MicroHorror

This was the part she really enjoyed. The bathroom. When Mrs. White cleaned the bath and basin she imagined all the spiders that were clinging to the insides of the S-bends, screaming as she blasted the plugholes with bleach. They needed killing and she relished in their mass murder.

As The Archers began on the radio downstairs, Mrs. White picked up the cleaning fluid, semi-whistled the jaunty theme tune and, with a flourish, squirted the liquid through the gleaming stainless steel holes of the bath’s waste, let the hot tap run for a bit and then stood very still. Listening. One day she would hear them. But all she could hear was the whining voice of Ruth Archer as she moved on to the bedroom.

The cloying liquid spurted through the circular holes, followed by a hot rush of water. The drain creatures fought over the juice, and the frenzy that always followed finally burst the dark, heaving mass of arthropods onto the bright white, slippery slopes of the bath.

Mrs. White’s gleaming surfaces darkened, the mass overflowing onto the bathroom floor, slinking towards the open door, spreading along the carpeted corridor and heading for the bedroom door at the end. It was still hungry.