Water chipped away at the stain in the rusty basin. It ran brown towards the plug hole, like old blood, stinking of metal from the ancient pipework. Jan scrubbed his hands under the faucet, grating his skin with a scouring brush. Over and over. Again and again. But nothing helped. His skin was contaminated. Infested with decay. There was something chilling—a shadow or an absence—lingering in his peripheral vision. Watching. Waiting. He scrubbed and scrubbed. More soap. More water. He noticed his bleeding hands were trembling and forced himself to stop. An emaciated reflection appeared in the shaving mirror above the sink. He lashed around. The bathroom was empty. When he looked at the mirror again he could make out a familiarity in the face. It was him. It had always been him. His head sta
