His knuckles scraped against the curved pipe. Then, his fingertip touched something soft. Organic. He pinched. Pulled.
Jasper’s breath hitched. He pulled again. This time, a knot came with it, tangled with what looked like… a tiny, sodden playing card. He peeled it open under the weak light. The Queen of Hearts, but the queen’s face had been scratched out, replaced with a single, button-eyed smile drawn in faded ink. bath tub blocked
He sat back on his heels. The logical part of his brain—the part that priced used paperbacks and alphabetized Vonnegut—screamed hair trap. Soap scum. Call Keith . But the animal part, the deep, mammalian hindbrain, whispered something else. Something lives in the pipes. Something that was here before Harold. Something that feeds on what washes away. His knuckles scraped against the curved pipe
A drip echoed in the quiet. The water level hadn’t moved. He pinched