The Tap

 I never saw the new neighbours move into number 666. They were either invisible or did it at night. A true nocturnal flit.

In fact neither my wife, daughter or I ever saw them at all. They could have been ghosts for all we knew. Talk about private. This was something else.

It was Saturday morning when my daughter came in from the garden, handed me the Times with my name, Chris Ross, scrawled comfortingly on top and said,

"There's someone drilling a hole next door"

"What? What kind of hole?" Asked my wife.

"Dunno. It's at the top of the garden" replied my daughter getting herself a breakfast doughnut from the box.

We all ventured outside and walked to the top of our lawn and yes, there was indeed a drilling rig set up next door with a chap operating a long thin drill.

"What you drilling for mate? Oil?" I quipped, hoping a bit of humour would elicit some information.

"It's a bore hole"

"A what?"

"A bore hole. For water"

"Oh. How come you need water?"

"I don't"

"Who does?"

"The people that live here"

"Ah, you're just a workman"

"Yes"

"Have you seen them like?"

"Who"

"The people who've asked you to drill a hole"

"Nope, just got a text"

"Ah"

"I best get on anyway mate"

"Righto"

I turned and stared at my wife, who just shrugged and we all wandered back inside.

It was the following day that we first noticed the tap.

It was a tall metal standpipe coming straight out of the ground with a brass tap on the end and all positioned exactly in the middle of the neighbours lawn where the drilling had been.

"They've got a tap now" I said to no-one in particular.

It was later that day, whilst doing the Sunday Times crossword, that my wife motioned for me to come to the back window.

"Look. There's people queuing next door in front of that tap!"

"How strange!" I said

The queue was a line of adults standing single file, each one holding a cup. All the cups were different and had clearly been brought from their homes. Nobody spoke at all.

Each person who reached the tap turned it on and filled their cup with water, drank it in one and then turned to join another queue forming to leave.

I ran to the front of the house and saw dozens of strangers entering and leaving our neighbour's front gate, completely quiet, each gripping a cup from home.

"What's happening Dad?" Asked my daughter, obviously now a little frightened.

"I don't know dear but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about" I said in a calm manner belying the rising sense of unease I actually felt.

"I imagine it's spring water. We must be on top of a spring" 

"How exciting! There's a river below us!"  my daughter beamed. 

It lasted all day and all evening, people walking down our street to join the ever-growing queue to the tap. Not once did we see anyone who might be our actual neighbours.

It was when people continued to arrive at midnight that my wife got scared. 

The queue to leave was even longer, with a vast file of adults and children stretching way off into the distance all the way down our road on the far outskirts of town. There must have been hundreds.

"We need to call the police dear! This is really quite odd. Something very strange is happening"

I made the 999 call and the police sergeant said a car would be along within the hour.

When I heard it arrive I went to meet them at the front gate. 

To my utter astonishment the two policemen ignored me completely and proceeded to join the queue for the tap water next door. Each of them had also brought a mug.

"What are you doing officers? I was the one who called you!"

In total silence, the two constables simply walked past me to the back of the line steadily heading for the standpipe. 

From our back lawn I saw them take a cupful, drink and slowly walk away like everyone else.

I ran back to the front and to my horror my wife and daughter where now at the back of the queue! 

"Hey, dears! Come away from there" I shouted, springing over the low front fence.

I shook my wife but she was in some sort of trance, as was my daughter, both of them trudging steadily towards the strange tap at the back and both holding their favourite tea cups, as the sun was just coming up.

Panicking I knocked on our neighbour's front door. When no answer came I got angry and began to pound on it with both fists.

The door opened and I staggered into a large empty room, save for a figure sat at a desk tapping something into a huge old-fashioned calculator, it's white till roll spilling out onto the floor and snaking round the room.

I stepped on it and holding it up I saw that they were names that were being typed on the roll, along with a number tally, like a stick take. The tally was already in the thousands.

I dropped the paper and approached the seated figure. I could see through the back window in the dawn light that my wife and daughter had reached the tap.

I stared down at the typing and to my complete and utter horror I saw their names, my wife and daughter's, together with my own.

The typist's finger hovered over the number 3, when he turned to me.

I gawped at his featureless crimson face and read his company badge:

River Styx Echelon,

 Arrival Drinks Dept.

The featureless figure stood up, placed his red hand on my shoulder and gently ushered me onto the back lawn to the front of the queue, where my wife handed me my favourite cup.

As I drank the dark water I heard the figure whisper,

"Welcome to the End of Days Chris.

 Welcome to Hell!" 

He smiled hideously before hobbling back to his waiting paper tally.