday decorations somewhere on the off season. Occasionally, he’d go down to check the mousetraps, but would almost invariably find the traps licked clean of their peanut butter. He hoped the mice liked all the free peanut butter every time he replaced the bait, only forgetting occasionally to trigger the trap before smearing more peanut butter on them.

He played the beam of the flashlight across the dark and cobwebby corners of the basement. He almost didn’t need to decorate for Halloween with all the creepy vibe this place had. He saw some pretty large webs, and wondered if maybe it was the spiders who were licking the mousetraps clean. Then he wondered if spiders had tongues. He thought about looking up pictures of spider mouths on the internet, but thought better of it.

He shined the beam of the light on the corner where the water system was installed. He groaned. It was nothing like what he’d seen online. The pipes went this way and that, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of where they went or whence they came.

He heard the front door open and close. “I’m down in the basement,” he called to Bette.

Every Saturday, after working at her part-time job, Bette would come home, put her keys in the bowl, slip off her heels, then light a candle, put on some instrumental music, and sit on the couch for a few minutes.

Ever since hearing about Centralia, a city in Pennsylvania, Bette had always run the matches under water before throwing them away, making sure they were thoroughly extinguished, not wanting to live in a city whose ground was perpetually burning.

Damon heard the keys, the shoes, the flick of the match on the box, the guttering of the candle, then her soft footsteps across the house to the kitchen sink. The floorboards above his head creaked with each step, sending bits of dust down as she stepped.

Then he heard her turn on the water. The pipes in front of him rattled like chained ghosts trying to escape their hellish prison, and this time, instead of hissing, the faucet screamed.

No, it still hissed. It was Bette that was screaming.

He ran upstairs. He saw her, eyes wide as boiled eggs, her hands held as if to defend her from some wild animal in the general direction of the sink. Damon looked over at the faucet. It was burning.

He hurried over and turned off the faucet. The flame shooting from it got narrower and narrower until it stopped burning.

He looked at his petrified wife. “I’ve noticed problems with the water,” he said.

“No kidding,” she said.

“I think we should call a plumber.”

She nodded before slinking out of the room. She grabbed a bottle of wine as she left, but forgot to get a glass.

Damon called the plumber. About an hour later, the plumber arrived. He had a bushy mustache and wore a belt with an assortment of wrenches hanging from it. “You’ve been having some water problems?” he said when he arrived.

“Yes,” said Damon. “I was reading on the internet about water catching on fire. Do you think it’s due to fracking in the area?”

The plumber shrugged. “You’d have to ask the Land Management Commission,” he said. “But sometimes natural gas can get into your well system and cause problems. I’ll take a look at the entire system and see what’s going on.”

“Thanks,” said Damon. He led the plumber into the basement. “It’s all down here,” he said. He pulled out his flashlight, but before he could click it on, the plumber hit the switch just around the corner of the stairs, illuminating the entire basement with lights Damon did not realize were there. The plumber saw the mess of the water system, gave out a slow whistle, then plopped down his tool box and got to work.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Damon said before backing up the stairs, still fascinated by the ceiling lights. The plumber grunted in response.

Damon found Bette sitting on the couch. She looked up at him.

“Did you know the basement had lights? There’s even a switch.”

She nodded. “I’m going to take a walk,” she said, handing him the empty bottle.

He took it into the kitchen, but stopped before rinsing it out in the sink. Instead, he just left it on the counter, opting to rinse it out for recycling after the water problems were fixed.

He found himself a book and sat on the couch. He set his feet on the ottoman and started reading.

Some time later, Bette returned. “Well?” she said to Damon.

Damon looked up at her. “Well, what?” he said.

“What did the plumber find?” she asked.

Damon shrugged and turned the page. “He’s still down there,” he said.

“Don’t they get paid by the hour?” Bette asked.

Damon shrugged again. “I guess so.”

Bette stood there while Damon read the next page. Then she cleared her throat. “Don’t you think you should check on him and see what’s going on?”

Damon thought about this. Then he realized that the question was metaphorical. He put a bookmark into the book and got up. “I’ll go see what’s up,” he said.

He picked up his flashlight and went to the basement. Halfway down the stairs, he remembered the light switch. The basement was dark, so when he got to the bottom, he flipped the switch. The lights in the basement flickered, but didn’t stay on. He grinned, remembering the flashlight. He clicked it on.

When you don’t go into a room of your house for a while, it can start to seem foreign, almost chaotic, and since he never went into the basement, except for the previously stated purposes, the basement always seemed chaotic. Sometimes there seemed to be more stairs, sometimes, the box of decorations weren’t where he expected them to be, and even sometimes, the door for the circuit breaker panel felt sticky.

He went in the direction of the water system, but didn’t see it after walking for a few feet. The basement felt both cold and damp, but also warm and stuffy. The beam of the flashlight disappeared into the dark nothing before him. “Hello?” he said.

