So, uh, what do you make of it?

As the plumber, Steve.

Sir as hell looks like blood to me, he said.

Staring at the rusty red discharge, dripping down the wall.

When I'm no biochemist or anything.

My wife had jokingly referred to it as blood, so that's the first thing I told the plumber.

You know, as a joke, hey, plumber, Steve, uh, we got a real bad case of the old blood

dripping down the walls here.

Mine taking a look?

You're kidding, right?

I stared at him in disbelief.

You see, like the kind of guy that would think that this sort of thing was funny, you know?

Stupid.

Uh, I don't know, man.

He stroked his chin nonchalantly.

Color checks out.

Uh, it was roughly the same texture, wouldn't you say?

This guy, I thought to myself, I'm not even sure why I called the plumber anyway.

The weird thing was, there weren't any pipes anywhere near the wall in question.

When I got over every inch of the place, read through all the blue prints, even drilled

a hole in the base of the roof.

It was simply nothing there.

...