Do Not Drink the Water

Originally posted on Twitter October 31, 2020.

So here’s another spooky story for the folks at home this Halloween, one that may (or may not) have actually happened to me (as I will explain).

I used to take a lot of road trips to make large life changes: graduations, job changes, and the like. Going solo, visiting the National Parks, reveling in the quietude of nature to really think about my next steps in life.

One particular night, on one particular trip, I had driven for hours in order to get to my next stopover. An AirBnB that looked quaint, a house in the forest near the next park I was going to visit.

It was dark, and I had driven for much longer than I anticipated. Fighting the urges of sleep, I pulled off the highway and into the tree-shaded dirt road, remembering the very specific instructions left by the host.

I followed, checking over my phone a few times to make sure I got the instructions correct. “Okay so there’s the gate… But there’s two mailboxes here… which way did it say to turn again?”

After about ten minutes of driving, I was sure I was lost. I tried to call the listed number, but no one picked up (I half expected it, the host said they would already be asleep at this late hour).

I kept going down the unlit road far from any phone reception, certain I was going to have to spend my night in my car, when I saw it.

The faint outline of a house, lit only by a single porch light. I checked my phone again and, squinting, matched that dim form with that of my destination.

I circled into the dirt “driveway”, unpacked my things, and headed to the door.

Alright, done. I put the key in the doorknob and entered.

I remembered the very specific instructions from the listing—

—and turned on my phone flashlight as I tried to navigate my way to my designated quarters.

It was one of those kitschy, old-people houses you would find on AirBnB in those days, well-lived in, walls and shelves stocked with figurines and baubles without rhyme or reason, made just slightly unnerving when lit by the phone flashlight.

But the most striking thing was the signs. The entire house was plastered with signs—instructions, rules, admonitions, and what else, all printed on laminated paper in uppercase font.

But the most striking of these signs was the one placed right in the foyer near the entrance, just below a mirror.

Honestly, at this point I was so tired I just glazed over all of it and found the room as fast as possible and plopped onto bed.

And then I got thirsty.

In my stupor I’d completely forgotten my water bottle in the car. It was cold and I was already in pajamas and didn’t want to go outside. So I made my way down to the kitchen, again by phone flashlight, when I passed by the sign again.

“DO NOT DRINK THE WATER.”

At this point, my throat was very, very dry. I need to drink something. I weighed the options: what’s the worst that could happen? A bad review? Maybe the water’s poisoned? But the hosts would have to get water some way right?

As I debated, my throat just got more and more parched. I had to drink something. I went to the kitchen, took a cup from the shelf, and turned on the faucet.

I took a sip, expecting something foul.

But it was just water.

I rinsed the cup, put it back into place, and headed back to bed. What the owners don’t know won’t hurt them right? I passed by the sign again, “DO NOT DRINK THE WATER”, but felt satisfied that at least I’ll be able to get a good night’s rest.

And then the voices appeared.

It seemed like the sound of two people in conversation, laughing, murmuring, enjoying each others company. Must be the hosts, I thought. Weird, cause they made it very explicit that they would be asleep, but who knows? I’ll just ignore it.

But I couldn’t.

Despite my exhaustion, despite finally being in a comfy bed after hours of driving, despite the earplugs, the droning fan, the white noise, the voices still seeped into my ears.

I had to get sleep. I had another long drive ahead of me tomorrow, and I couldn’t be drowsy on a long park trail. But no matter what sleep aids I used, I could still somehow hear them.

I decided to go ask them to stop.

I traipsed around the house quietly, trying to find the source of the noise. But no matter where I looked, there were no signs of other humans in the house. No light peeking through the door, no evidence of other guests. And then I realized.

The voices were coming from outside.

At this point, I was… compelled by it. I just had to figure out what it was. This cacophony that was interrupting my sleep, I had to end it somehow, or it would end me.

So I stepped out the door into the cold.

There were no neighbors, no other houses near by, just a lone home in the middle of a clearing in the forest. Where could it have come from?

I walked into the woods, following its sound. Among the chirping of crickets and the hooting of owls, I could still hear the voices. Maybe it was a house nearby throwing a party? But I saw nothing ahead of me but trees.

And then, after walking for another ten minutes, as my shivering body acclimated to the cold, I think I catch a glimpse of something reflecting my flashlight. I turn around.

Teeth.

White teeth, in the distance, shaped into a grin, moving along with the laughter I was hearing. “Hello?” I ask. “Who’s there?”

No words, only the continued laughter. The teeth approach, and I could see then… it wasn’t human. But it wasn’t any beast I knew of either. And it came at me.

I ran away, back into the house, the adrenaline thawing my frozen limbs. I could hear the chatter growing louder, that infernal laughter coming near. I slammed the door and saw that sign again—DO NOT DRINK THE WATER. I hurried past, back into my room, locking the door.

For the rest of the night I stayed under the covers, hearing those voices. As soon as day broke, I got back into my car and drove out, fueled by energy drinks until I could find a rest stop to finally take a nap.

I had to skip that day’s activities and rearrange my plans, but I was at least glad to leave with my life. I found my next AirBnB, a nice old lady in the city who showed me to my room and made dinner for me.

As soon as I could, I logged into the website to see if anyone else had the same experience as me, or at least put in a review.

But when I checked, the listing was gone.

After the initial shock, the rest of the trip went without a hitch. I asked website support for help, but they just told me no listing at that address ever existed. After my trip, I tried to check other sources for the address—Google Maps, municipal records, but never found it.

As time passed and I moved jobs and cities, that memory faded, to where I can’t even remember now if it was just a bad dream that I had.

But every so often, when my travels take me somewhere remote, somewhere near a forest, just as I’m about to fall asleep, I would hear it again.

Those voices.

And I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t drink the water.