It was supposed to be an ordinary morning. 🌤️ Clara woke up early, the sound of birds drifting through the open window, and went straight to the bathroom to wash her face. The floor tiles were cool beneath her bare feet, the mirror slightly foggy from last night’s shower. Everything felt normal — until she lifted the toilet lid.
At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. In the still water, something dark shimmered — long, thin, almost metallic. Her first thought was that maybe a hairbrush or a bottle had fallen in. But then, the “object” twitched. Just once, gently, as if alive. 😨
Clara froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and for several seconds she could only stare, unable to process what was happening. The movement grew more distinct — a slow ripple that made the water tremble. It wasn’t random. It was deliberate, alive, watching.
She slammed the lid down and stumbled backward, her heart racing so fast it hurt. Something inside her screamed to run, and that’s exactly what she did — she ran to the living room, grabbed her two children, and dragged them outside without even locking the door. 😱
Standing barefoot on the cold pavement, she tried to calm her shaking hands. Her neighbor, Mrs. Rossi, leaned over the balcony with curlers in her hair. “Clara? Dio mio, what happened?” Clara’s voice trembled as she whispered, “There’s something alive in my toilet.”
Mrs. Rossi blinked. “Alive? Like a rat?”
Clara shook her head. “No… worse.”
A few minutes later, a white van with a blue emblem pulled up — the local animal control service. Two men in green uniforms stepped out, carrying long tongs and a plastic container. One of them, Marco, smiled politely. “Signora, we’ll take a look. Probably just a snake from the pipes. Happens sometimes in summer.”
Clara’s stomach twisted. “A snake?”
They went inside, and she stayed near the doorway, too terrified to follow. From the bathroom came the sound of the lid being lifted, followed by a silence so deep it made her ears ring. Then — a muffled curse.
“Santa Maria…” one of the men muttered. “It’s big.”
Clara’s knees nearly gave out. Through the doorway she could see Marco holding the tongs cautiously over the toilet bowl. The water moved again, more violently this time, and then something black and glistening shot upward — striking the lid before disappearing again. The children screamed.
“It’s an asp,” Marco said grimly, sweat glistening on his forehead. “They usually don’t attack unless cornered. Stay outside.”
The next ten minutes felt endless. The men whispered commands to each other, moving carefully, as though dealing with an unexploded bomb. Finally, Marco emerged, carrying the plastic container sealed tight. Inside, something thick and dark coiled upon itself. Its scales shimmered like oil in the sunlight.
Clara’s relief lasted only a moment. Because then, one of the men frowned. “Wait… that’s strange.”
“What?” she asked nervously.
He tilted the box slightly, studying the snake’s body. “It’s not like the others we usually find. Look — see these markings? Almost like symbols.”
Clara leaned closer, curiosity momentarily stronger than fear. Indeed, along the serpent’s body, faint pale patterns formed a kind of spiral — or letters.
“Maybe a mutation,” Marco said uncertainly. “Or… something else.” He didn’t finish the sentence.
That night, Clara couldn’t sleep. The house was silent, but every sound — the pipes, the ticking clock — made her heart jump. She kept imagining the moment when the snake moved under the lid, the water rippling like breathing.
By morning, she convinced herself it was over. The men had taken the snake away; life could return to normal. She went into the bathroom again, cautious but determined. Everything looked the same. She exhaled slowly, smiled, and reached for the toothbrush.
Then — a faint sound. A low hiss, almost too quiet to notice.
She froze. The sound came again, this time from the drain in the shower. She stepped back, eyes wide. From the silver grate, something thin and black was pushing through, writhing like a ribbon.
“No,” she whispered, backing toward the door. But the movement didn’t stop. Another shape followed, and another, twisting together like ink spreading in water.
Clara ran to the living room, grabbed her phone, and called Marco again. He arrived twenty minutes later, sleepy but serious. “You said from the shower drain?”
She nodded, trembling. When he entered the bathroom, the floor was dry, the grate still, no sign of anything. He sighed. “Maybe you imagined it. Fear plays tricks after such a scare.”
Clara wanted to believe him. She smiled weakly. “Maybe you’re right.”
He packed his equipment and left, promising to check the pipes later in the week.
That evening, when the children were asleep, Clara sat on the couch scrolling through her phone. She wanted to see what species the snake might have been, hoping knowledge would calm her nerves. She found the local animal control’s page — and froze.
There was Marco’s photo, standing beside the same van that came to her house. But the post beneath it made her blood run cold:
**“We are deeply saddened to report that our colleague, Marco Bellini, passed away yesterday after a sudden allergic reaction during an operation near the river.”**
Yesterday.
But Marco had been in her bathroom **this morning.**
The phone slipped from her hand. Her breath came short and shallow. Slowly, she turned her head toward the hallway. The bathroom door was slightly ajar.
From the darkness beyond it came the faint sound of water… dripping… and then — a whispering hiss, soft, almost human. 🐍💧
Clara didn’t move. She could see, reflected in the mirror down the hall, a shadow rising slowly from behind the half-open door. It was long, sinuous, and glimmering — not quite snake, not quite human. Something in between.
And this time, the lid of the toilet was already open. 😱😨💧🐍🫣💀
