My Father Left Me One Rule: Keep Water by the Bed

I’m scared to go home.

In fact, I don’t think I will ever return, I don’t care that everything I own is there, or even that it is my childhood home, I’m never going back. It was only a few months ago that I received the call that would change my life. I sat in my dorm, studying for a psychology exam, when the monotone chirping of my phone broke through the tranquil silence.

“Hello?” I answered blankly

“Yes, am I speaking to Erin?” a thick, masculine voice broke through the speaker

“Um yeah it is, whom am I speaking to?”

“Well Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Waterson from back in Centerville, your father is Roger correct?”

My voice cracked as I whispered “yes. Is everything ok?”

A heavy, pained sigh came through the phone.

Dad’s funeral was harder than Mom’s. Mom’s was a long time coming, the cancer had pillaged her body for years, it laughed with glee as it poisoned her blood and left her a hollow husk months before her final breath. But Dad had drowned. Not in a lake, not in a pool, in his own home. They told me he fell asleep in the bathtub. Three days after the sheriff’s call, I stood in the small, traditional Wesleyan chapel. As I stood in front of the simple casket, wrapped in a black dress, I realized I was now an orphan. Later that evening Dad’s lawyer sat me down to walk me through the last will and testament.

I sat there on the couch in a grief induced shock. The legal jargon spouted from lawyer overwhelmed me like a flood. Very few of his words reached my mind. But one of his final statements broke through my stupor.

“…And finally, your father has left you the entirety of his estate, including the house.”

“Wait what did you say?” I asked the dry lawyer

“Your father left you the house, as well as the majority of his earthly possessions.” He replied as if it was the most mundane statement ever.

“Oh” was all I could muster.

“Also, your father left you this” he said as he handed me a small, simple envelope that bore my name.

“Thanks” I said as stuffed it into my purse.

Days passed filled with casseroles, hugs, and sloppy signatures on legal documents. Several members of the family advised that I sell the house to pay for my schooling. But how could I? How could I sell the first and only home my parents ever bought? How could I sell the home that held my childhood? Instead, I kept it, I transferred to an online program and before long I found myself moving the few boxes from my dorm into the house that was now mine.

A few short weeks later, I found myself alone in the house for the first time since dad died. No one tells you how loud it is after the funeral, nor how quiet it is after everyone leaves. The silence brought to mind every good memory of my dad, though they were tainted by loss. There would be no new memories shared, no happy hugs as I graduated college, no tearful laughter as he walked me down the aisle, I had ever memory of my dad that I would ever have, and as I grew older, they would fade, eventually disappearing altogether. Then my dad would truly be gone.

As gentle tears ran down my cheeks, a memory of a note hidden in my purse came to mind. Grabbing my purse, I fished out the letter that bore my name in my father’s shaky yet elegant handwriting. A single tear dampened the envelope as I gently opened the letter. My heart awaited eagerly for the wisdom it may contain, yet to my surprise it only had one single sentence:

“Always keep a glass of water on the nightstand”

I don’t know how long I stared at the lone sentence, but as I did, anger boiled up within me. And before long I screamed.

“That’s it?? That’s the best damn advice you could think of? Gee thanks Dad I’ll always be hydrated at night! What about ‘I love you?’ or ‘I’m proud of you?’” I screamed at an empty house as I slid to the ground and wept.

“Why did you have to go? Why did you leave me?”

That night I got drunk. A cocktail of anger and grief fueled my drive to the local liquor, where I bought enough boozes to supply any frat house for a week. After several bouts with Jack Daniels, I finally collapsed on my bed in a drunken stupor. It was around 3 AM when I coughed and gagged myself awake, it felt like my lungs were full of water. I sat up quickly, fearful that I was choking on my own vomit. But as I lurched upward, the feeling passed. My airway opened and I greedily sucked in as much air as I could. My hands shook uncontrollably, as I tried to calm down. Standing up I walked into the master bathroom and bent to the sink to splash some cold water on my face. Glancing up I saw my sorry reflection in the mirror, and for a moment in the reflection, I saw movement.

