It’s an old building and as such it has its share of quirks.
I was told that the day I moved in, and I have no right to
complain as each specific quirk, in its turn, reveals itself to me. I’d been
warned, after all, and forewarned is, as they say, forearmed. Nevertheless…
There’s some issue with the pipes beneath the floor, you
see, and when I shower they spray water up, just a little, gradually soaking
through the floorboards and carpet, leaving a wet area and watery footprints
leading out of the bathroom when I’m done. No matter what I do, the footprints
appear, every time I shower without fail, tracking water across the carpet.
Which ought to be fine, it ought to be something I could
easily live with. My building super knows about the issue, after all, and I’ll
never be called upon to pay for either repairs to the floor or replacement of
the carpet. With that in mind the issue is annoying, but eminently
live-with-able, the sort of thing that would elicit mild grumbling but no more
thought than that.
Except…
The footsteps don’t lead to my bedroom, you see, where I
walk after my shower, the way that they would if they’d been made by my own two
feet.
Instead, they turn right, and walk off down the hall toward
God only knows where.
I live alone. I’m the only person in the house.
And, until those footprints dry, each day, I find myself
afraid to follow, and see where they might lead…
