Welcome to the abyss

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There came a ringing from his teacup, subtle and gurgled, reverberating off the walls of the container and creating small bubbles that saw existence for a mere snap before ceasing to be. It was her favorite way of contacting him, of tormenting him, ripping away any singular moment of peace he thought he had during the day. It was a call he refused to answer, opting instead to continue thumbing through that morning’s newspaper while his ears twitched in time with the uneven ticking of the clock on the wall as it threatened to usher in 10:00PM.

The tea had long grown cold, yet another to do so. It was more refreshing that way, more enjoyable than scorching his tongue on bitter, scalding liquid, and he found that stomaching whatever floated within it was more tolerable cold than warm. If he hadn’t read an article in the paper about the disgusting things that could be inhabiting the city water, he would have foregone the boiling process altogether. Then, he could enjoy his tea whenever and however he pleased. It’d certainly save him some time. 

Ringing once again emanated from the teacup as he raised it to his lips. “You’re chattier than usual,” he said with a grimace before placing the cup back down on the table, its contents sloshing about and dribbling over the edge onto the tablecloth. “Out with it then.” He shot a glance over the newspaper at the woman who sat in the chair opposite him.

The woman’s mouth hung agape, her shriveled tongue poking out between a part in her lips and resting on her cracked chin. Her posture was dictated by the rods run through her back and held aloft with rope affixed to hooks hung from the ceiling. One rod ran much longer than the others, having once served as a connector between her arms, arms that were now withered and gone with the only proof of their existence being chunks of flesh that were now permanently fused to the metal.

More fragments of the woman broke away from the jarring movement of the table as the man shot up from his chair. He quickly brushed the pieces aside, joining them together with another pile that had been slowly accumulating over the course of the evening. “If you’ve nothing to say, then just shut up already.” He picked up his teacup once again and gulped down the liquid. After wiping his mouth, he leaned closer toward the woman. “And you’re making a fucking mess. I’m going to be up all night again because of you.” With a scoff, he brushed the accumulation of the woman into his hand and dumped it into his teacup.

Satisfied with his scolding, he took a single step toward the stove, upon which sat a silver kettle. Its reflective surface rebounded the visage of the woman back at him, turning the otherwise shining exterior black from the angle he saw it. “Always with the staring,” he said while lifting the kettle and covering its face with his hand. After refilling it from the tap, he placed it back down on the stove over a low flame. 

While waiting for the water to begin boiling, he closed his eyes and began drumming his fingertips on the countertop in rhythm to a tune he couldn’t quite place. The melody played in his head while he continued to drum, and soon he found himself humming along. It was when the kettle began to whistle that he could finally place where he’d heard the song before, like the final, long-lost piece of a puzzle fell out of the sky and nestled itself into the perfect position to create a completed image. He turned back around to face the woman, smiling gently into her hollowed eyes. 

“That’s right,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s the song you used to sing to Liz and me before bed when we spent the night at your house.” He closed his eyes for a moment in reminiscence before letting out a sigh. “Mum never could quite hit the same notes.”

He continued to hum the tune while pouring the boiling water into his teacup, and after stirring it with a spoon that rested on the edge of the sink, he resumed his place at the kitchen table. The clock on the wall continued with its uneven ticking before striking the hour and unleashing its ten tolls. None of the dings or dongs that came from the clock were the same pitch or volume, nor did they follow any progression. Some screeched, others droned. One failed to play at all. Yet with each sound, or lack thereof, the minute arm budged backward slightly, setting the clock once more to a few minutes ‘til 10:00PM by the time silence overtook the room.

The man looked at the clock and frowned. “Would you look at the time? Nearly ten already.” He sighed, not ready to let go of the evening just yet. “I really should be getting to bed soon, but I’m not even the tiniest bit tired.” The frown on his face melted into an innocent smile as he looked back toward the woman. “I know what might help. Nana, could you sing that song again for me?” 

He clutched the teacup to his chest in one hand and raised his newspaper with the other to begin skimming through the articles. There came a ringing from his teacup…

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