It was slight, but there in the reflection of the gaping darkness that was the doorway to my room, was movement, the kind of movement your eyes notice a second too late. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as the implications reached me. Slowly I turned and faced the dark void that used to be my bedroom. Armed only with a hairbrush, I cautiously entered the room.

“Hello?” I said, trying to disguise the fear in my voice

“Is someone there?”

 The room was empty, no one was there, and I soon turned my attention to the door to the hallway. Peeking my head into the hall, I looked down both ways, and as I did, from behind me I heard the gentle trickle of water. My journey back to the bathroom felt like it took hours, I kept expecting something to touch me from the dark. but soon I stood fully in the low white light of the bathroom, before me was the sink. a thin stream of water flowed from the faucet. My mind offered dozens of explanations, but the one I settled on, was that in my fear I failed to fully turn off the faucet and didn’t notice until my terror had passed.

“it’s nothing, just the alcohol” I whispered aloud to myself as I locked the bedroom door and returned to bed.

The next morning, I awoke in a strange mix of groggy exhaustion and quiet hope. I found myself somewhat embarrassed about the night before, both the drinking and the fear. And though I was still grieving, I told myself I wasn’t going to be controlled by the loss anymore. That morning I started to unpack and clean. The work was good for me; it kept my mind from dwelling on the loss. Soon I started back on my studies, which brought me some enjoyment. For the first time in days, I felt hungry. So I walked a few blocks down to the pizza place, the same one I worked at in high school. Billy the owner greeted me warmly with a hug as he told me how sorry he was for my loss.

“Thanks Billy, that means a lot” I replied

“We love you kiddo, and you always got a job here if you want it.”

I smiled “if your serious, yeah that would actually be great, I could really use a distraction right now.”

He nodded “start whenever you’re ready, we’ll take you anytime.”

“how’s tomorrow sound?”

He patted my back “tomorrow is great”

A few moments later my large pepperoni pizza was ready, as Billy hand it to me he said, “on the house Kiddo, it’s the least we could do.”

I thanked him and carried my dinner back home.

I wish I could say that that night was normal, what I thought was just a drunken reaction to grief turned out to be something greater. Every night that week, at 3 AM I woke feeling like I was drowning, every night the feeling grew more intense, and lasted longer than the night before. After a full week of restless sleep, I couldn’t take it anymore. Not knowing what else to do I emailed one of my professors and asked if we could schedule a video call. Dr. Martin was one of my favorite professors, he warmly encouraged my desires to become a psychologist, and after some small talk, I opened up to him. I told him about my father’s death, how he had drowned, I told him about my nightmares and the terror I felt as my lungs filled with imaginary water. All the while he listened attentively.

As my account came to an end, Dr. Martin stared intently into the camera, clearly deep in thought, a moment later he spoke

“Honestly, Erin, It sounds a lot like grief-triggered sleep paralysis.”

“Sleep Paralysis?” I echoed

“Yes, it seems to be that your subconscious has taken this grief and internalized it in the form of a paralysis experience that mimics the final moments of your father.”

 I stared for a moment as this news sunk in “well is there anything that would help?” I asked

“Well, if you’re wanting to go the medication route, I’d have to refer you to someone, but if you’d ask me, medication might not be necessary. Perhaps all your mind needs is some form of closure.”

I thought for a moment, before nodding “thank you Dr. you’ve been really helpful.”

“of course, Erin, happy to help.”

Closing my laptop, I sat there at the end of my bed, trying my best to digest what I had just been told. What would closure even look like? Moments later it hit me, the note. The stupid one sentence note my dad had left me, the note that was currently hiding in the back of my junk drawer. Soon I found myself staring at the wrinkled piece of paper. All it said was:

“Always keep a glass of water on the nightstand”

Why would he write this? The thought bounced around my mind over and over again, but ultimately it doesn’t matter, if listening to the note would give my mind closure, I’d do whatever it said. That night before bed I set a tall glass of clear water on my nightstand, I stared at the cup as my eyelids grew heavy and soon, I was fast asleep.

