Craig envisions what might be causing the noises in his kitchen. This story employs no references to Spam. A kitchen story sans Spam? How can it be good? Read and find out. (CL)
I worry about my sink. Lately it's been gurgling. It's kind of disturbing.
I'll be sitting in my living room, watching television in my underwear, and suddenly I'll hear this sound coming from the kitchen. It's a low gurgling sound, like something is slurping its way through the pipes. It's really strange.
I used to ignore it, but that was before I was home all day and had nothing better to do. Now I'll go into the kitchen and look at the sink while it's happening. Usually there's nothing in there, but sometimes a mass of suds comes up - like I'm getting the runoff from somebody else's dishwashing activities or something - and sometimes it's other things.
One time I checked the sink after it had been gurgling pretty steadily for a few minutes and found several small pieces of a gray-black gelatinous substance. I pushed them back down into the drain with a fork and turned on the hot water full blast until it was all gone.
I don't like to leave dirty dishes in my sink for very long anymore.
Sometimes I wonder just what's making that weird gurgling sound. I wonder why it makes these things come up out of the pipes and into my sink. And I wonder what would happen if it somehow gained sentience.
I can imagine it now: I'm watching a particularly compelling episode of VH-1's Behind the Music and I hear the gurgling sound, so I go into the kitchen.
Suddenly I'm confronted by an enormous blob-like creature, which has been forming in my sink the whole time I was engrossed by the inner turmoil that the band Kansas went through during the mid-'80s. It's gray-black - like the smaller pieces of it that I saw before - and about three feet tall and two feet wide. And it has tentacles, which shoot out of its body and grab hold of me, pulling me toward its quivering form.
Instead of being eaten, however, I'm merely held in place, pressed up against the counter, while the blob sends more feelers out. They crawl all over me, covering every inch of my body in its rank, icky goo, until it detaches itself and descends once again into the pipes, pausing only to lap up the traces of itself left in the sink.
I imagine this would happen about once a week. I keep waiting for it to start. Until it does, though, I'll be on my guard whenever my sink starts to make that gurgling sound.
And I'll start to wear pants around the apartment.