本帖最后由 bright_helm 于 2010-11-5 09:00 编辑
占楼~
之前下班太急，帖子发错区了，我了个囧
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The Summons of the Deep —— Part Two: The Horror Beneath the Surface
BH开工
Julia Brown screamed.
It was a loud scream, fierce and primal, and it rose up from the core of her body, submerged as it was in the cold brown filth of the tub. It was a sharp scream, one that she could feel in the muscles of her throat. It would have been a long scream, dreadful and terrible, if she did not, through conscious effort, cut the scream short.
The faucet was running. Julia shuddered, and scrambled from the tub, splashing water throughout the room. She lunged for the white towel hanging on the door, leaving a wet, murky trail in her wake. Julia smeared the towel with dark muddy stains, wrapping it around her body. The cold. How was she able to sleep? The faucet continued to run; its harsh, relentless rush sounded like a waterfall. She stepped back across the room, and shut the valves on the tub, desperate for silence, but the roar of the waterfall crept up behind her. Spinning, Julia saw that the sink was also plugged and pouring, overflowing onto the floor with its own oozing offering of brown, turbid water.
The rest of the day was a blur. She turned off the sink in the bathroom, as well as the one in the kitchen. She soaked up water, and washed the floor. She wanted to take a shower, to wash away the mud, but shuddered at the thought. Instead, she did her best with a dry cloth, wrapped herself in the same black slip she wore the day before, and washed towels.
Days passed. No morning was as bad as the morning she woke in the tub, but only, she felt, because she was now facilitating the nightly running of the water. Instead of trying to fight whatever it was that was causing her apartment, she made sure the drains were blocked and the faucets flowing before retiring to bed. She realized she was starting to lose it, but she did not care. She didn't want to wake naked in a cold muddy tub.
Days became weeks. Julia could not bring herself to bathe, and she wore the same soiled clothes day after day. She stopped going to work. She lost her appetite for food, but she was always thirsty. The phone would occasionally ring, but she refused to answer. Her sole friend, an older, jaded police officer named Marshall Greene, came to the door, knocking urgently, calling out to her, worried if she was all right. Hunched behind the chained door in her tattered, soggy black dress, Julia ordered the man to leave her alone, to go away, to never come back. She did not recognize her own voice.
Isolation, hunger, and filth took their toll. Julia Brown had always taken pride in the fact that she could handle this world and her life therein on her own. She had never asked for help before, her life therein on her own. She had never asked for help before, and she could hardly believe she was about to. But all humans, no matter how strong, have a breaking point, and Julia was beginning to wonder if she was losing not only her mind, but her very claim to humanity.
On the afternoon of the day she finally gave in and made the call, she gritted her teeth and forced herself into the shower. Remarkably, the water was clear, and it felt good on her skin. Weeks of grime and sweat and tears washed away, and Julia felt her heart break as she sat before the mirror and brushed her fresh, damp hair. She no longer recognized her own reflection.
After cleaning herself, Julia did her best to make the apartment presentable. Some of the carpeting was damp, but she was able to transform the place back into the messy home of a young, busy woman. With a final look around, she picked up the phone and dialed the local police station.
"Fifth precinct, can I help you?" the voice on the phone said.
"Is Marshall Greene in the office? This is Julia Brown. Tell him... tell him I need his help."
"One second," the voice said, and then, "Marshall..."
When he came to the phone, Julia cut off his shocked hello. "Marshall, just shut up and listen! I'm sorry about the other day. Week. Whatever. I'm in trouble and I need your help. Come over as soon as you get off work. This is serious."
"Wha... what's going-" She hung up.
Marshall was at her door 15 minutes later, 240 pounds of tall, powerful, reassuring, male presence. Julia let him in, and immediately bolted and chained the door behind him. "Don't say anything, just listen," Julia said, and then she let it all out. The long, sleep deprived nights, the running water and blocked drains every morning. The single attempt to fight the disease, if that's what it was, with sleeping pills, and the following day when she woke up in the tub. The gradual decline towards madness, and the sudden, jolting realization that she needed help.
"Sure, I can help. But whaddya want me to do?" Marshall said as he reached down to feel at a damp spot on the carpet. He sniffed his hand, and scratched his head.
"I think it might all be tied in to my insomnia," Julia said. "You know how I used to stay up all night, playing the violin? Well, I think my mind is rebelling. Now it's not letting me get enough rest. If I could just get one night's sleep, without having to worry about sleepwalking or turning on the water or waking up in the tub, everything would be OK. Could you sit up tonight, and let me sleep, and if I get out of bed to turn on the water or get in the tub, wake me up and make me go back to bed?"
"Sure, sounds like a piece of cake." Marshall paused, and glanced towards the kitchen. "Speaking of which... Do you have anything to eat? And can I make some coffee? You know...to help me stay awake?"
"Have whatever you want. I'm going to bed."
