Short Shocktober Day 27 is sliiiiime. Honestly, this one is too silly to be rightfully called horror, but it was fun to imagine and to write.
‘Why is there slime in the sink?’ you sigh, as you hear your flatmate coming downstairs. ‘What are you doing, making some kind of biological agent?’ He puts down the tottering pile of food encrusted dishes on the counter.
‘What are you talking about, there’s no slime in the-‘ he peers into the sink. ‘That wasn’t me.’ The inch thick layer of radioactive-green goo lurks at the bottom of the sink. It doesn’t seem to be draining away.
‘Sure it wasn’t. Jesus, you’re so messy.’ He rolls his eyes; it’s not like he hasn’t heard this a thousand times. It’s not like it’s made even the slightest difference to his cleaning habits. ‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you to clean up after yourself?’
‘No, I’m serious,’ he says, cutting you off before you can really build some momentum, ‘I don’t know what that-‘
The strange substance makes a gloop noise and a large bubble swells out of it and pops. You both look at it suspiciously.
‘Wasn’t me,’ he inserts into the silence. Another bubble appears and pops.
‘I don’t believe you,’ you reply, both staring at the sludge. Nothing happens.
‘I swear it,’ by now neither of you can take your eyes of the neon ooze. As if in response to his voice, another bubble burbles from the ooze.
‘That’s freaky, it’s like it can hear you.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he says, followed by a little ripple of bubbles that surge from the middle of the slime and pop one after another.
‘You fuckin trash wizard!’ you snarl, ‘This is your doing, isn’t it? You’ve finally been so dirty that it’s created sentient fucking life!’
‘Hey, come on, it’s no-‘
‘Oh, like the mushrooms growing from the skirting in your room in the last digs weren’t your fault? Like there isn’t black goddamned mould in your bedroom right now?’
‘There were mitigating circ-‘
‘It’s me or the fucking slime, this time. I can’t take it anymore!’
‘The slime wouldn’t berate me,’ he mewed into the sink. The green glop responds with a little patter of bubbles. You’ve heard it before. It’s never his fault. Not the rats, or the bugs, or maggots in a bag of rotten clementines in the airing cupboard. ‘It’s a science experiment!’ he’d said, gleefully.
‘The slime wouldn’t pay rent, either! Please. Please. For the love of all that’s good and right in the world, get rid of it.’
‘I…’ it gloops again. He stretches out to touch it and it raises slightly, struggling against gravity, as though it wants to touch him. ‘I don’t think I can. I… I think it’s alive.’
‘Right.’ You wrench open the cupboard under the sink, angrily scattering bottles, hunting for the bleach. Red bottle in hand, you stand triumphantly. You glower at him in disgust, and unscrew the white cap.
You advance towards the sink, bleach poised, when you hear a schlorp.
The last thing you see is a sheet of transparent neon green, hurtling from the sink, at your face.