The water in the bowl shivered again. Then, a slow, creeping rise began. A single, perfect tear of water slipped over the rim and landed on the tile with a splash that sounded, to Leo, like a gunshot.
He sprinted up the narrow staircase, past the dusty bannister he’d been meaning to varnish for three years, and into the bathroom. It was a small, tiled space that smelled of lavender and his own delusion of competence. The toilet bowl was full. Not overflowing onto the floor, no—that would be too honest a catastrophe. It was just… full. Still. Ominous. The water sat at the very brim, quivering slightly as if breathing. upstairs toilet clogged
He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. The water in the bowl stayed low. The lake on the floor began to recede back toward the base of the toilet. The water in the bowl shivered again
“Yes!”
In the background, he heard his father mutter, “Tell him to pour a bucket of hot water from chest height. Breaks up the jam.” He sprinted up the narrow staircase, past the
He hadn’t. The last time he’d used a plunger, he’d somehow managed to crack the porcelain of a toilet in his college dorm. He was asked never to return to that dorm.
Leo panicked. He abandoned the plunger and lunged for the toilet’s water supply valve, the little silver button that could cut off the apocalypse. He twisted it. It spun freely. Rust flaked off in his palm. The valve had long ago surrendered its duty; it was just a decorative silver knob now.