“So-ooo, that’s where you’re hiding?” Harry lifted the plunger, spun it in his large fingers and walked toward the center of the room, keeping his eyes fixed on the drain-hole lest it disappear like some rabbit he had his sights set on. On his way he grabbed the already open bottle of Drain-Away, and then got down on his knees beside the tiny round grate.

“Bottoms up.” He upended the bottle, letting the blue liquid run thickly in, smiling and holding his breath.

The bottle emptied, and he sat back on his haunches. “Let’s see you chew on that.” He grabbed the plunger, but would give the caustic concoction a minute or two to work its magic.

“Now Harry? Is it clear no-ooow?” The voice was getting shriller by the second, and he gritted his teeth.

He lifted his head. “Soon, angel pie. What do you think I’m doin down here; playin with myself?” he added under his breath.

There was a squelching sound from in the hole, and Harry peered in. Seeing nothing, he placed the rubber cap of the plunger over the drain. “It’s go time.” He pumped it up and down several times, his face going red and his grin widening as a thick mucousy sound started to rise and fall in time with his jerking ministrations.

Using his bodyweight, he leaned down hard for one last plunge, and then ripped it away. To his shock, a gush of glistening blackness rose in a column, splattering his shirt, face and one of his arms. He dropped the plunger and grabbed for a rag to rub at his eyes.

He barely heard the liquid sound in the room, or if he did, he wouldn’t have cared. The burning gunk stung his skin and one of his eyes – mercifully it hadn’t got in both, but still the shock and pain were unbearable.

Harry went to get to his feet but couldn’t. He realized that something had him by the arm, and he took his hands away from his red raw face and opened his one good eye. He recoiled in horror – the silver drain cap had popped free and a thick black pipe of goo extended from it and was wrapped around his forearm.

Gaa! He yanked, but it stretched. He tried to throw himself backward, but the thing was incredibly strong. Harry whimpered. The slimy touch on his arm started to burn even more ferociously than the fluid on his face. And this had the added horror of being something that seemed alive, and was now tugging at him.

The ground vibrated again under his feet, and he became aware of Summer’s yelling voice once again.

“You better have that cleared soon, Harry, or there’s gonna be tro-ooub-bbble.”

“Summ–” was all he could yell, before something slimy that tasted like shit, oil and Drain-Away jammed itself in past his lips and worked its way down his throat.

*

Summer sat on the couch frowning at the television. Everything the young English chef baked or cooked slid easily from pans, golden and perfectly made. He turned to the screen and gave her the benefit of his usual open-mouthed grin. His tongue looked slightly too big for his mouth.