The Girl in the Drain

Hi.

I want to tell you about something that happened to me last month. I haven’t told many people, because I know it sounds crazy. But it’s real. I swear.

It started with the smell.

You know that sharp, dirty smell drains have sometimes? Like old water and metal? I started noticing it everywhere. Not just in the bathroom or kitchen sink—but in my bedroom, in the hallway, even near the fridge.

It didn’t make sense. I cleaned everything. I even poured bleach down the pipes.

But it stayed.

And then, it started whispering.

The First Voice
It was late. Around 2 a.m. I had just gotten into bed when I heard it. A soft voice, like a girl, calling from the bathroom:

“Hey… can you hear me?”

I froze. At first I thought it was the TV in the other room, or a neighbor.

But the TV was off.

And I live alone.

I crept to the bathroom. The lights were off, but the sink was dripping.

“I’m still here…” the voice whispered again. “Help me.”

I slammed the door shut and didn’t sleep.

The Town Legend
I asked my neighbor, Miss Darlene, an older woman who’s lived on this street since the 80s, if she had ever heard anything strange.

She looked at me for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“You don’t know about Emily, do you?”

I shook my head.

“Years ago,” she said, “a girl named Emily drowned. She was playing near the storm drain with some other kids. Slipped, hit her head, and the water pulled her under.”

She leaned closer.

“They say the drain never let her go.”

I thought it was just an old story. A ghost tale to scare kids.

But that night, when I took a shower… the mirror fogged up. And when I wiped it, I saw something written on the glass, even though I hadn’t touched it.

"Don’t forget me."

Whispers in the Pipes
The next few days were worse.

Every time I turned on the faucet, I’d hear whispers. They didn’t stop when the water turned off. Sometimes they cried. Sometimes they laughed. And sometimes… they said my name.

“Elliot…”
“Why did you leave me?”
“Let me in…”

I started dreaming about her.

A girl in a soaked white dress, hair hanging over her face, crawling out of a drain, her fingers scraping the sides as she pulled herself up.

I’d wake up drenched in sweat.

But the worst part?

I wasn’t asleep anymore.

The Basement Drain
One night, the whispering grew louder. This time, it wasn’t just a voice. It was scratching, like nails on metal. Coming from the basement.

I didn’t want to go down there.

But something pulled me. Not physically… it was like a feeling in my chest. Like I had to see.

The basement was cold. The air was thick. And in the far corner, there was a round floor drain. The kind you only notice when water floods in.

It was wide open.

Water dripped down into the blackness below.

And from inside, I heard her.

“Elliot, I’m lonely…”

Then a hand—wet, gray, bony—reached up and touched the edge of the drain.

The Water Follows Me
Since that night, water has started following me.

I woke up to puddles in the hallway—no leaks, no rain. Just water that smelled like the bottom of a pond.

My phone screen flickers when I turn on a tap.

I hear someone crying in the shower before I step in.

And sometimes, when I look at reflections—in the sink, the bathtub, even my tea—I see a girl’s face staring back at me from deep below.

She’s getting closer.

I Tried to Leave
Last week, I packed a bag and left. I stayed at a friend’s house two towns over.

Everything seemed fine. Quiet.

But then I noticed her there too.

The water in his sink turned black. His dog wouldn’t go near the bathroom. And then I found wet footprints leading into the guest room—but not out.

That night, she whispered again.

“You belong to me now.”

I left before the sun rose. But she followed me home.

Now she’s in every pipe. Every faucet. Every bottle of water I drink.

I think I’m becoming part of her.

The Final Warning
I haven’t slept in three nights.

My fingernails are starting to turn pale. My skin stays damp, even after drying off. I think I know what’s happening.

She doesn’t just want attention.

She wants someone to take her place.

So I’m writing this down while I still can. While I still remember who I am.

If you ever hear a voice coming from your sink, your shower, or your drain…

Don’t answer.

Because once she knows your name—

She never lets go.

The Girl in the Drain
She drowned alone. But she won’t stay that way.