He heard a light flicker to life behind him. He turned. It was the bulb above the water system. The plumber stood in the corner, facing away from Damon. “Oh,” said Damon. “There you are. Are you taking a break? My wife and I wonder if you’ve made any progress, since you’ve been down here for a while.” He said this as he walked up to the plumber and the mess of pipes. “Hello?” he said, tapping the plumber on the shoulder.

He heard a low growl come from the plumber. The man slowly turned around. The basement light hitting his eyes made them glow red, so Damon tried to not shine the flashlight into the plumber’s face. That out of the way, his eyes still glowed red.

“We’re just wondering if you’ve figured out the problem,” Damon said. “Do you, by any chance, bill by the hour, or is it a flat fee?”

“I AM SHABUZU, DEMON LORD OF PAIN,” said the plumber.

“Okay, Shabuzu,” said Damon. “But about the water?”

“PAIN!” said the plumber. He reached a hand out to Damon, but got tangled in the pipes.

“I’ll just give you a minute,” Damon said, backing away. He found the bannister for the stairs, and took the steps up. It felt like a lot of stairs this time, and he didn’t realize the stairway was so twisted.

Bette stood in the living room, waiting for him. “Well?” she said.

“I think he needs a minute,” Damon said.

“I think you should call his company and complain,” Bette said.

“Shouldn’t we wait until he leaves?” Damon said.

“Why?” Bette said.

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe he’ll spit in our well or something.”

Bette crossed her arms.

“Okay,” Damon said. “I’ll give them a call.”

He dialed the plumbing company. “Yes, hello,” he said. “I have one of your plumbers here, and he’s been taking quite a long time to do his work, and I’m worried that it’ll make my bill really high. Oh? Well, in that case, I’d also like to point out that he’s been very rude to me. He even tried to grab me after saying that he was the lord of pain. At the very least, we should be able to expect a certain level of professionalism from the service people that come into our home. Oh? Yes, I believe his name is Shabuzu. I’m not sure how to spell it. Hmm? Really? Well, he was driving one of your trucks. It’s still in my driveway. I can give you the number off of it if you like. Oh, okay. I’ll do that.”

Bette looked at him.

“They want me to call the police,” he said. “Apparently, nobody by the name of Shabuzu works for them. They think I may have a criminal posing as a plumber in my basement.” He laughed. “At their rates, though, aren’t they all criminals?” He dialed the police.

About half an hour later, a police officer arrived.

“He’s in the basement,” Damon said. “The plumbing company thinks he’s an imposter. They want to get in touch with you if there’s an investigation, since one of their trucks may have been stolen, and the whereabouts of one of their employees is currently unknown.” He handed the police officer the magnet for the plumbing company.

“He’s in the basement?” the police officer said.

“Yes. Let me show you the way.” Damon opened the door. “It can get dark down there,” he said.”

The police officer nodded. “Better stay up here,” he said to Damon. He pulled a flashlight from his belt and shined the beam into the darkness. His other hand hovered over the gun that was on his belt.

“There’s a light switch at the bottom,” Damon said. “But it’s only working intermittently.”

The police officer nodded and descended the stairs.

Damon went back to the living room. Bette stood there.

“I’m going for another walk,” she said, then she left.

Damon got comfortable and started reading his book again.

He was at a particularly exciting part when Bette returned. “Well?” she said again.

Damon looked up at her. “He’s still in the basement,” he said. “But I don’t think you pay police by the hour.”

“Well, go check on him. It’s almost dinner time.”

Damon put the bookmark in his book and set it down. “Okay,” he said.

He went into the basement, bringing his flashlight along. The light switch didn’t seem to do anything except make some distant volcanoes erupt and lightning strike some withered trees. He didn’t realize he had had any of those in his basement. He shined his flashlight. A rocky path littered with bones, some he couldn’t readily identify, led to the water system. Shabuzu stood there, still tangled in the pipes. The police officer stood in the corner behind him.

“Hello,” said Damon. “Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to make sure that everything was okay down here.” He stepped up to the officer and tapped him on the shoulder.

The officer turned. He wore sunglasses, but a red light shined from behind them. He lowered the sunglasses, revealing glowing eyes. “I AM SHABUZU, LORD OF PAIN,” said the police officer.

“Oh, is that so?” said Damon. “Well, what a coincidence, because that’s the name of the plumber!”

“SILENCE MORTAL!” said Officer Shabuzu. He tried to grab at Damon, but got caught in the web of pipes.

“Is this like the Miranda rights or something?” Damon said. “Well, I’ll just let you work. Let me know if you need anything.” He followed the rocky, bone-strewn path back to the stairs. He didn’t know where the torches came from, but it made the hike up the stairs a little less dark and creepy.

“You’ll never believe this,” he said to Bette, “but both the plumber and the cop are named Shabuzu. Isn’t that the weirdest thing?”

Bette cocked her eyebrows.

