Outside Drain — Clogged

She stood up, wiping rain from her eyes. The sycamore tree loomed above her, its leaves rustling in the wind, shedding a fresh flurry of gold onto the clean, empty grate. It wasn't malevolent. It was just a tree, doing what trees do.

Elara sat back on her heels, soaked, shivering, and reeking. She looked at the thing on the end of her hanger: a fibrous, greasy, vile little heart, the size of a baseball. She flicked it into a trash bag. outside drain clogged

The rain came down in sheets, a steady, punishing rhythm that turned the world beyond the window into a smear of gray. Inside 14 Maple Street, Elara watched the water rise in her basement with the detached horror of someone witnessing a slow-motion disaster. She stood up, wiping rain from her eyes

She fished blindly. The hook caught on something fibrous. She pulled, gently at first, then with a steady, insistent tug. The plug resisted, as if the house itself were clenching its bowels. She pulled harder. There was a wet, sucking pop , and a cascade of black water surged past her arm. It was just a tree, doing what trees do

Desperation made her inventive. She found an old wire hanger, straightened it, and bent a tiny hook into the end. She lay flat on her stomach on the wet concrete, the rain hammering her back, and reached into the drain’s mouth. Her cheek pressed against the cold, gritty slab. The smell was a physical thing now, crawling into her nostrils.