At first, nothing happened. Then the drain burped. A thin wisp of steam curled up from the sink, carrying a chemical bite that made her nose hairs curl. The sound that followed was not the gurgle of relief she expected. It was a low, deep crack , like ice breaking on a frozen lake, followed by a wet, tearing noise.
By 3:00 AM, the crawlspace was a chemical burn ward. The wooden subfloor above the basement began to soften, its lignin structure dissolving into a black, soapy sludge. A floor joist, gnawed to half its thickness, sagged with a low, agonized groan. caustic soda down drain
Clara, practical and stubborn, refused to call a plumber. Her husband, Tom, had always handled these things. But Tom had been dead for three years, and the toolbox in the basement still smelled faintly of his coffee breath and motor oil. At first, nothing happened