Deon Van Heerden was born in Port Elizabeth on December 18th, 1985. At an early age his family relocated to Stellenberg, and he fell in love with the writing of Stephen King. He is also a great fan of Spike Milligan, Terry Pratchett, Bill Bryson and anything by Monty Python.
  Deon is currently studying Drama and English at Stellenbosch University and plays lead guitar in the Power Metal band Strident.

This is Deon's first story for Something Wicked.

extract from Death Dream 

It was the dripping that woke Eddie. Faint and distant – a sound that would have been inaudible in the daytime. He squinted at his bedside window; clear - there had been no rain that night. He rose from his bed and padded across to the bathroom, blinking as harsh light flooded over him. Both the shower and basin were dry. Eddie frowned slightly – it was too early for this sort of thing.
  He turned to face the mirror. He was forty-two, but looked twenty years older. Haggard, unshaven - a broken man stared back at him. He looked away quickly, but not before he saw the face of his father
  (“you always were a good-for-nothing, didn’t I tell ya?”)
  in his own.
  He flipped the switch, orientating himself as purple phantasms danced across his vision. He turned slowly, until he had come full circle. He frowned again; no matter which way he turned, the maddening drip seemed to come from straight ahead. His tired mind conjured images of freak acoustic reflections, something to do with the windows and tiling. Sleep was not an option now: once heard, the sound couldn’t be unheard.
  “Like those magic pictures,” he thought disjointedly, as he left the warmth of the bedroom for the chill of the hallway. To his left lay the kitchen, to his right, the foyer. His feet took him left, the glow of a solitary streetlamp lighting his way. The freezer box proved blameless, as did the basin.
  Even a casual visitor to his home might have suggested an inspection of the guest bathroom, but, oddly, this did not occur to him. Rather, he stood listening.