Trap
By Sarah L. Gibbel


“I think there’s something wrong with the garbage disposal,” Ellen said to her husband.

He sighed and closed the book he was reading. “Why? What’s it doing?”

“It makes weird noises and sometimes starts by itself.”

Bob punched his pillow and flipped it over. “I’ll look at it in the morning, dear.”

The next day Bob dutifully crawled under the sink. When he emerged an hour later, dripping with slime, he said, “There is no way that this thing could be turning itself on. You must be imagining it. As for the weird noises, you need to be careful what you feed it. This puppy can’t handle anything too large.”

Ellen didn’t use the garbage disposal for the next few days. It sat beneath the sink, waiting silently, and she began to think that maybe Bob was right. That is, until she heard a new sound coming from under the sink. Curious, Ellen leaned over the sink. A low throbbing, that started out simple and developed into a complicated rhythm. An eldritch voice rose above the rest of the music, lofty and pure and yet there was something sinister about it too. Ellen cupped her hand over her ear, straining to hear more.

The machine sprang into life. Some of Ellen’s long hair had fallen into the drain, and the machine started reeling her in. The motor spun greedily. The mouth of the drain seemed to widen as her head was jerked down. Ellen screamed. She pulled back with all of her strength, leaving a chunk of hair behind in the machine. The machine made a high-pitched whining sound, then settled down into silence.

Ellen didn’t use the kitchen sink for the next several days. The garbage disposal seemed to have quieted down though. She had her husband, a plumber, and an electrician look at it, and none of them could find anything wrong.

While making herself lunch one day, Ellen got some egg on her hands. Since the garbage disposal had been so quiet recently, she figured it would be safe to wash up in the kitchen sink. Her wedding ring slipped off her finger and tumbled down the drain. “No,” she shrieked, beating the edge of the sink, “Oh you stupid, stupid machine!”

She got a flashlight and headed out to the garage to turn off the breaker, but she couldn’t figure out which one it was. Back in the house, she flipped the switch back and forth a few times. Nothing happened. Ellen shrugged. She got a flashlight and a pair of chopsticks and poked around in the drain. She could see her ring, twinkling at her in the darkness. She just couldn’t reach it. Ellen tossed the chopsticks in the trash can. She untwisted a wire coat hanger and fished around for it. She could feel the end of the wire bumping into the ring, but she couldn’t pick it up. Ellen tried re-bending the end of the coat hanger several times, but nothing seemed to work.

Ellen tried flipping the switch again. The machine was silent. She slowly reached down into the drain. It was cold and oozy. She sighed and felt the tension lifting from her as her fingers found her ring.

The machine awoke. With a roar it bit into her fingers, sucking her hand into its gut. Ellen screamed and pulled. The machine devoured her arm with great voraciousness. When it reached her head its jaws stretched and widened, like a snake swallowing a mouse. Ellen stopped screaming. Her body went limp. The machine slowed down when it got to her legs. Her crocheted slippers glided down its throat, and the
machine shut off.

The machine belched.

When Bob came home that night, the only trace he could find of his wife was a few drops of blood in the bottom of the sink.


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Sarah L. Gibbel writes speculative fiction in her spare time. This is her first story to be published.