The Sound of Running Water

         Skipper raised her dappled head off the bed and growled low in her throat, penetrating the enchanted world of knights in shining armor, rescuing damsels in distress, which I had been reading about while my two children slept beside me.  I closed my book and laid it on the night stand.

         The sound of water running through the pipes under the house was eerie in the still night.  There was a feeling of wrongness in that sound.  I felt the first prickle of apprehension raise the hairs on the back of my neck.  We were on city water. The children and I were alone in the house.  Had the toilet stuck or something? I wondered.

         I eased out from amongst the tangle of childish limbs weighing down my legs so as not to wake my daughters, Kaylan and Amber.  They were uneasy enough living in this ‘spooky old house’ as they called it.  They had been sleeping with me ever since Clark had been switched to the midnight shift two weeks ago. 

         Skipper whined an apology for not going with me, but refused to abandon her post as guardian of the children.  Shih Tzu’s could be fierce protectors.  I patted her on the head, drawing comfort from her warm body; reluctant to leave the safety of the bedroom myself. 

         Clark and I had been living in this house two short months.  I still had not gotten used to the strange grumblings and whisperings all old houses make as they settle down for the night. I think they make those sounds in much the same way a dog feels impelled to turn thrice before settling down for a nap. 

         It wasn’t until Clark was transferred to the night shift and I found myself alone with two children to protect, that all those unfamiliar noises, in an unfamiliar house, deep in the night, began to spook me--and the kids.  That was the reason they were in bed with me. For the life of me, I could not refuse their frightened pleading.

         This noise I was hearing was not a natural part of that nightly ritual of sounds.  This was definitely the sound of water running--but where?  Shaking off my feeling of dread of leaving the safe haven of the bedroom, I took a deep breath and cracked open the bedroom door that was closest to the kitchen. 

         Feeling like a thief in my own house, I crept down the short hallway, and faced the bare wooden stairs.  They extended down into the hall from the blackness of the upper floor like a long wooden tongue, as if saying, “ah-h-h” with its musty breath.

         We never went upstairs. We were not afraid of the empty rooms up there or anything.  It was just that the house was  really too big for us. 

         The three bedrooms downstairs were one more than we needed.  Amber and Kaylan preferred to share a room.   They were only fourteen months apart, and at five and barely four, they were still more comfortable together.  We had no need for the four bedrooms upstairs.  As much as we traveled with Clark while he followed the “Shut-Downs” of the sawmills his company serviced, we didn’t even own enough material possessions to use the upstairs as a storage area.

         Shivering, I slipped past that creepy stairway and reached the shadowy doorway to the kitchen.  I groped along the inside of the wall, letting my fingers slide along the bead-board for the switch I knew was there.  I couldn’t stop the tremble in my hands because the sound of running water, while quieter here in the kitchen, was still loud in the silent night. 

         Finding comfort in the flood of light in the old-fashioned kitchen, I tip-toed over to the ancient sink.  The sound of running water was louder here, yet it wasn’t coming from the faucets.  Although I knew that was true when I laid my hand on the faucet, I couldn’t help twisting both the hot and cold handles--just to be double sure.  I could feel the vibration of water running somewhere through their cold grip.