“I wonder what kind of name that is,” Damon said. He pulled out his phone and looked it up. “Well, that’s odd,” he said. “It’s some ancient Sumerian name for a malevolent water demon that feeds off the souls of drowned children.” He looked up at his wife. “Who would want to name their kid after that?” he said. He shrugged before looking back at his phone. “Oh, hey, there’s a little banner at the top of the search. It says that if you find someone calling themselves Shabuzu, you should call a priest immediately. It doesn’t say what to do if you find two people named Shabuzu, but I’ll give a priest a call and see what he thinks.”

“I’m going to get us some dinner,” said Bette. “Please have this wrapped up by the time I get back.”

Damon nodded. He called the nearest church. A few minutes later, the priests arrived.

“Hello,” said the first priest. “I’m Father McCork, and this is Father O’Henry,” he said. They both wore black suits with white collars. O’Henry held a rosary in his hand, and had a vial of water in his other.

“Thanks for being prompt,” said Damon. “I have a plumber and a police officer, both named Shabuzu in my basement. I figured that since there were two, maybe two priests would be in order.

McCork nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” Damon said, “but I’m not really a religious person. Do I need to pay you, or are your services already covered, like with the police?”

O’Henry looked at McCork. “We do this as a service,” said O’Henry. “But you’re welcome to make a donation to the local diocese.”

Damon nodded. “Let me show you the basement.” He led the way. “The lights are a bit temperamental,” he said, “but you can use my flashlight.”

McCork had some candles. “We came prepared,” he said.

Damon opened the door and led the way down the twisting stairs. While they descended, McCork lit the candles.

“Shabuzu is no laughing matter,” said McCork. “He’s a vicious demon who has been known to plague water supplies.”

Damon looked back at the priests. “Like, hissing water that smells like sulfur and catches on fire?”

McCork nodded. “That’s his MO,” he said. “You should have called us sooner.”

Damon shrugged. “I thought that it was something the plumber could handle.”

O’Henry laughed.

At the foot of the stairs, he led them past the Christmas and Halloween decorations, past the bone-strewn path, and across a bridge over dark water rippling with strange tentacles. They found the tangle of pipes with the two men trapped inside. The sound of deep voices chanting in an unknown language echoed in the distance.

They both looked at the priests and hissed, making a sound like the faucet. “YOU SEND US PAWNS,” they said in unison.

“Silence, Hellspawn!” McCork bellowed, holding forth a cross. “We have come to banish you back to the recesses of the third circle of Hell whence you came!”

The two men hissed. Damon found this quite fascinating.

Using the cross and the vial of water, McCork spoke some big words at the plumber and the police officer. O’Henry set up the candles in the pattern and rubbed the rosary while praying something in Latin.

The two men in the pipes started to glow and writhe, and the voices of the priests grew louder and louder until they were practically shouting. It made Damon feel a little uncomfortable, and he was glad they weren’t shouting at him. Then, with a loud boom, the two men went limp. A scaly creature that looked like an evil fish stood behind them. He cowered before the priests.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit, I banish thee!” McCork said. He splattered the liquid from his vial onto the creature, who began to burn. In a billow of black smoke, the creature withered until it was gone, leaving behind nothing but a glowing five-pointed star on the ground. It looked a lot like the shape the pipes of his water system made.

When the smoke cleared, Damon realized that the basement looked different, more normal. The plumber and the police officer were coming to. “Where am I?” said the plumber.

McCork crouched beside the two men and explained in a quiet voice what had happened. O’Henry looked at Damon. “We can bless your water system,” he said. “That might keep Shabuzu from coming back.”

“Okay,” Damon said.

When Bette got back home with dinner, she saw the plumbing truck leave, followed by a police car, followed by a lime green sedan with two priests in it. Damon greeted her by the door.

“Our water problems have been fixed,” he said. “And the plumber gave me a discount, and I didn’t even need to use the coupon on the magnet.”

She nodded, bringing the food to the table. They ate their dinner in relative silence. Afterwards, while they relaxed in front of the television, Damon mentioned that they should consider going to church. The priests really helped clear up the mess.”

“We’ll see,” Bette said.

After watching TV, Damon stretched. “You know,” he said. “I think I’m going to take a shower. It’s been a long day.”

“Sure,” said Bette.

He went into the bathroom and turned on the water. When it seemed warm enough for his liking, he stepped inside, but the water burned him. He hopped out and dabbed at himself with the towel. “Ow,” he said. Bette poked her head in through the door. “What’s going on?”

“The water,” Damon said. “It hurt me.”

Bette went over to the shower and felt it. “It’s not that hot,” she said. “And it doesn’t stink.” She tasted it. “And it tastes fine,” she said.

“Well, shoot,” said Damon. He sat down on the closed toilet. “Who do we call for this?”

Bette looked at Damon’s forehead and her eyes grew wide. “Damon,” she said. 

“Yeah?” he said, looking up at her.

“Since when did you have horns?” She pointed at his forehead, where two goat-like horns were beginning to protrude.

Damon shrugged. “Since always, I guess,” he said. “My mom says I got them from my dad. Are they showing again? I must be stressed out.”

Bette sighed, slumping to the edge of the tub. “I think I need to go for another walk,” she said.