An old woman is settling down for bed one night. She lives alone with only her pet dog for company. Tonight is just like any other night. She's lying in bed, dozing off to sleep. Her dog lies on the floor beside her bed. Lately she's been having trouble sleeping, and so it takes an age before she's finally able to drop off.
She wakes later, in the middle of the night. She's lying on the edge of the bed, her arm dangling over the side. Her dog's licking at her fingers . . . but it's not this that's woken her up. For a while she's not sure what it is that brought her awake. She lies there while her dog licks her hand, listening, wondering. And then she has it.
Filtering through the wall from the bathroom, there is the steady drip, drip, drip of her shower. She must not have shut it off properly.
Reluctantly, the old woman gets up and leaves her dog and her bed. She puts on her slippers and wanders through to the bathroom. She clicks on the light . . . and screams. Hanging from the head of the shower is her pet dog. Its collar is twisted around its neck, and a steady stream of blood falls into the shower basin, drip, drip, drip.
The woman stands there, terrified. It dawns on her slowly: if her faithful pet dog is here, then what was it that lay on the floor of her bedroom, licking at her hand. What . . . or who?
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