One night, I was watching Netflix rather late, to be honest that’s an understatement. As I finish the last season of my favorite TV show (House of Cards), I slowly manage to get off the couch and to drag my feet all the way to my bed. I just give out and I fall on top of my bedsheets like a ton of bricks. I went straight to sleep.
I’m woken up by a strange dripping sound in the background. Sadly, my loveable dog wakes me up. Also, my right hand was dangling off the bed and my loveable dog decided to lick it. I didn’t mind it until he started to slobber all over it and I said, “Ruffles, stop it.” as I make a motion that makes him go away. I try to think which faucet would be dripping.
I go to the bathroom to check the faucet, I twist the handle, but the sound was still there. Annoyed that I have to walk more, I go to the kitchen, and try that one. Still I hear, “Drip, drip, drip.” Odd, there are only that many faucets in my house. “Wait, that’s wrong, the one in the basement,” I tell myself. That only raises more questions since I never, and I mean never use it. So I grab the railing and put most my weight on it.
I flick the switch, but only one lightbulb turns on, and it’s only lights up the bottom of the stairs. So I scramble in the dark for a flashlight. Aha, got one. I turn it on and go to the faucet and turn the knob. Odd, there’s still the sound, “Drip, drip ,drip.” I hear it in the back of the basement. I point my flashlight and see my dog. A rope attached to the ceiling beam, his head in the noose, with a little slit in his neck and a long one across his chest. The sound was the blood streaming down his lifeless body and dripping from his little paw. I stand there, frozen as if it was a nightmare. I feel pain in my chest, my eyes become puffy and tears stream down my face. I bury my face in my hands to avoid the sight of my dead dog, then I look at my right-hand still sticky with slobber.