I woke in the morning shocked, not only had I slept all the way through the night, but it was some of the most restful sleep I’d ever had. I felt relaxed and energized, ready for the day ahead. My smile rarely left my face all day, later that afternoon Billy remarked

“Your in a good mood today Erin, glad to see it.”

I chuckled slightly “yeah, it finally feels like I can move on with my life.”

He smiled and nodded as we got back to work.

That night, I dumped out the glass and filled it to the brim with fresh water. Hopping into bed, I silently hoped that night would be just as good as the night before. Again, morning came, and with it the renewed energy of a restful night. I woke with a smile on my face, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed something was different. It was the glass; it was half full. I stared at it for a moment. I vividly remember filling it full last night, but now it wasn’t full. It took a moment to convince myself that I had just taken a drink in the middle of the night and simply didn’t remember.

“weird” I said aloud as I forced a shrug.

Despite my efforts, a feeling of unease stuck to me all day. The day itself was a blur, I couldn’t tell you one thing about that day, only that I spent every moment of it wondering what happened to the water. Again, evening came, and I found myself filling the same glass with fresh water. As I set it on the nightstand I took a moment to note the exact amount of water that the glass held. It took longer to fall asleep that night but eventually sleep took me.

Again, I awoke refreshed and happy, but it lasted only a moment as I looked to the nightstand and saw that the glass was a little more than half full, definitely less than the night before. That day my mind was consumed by one thing; the water. Did I drink it and I just don’t remember? I must have. But why don’t I remember? Where else could the water have gone?

“Everything ok Kiddo?” Billy’s voice broke through my questions

“Oh, yeah, sorry, just a lot on my mind.”

“Well, if you need to talk about anything just say so.”

I nodded as I tried to distract myself with work.

That night I had an idea. After filling the glass, I took a red marker and marked the waterline. In the morning there would be no doubt about how much water I had put in. The next morning the glass was completely empty. In a fit of anger and fear I threw the glass across the room, it shattered as it hit the wall.

“What the hell is going on?” I screamed at the empty house.

That afternoon as I walked to work, I realized that before I overreacted, I needed to be sure that I wasn’t drinking the water. For all I knew I could have been sleepwalking. If I could see that I was drinking the water that would put an end to it. I knew my phone wouldn’t record all night, and I didn’t have time today to drive to the city over and purchase a security camera, so if I couldn’t record video, maybe I could record audio. I often used a voice memo app to record college lectures to help with studying, and I knew that there wasn’t a limit to how long the app would record. By the time I walked into the pizza parlor, I had already decided. Tonight, I would record everything.

As night fell, I made another decision. I decided to fill four glasses instead of just one, if it turned out that this was just me guzzling water while sleepwalking, four glasses of water would certainly cause me to have to use the bathroom, and the discomfort would wake me. And so, with four glasses of water on the nightstand, and my phone recording every noise in the room, it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep.

As consciousness returned in the morning, I quickly turned to the nightstand, and a cold chill ran through my body as I say four empty glasses. With a sweaty hand I picked up my phone and began to play back the eight-hour recording. The first few hours no sound other than my light snoring was heard. I sped up the playback even more, till around 3 AM, when suddenly a new sound came across the phone. It was a startling sound; the type of sound only heavy inhaling of water can create. It sounded like a thirsty horse was violently lapping water from a drinking trough. It lasted about 30 seconds, and as quickly as it came it was gone. The rest of the recording was just my snoring.

I was horrified, that couldn’t have been me, I couldn’t have made those sounds, but I dared not consider the other option, the option that said something else was drinking the water, I hadn’t heard any footsteps, no other breathing, nothing, just the unhuman lapping of water. I had no other choice, hearing wasn’t enough, I needed to see what was going on. I called Billy and called off my shift that afternoon, I told him I was sick, he wished me a quick recovery. Not long after I hopped into my car and headed out to buy a camera.

Centerville wasn’t big enough to have any stores that sold the type of camera I needed. The nearest store that did was 45 minutes away. I walked into the store and quickly found the tech section. The young man behind the help desk looked up as I approached, with a grin he said

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Um yeah you can” I quickly replied, “I’m looking for a home security camera, that has night vison, and I can access from my phone.”

