trembling. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Don’t turn on the water,” I panted, pointing a shaking finger at
the sink. “Don’t drink it.”
She frowned, confusion replacing her shock. “What are you
talking about? Did something break?”
“Mrs. Gable,” I stammered, trying to catch my breath. “I saw her
last night. Out my window. She was on top of the water tank. She
poured something into it. Something black.”
My mother’s frown deepened. She looked at me as if I had lost
my mind. “Elias, you were having a nightmare. Mrs. Gable is eighty
years old; she can’t climb a water tank.”
“I’m not crazy, Mom! I saw her!” I grabbed the kettle from her
hands and slammed it onto the counter. “Just let me show you!”
Without waiting for her permission, I reached for the handle of
the kitchen faucet and turned the cold water on full blast.
For a split second, the water ran clear. And then, it changed.
A thick, dark sludge sputtered from the aerator. It was a deep,
inky black, streaked with swirling ribbons of dark purple and sick,
iridescent green. It hit the stainless steel sink with a heavy, viscous
splat, splashing onto the counter. A noxious odor instantly filled the
kitchen—a smell like rotting leaves, rust, and burnt copper.
My mother let out a sharp shriek and backed away from the
sink, covering her nose and mouth with her hand. “My God! What is
that?”
I quickly shut the faucet off. The black sludge clung to the sides
of the sink, refusing to drain properly. It looked like toxic waste.
“I told you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “She
poisoned us.”
The commotion woke my father. He came stomping down the
stairs a minute later, tying his robe and looking furious. “What is
going on down here? Why is everyone screaming?”
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the sink. The anger
vanished from his face, replaced by absolute bewilderment.
My mother quickly explained what I had seen. My father
listened in silence, his eyes fixed on the black residue in the sink.
When she finished, his face flushed a deep, dangerous shade of
crimson.
“That crazy old witch,” he growled. “I knew there was
something wrong with her. She’s destroyed our system. Do you have
any idea how much those filters cost?”
“Frank, what if we had drank that?” my mother whispered,
tears welling in her eyes. “What if Elias hadn’t seen her?”
“I’m calling the police,” my father said, turning toward the
hallway phone. “And then I’m going over there and dragging her out
by her hair.”
“Frank, no!” my mother pleaded, grabbing his arm. “Just call
the police. Let them handle it. She might be dangerous.”
My father dialed 911. He angrily explained the situation to the
dispatcher—a neighbor had broken onto our property and dumped
a chemical agent into our private water supply. He demanded
officers be sent immediately.
But the response was less than satisfactory. The dispatcher
informed him that since there was no immediate physical threat or
ongoing violence, it was considered a non-emergency property
crime. A patrol car would be dispatched, but it might take a few
hours.
“A few hours?” my father yelled into the receiver. “She tried to
poison my family!”
He slammed the phone down in disgust. He paced the kitchen
for a few moments, glaring at the blackened sink. Then, without
another word, he marched to the back door, slid on his work boots,
and stormed out into the yard. I followed him, despite my mother’s
protests.
My father marched right up to Mrs. Gable’s front door and
began pounding on it with his heavy fists. The sound echoed loudly
in the quiet morning air.
“Open up!” he roared. “I know you’re in there! Open this door