I hate the place i’m staying in.


Two days ago, i finally met the housemate who stays on the top most floor. In front of the gate.

We looked at each other, somewhat excitedly, we shook hands.

“Hie, I’m Michelle.”
“Hie, I’m Ringo. I’ve been wanting to meet you since three weeks ago.”


Apparently the housemates have the level of communication akin to that of algae with sea shells. Konon nya living under one roof. This house is almost dead. No telly set, no couch, no washing machine, no human touch. I pass by myriads of other houses in this vicinity that are radiating warmth and laughter, some decorated with Christmas trees in preparation for a happy, hot Christmas.


Something really scary happened last night.


I took of my clothes, stepped into the bathroom and turned on the water heater. I shivered and took one step back when tiny streams of cold water started trickling down from above me. I stood afar and waited for a few seconds.

The water was cold. The power light wasn’t blinking red. The heater wasn’t working.

I stepped into my room, dressed myself back in PJs and went outside the bathroom door to check the switch. It was on. What on earth was going on? First my internet connection was playing dumb, now the heater decided that i should go to bed smelling like a moldy cheese tonight? I can’t live without a water heater! However obnoxious the Malaysian weather is.

I went back to the heater, studied it intently trying to figure out what was wrong, then something hit me.

The water volume was turned to the minimum. My eyes widened and my heart was pumping heavier than the said machine’s built-in pump.

Taking a deep breath, I adjusted it back to maximum and pushed the power button. Hot, steamy water started running down.

It appalled me to near death.

“Oh my god,” i thought. I tried to calm myself and quickly F3 my memory registry in search for the action called “minimizing water volume”. No results found.

No. I don’t remember doing anything to the water volume.

“Oh. my. god.” i thought louder. Okay. This could only mean two things. And it was freaking me out.

1. I have a sleep-walk pattern that i wasn’t aware of. I would raid the fridge, steal my housemates kitkat bars and play with electronic gadgets in the middle of the night before i climb back to bed again.

2. Somebody has been to my room.

But since no one complained about their missing chocolate thus far, i stroke out the first possibility.



I called TT at 2.14am in the morning and so uncharismatically begged him to come over and stay with me. Come he did. But TT being TT, he only frightened me even more with his paranoia and all sorts of crazy explanations behind the mysterious self-adjusting water heater that transforms into a beastly mechanical rapist once the clock strikes twelve.

After all the Sherlock role playing probing into every tiny crevice that we believe wasn’t there the previous night, we were pretty convinced that, the water heater has, indeed, come to life.

I went to sleep. It felt good to know that there’s a living human right beside me.

The next day i woke up, i lodged a police report and shortly, the beastly water-heater was arrested, charged guilty with intrusion of privacy and sexual harassment, then electrocuted to death by a short-circuit water heater. And i lived peacefully ever after.










What? All horror movies have an abrupt ending no? Hoho.

But what am i gonna do, honestly? I really dunno! Change the lock or something. Or bring Cheddie back here with me. At least she will bark or something when she senses a supernatural existence. No wait. Pets are normally the first cruel sacrificial victim to evil forces. No no no. Uh uh. But I can’t move out because i am pretty much all settled here!


Ok. Maybe it’s me being paranoid. I should sell the story to Stephen King and before i know it the novel would be a major film titled “Water Heater”.