“Sure, we got a few options right over there if you want to follow me.”

Out of four options I chose the cheapest.

“That’s a good model.” He said, “The camera app will work as long as your phone has Wi-Fi.”

“Great” I replied

 After the employee walked me through the set-up progression and user functions, I returned to my car and headed home. As my father’s house came into view, I was startled by how foreign it felt to me. It was no longer the home that protected me as a child, it was no longer the home that filled my mind with good memories and peace. Instead, it was some twisted version of that place. I wanted to leave and never come back, I really did, it was the house that killed my father, but if I left then Dad was really gone. As I entered, I felt nothing, no love, no nostalgia, no comfort, only fear.

I set up the camera as quickly as I could, I couldn’t stand being in the bedroom anymore, the only thing that kept me going was the desire to know the truth. After setting up the camera and insuring it was connected to my phone, I walked down to the local pharmacy. I walked in to the small, dusty place illuminated by dim fluorescent lights that omitted a flittering green glow. It didn’t take long to find the sleeping pills that I was looking for, I doubted I could’ve fallen asleep on my own that night, some help would be nice.

A frail old man stood behind the counter and offered me a gummy grin as I walked up.

“Hello, young lady, find everything you need?”

“Yessir, thank you.”

He looked at the pills as he put them in a small bag

“Troubles sleeping Ma’am?”

With a nod I said “yeah, I guess you could say that”

“Well, hopefully these will help, take care now.”

“You too” I said as I walked out

Night fell. With shaking hands, I filled a glass to the brim with water. Checked one more time that the camera was working and facing both the bed and nightstand and took two pills. My heart beat fast as I climbed into bed and with a sigh, I turned off the lamp. Morning came and I can honestly say it was the best night of sleep I’ve ever had. With a stretch and a yawn, I rose from the bed, happy and ready for the day, but it took only one glance at the empty cup for all the fear and dread to fall back onto my shoulders. I didn’t even bother to change out of my pajamas, as I grabbed my phone and walked out onto the porch.

After connecting to the camera, I saw my room at 11:30 the night before, the cameras infrared illuminated my room with an eerie white and gray glow. I watched myself sleep at three times speed and between 11:30 PM and 3 AM nothing happened, the room was quiet and peaceful. But what I saw at 3:01 took the breath right out of my lungs.

From beneath my bed crawled a form as quietly and smoothly as fog sliding over mountain tops, it was impossibly tall, when it finally stood it had to bend over for its head and shoulders rested against the ceiling. Its back, which faced the camera, was damp, and disgustingly thin, every vertebra of its spine was visible. Its arms reached below its knees. It didn’t move like a predator in a hurry. It moved like something that already owned the room. The thing slowly reached for the glass of water, which looked tiny in its massive hands. It raised the cup to its lips and loudly sucked the water down, and after it finished, its neck turned its head to me, as I slept peacefully in my bed. As it stared at me sleeping it raised a hand and gently ran its fingers through my hair, and eventually down the side of my face, where one of its claws pressed against my cheek hard enough to break the skin. At this I began to stir, I mumbled for a moment then my sleeping mouth spoke the words.

“Dad? Is that you?”

The creature stared at me, then its body shook with wet choking laughter. And then with a creaked unhuman voice it replied mockingly

“Yes, it’s me”

“I missed you so much dad.”

It then bent over and kissed my forehead, before silently slinking back under the bed.

I couldn’t breathe. My stomach churned as I stumbled off the porch and into the yard. I couldn’t make myself look back at the house. I just wanted to get away, to put as many miles between me and that thing as possible. So, I got in my car and drove. I’m hours away now, writing this from a hotel room in another state. I’m never going back. I think it knows I left. I’ve been watching the camera feed, and thirty minutes ago it crawled out from under the bed. Since then, it hasn’t moved. Its eyes have been locked on the camera the entire time. They’re horrible eyes. Pure black, with tiny white pupils. It hasn’t blinked once.

It’s getting late now, I don’t want to go to sleep, I’m afraid I’ll drown.