The Sound of the Hairdryer Still Haunts Me

Some sounds fade with time. Others stay with you.

For me, it’s the low hum of a hairdryer.

It all started when Phillip got sick. And when I say sick, I mean really sick—fever, chills, the whole-body-shaking kind of sick. Now, anyone who knows Phillip knows he’s got a… let’s call it a ritual. A borderline obsession. Maybe even a small fetish.

With a hairdryer.

Not for styling. Not for drying. Not even for anything you’d expect. No—Phillip uses a hairdryer to warm up his bed. Sheets, pillow, blankets—he blow-dries them like it’s a spa treatment for linens. It’s his go-to comfort. And when he’s sick? That hairdryer becomes his best friend.

So this time, in the thick of his fever, there he was—curled up in bed, shaking from chills, gripping that hairdryer like it was the only thing keeping him alive. And I get it. When you feel awful, you grab whatever makes you feel safe.

But this time felt different. Something in my gut told me, this isn’t safe. Maybe it was how weak he looked. Or how high that fever had spiked. I knew he wasn’t in his right mind.

So I did the unthinkable. I hid the hairdryer.

I thought that would be the end of it. I thought I’d protected him. I thought I could relax.

Then from the other room—I heard it. That familiar hum.

He found it!

I told myself I’d let him use it just for a little while. Let him warm up. Let him stop shaking. And then… well, life happened. I got distracted. A few minutes turned into a few more.

By the time I remembered to go turn the hairdryer off, I smelled it.

Burning. Acrid. Immediate. I rushed down the hallway, and the moment I opened the bedroom door—it hit me. Smoke. Heat. That awful scent of melting plastic and scorched fabric.

Philip was sound asleep. Curled up and content.

And under him? A hole.

A literal, blackened hole burned straight through the sheets, the mattress protector, and into the mattress itself.

He about burned the whole house down.

All in the name of staying warm.

That was the last night the hairdryer made it into the bedroom. To this day, every time I hear one click on, I get a little twitchy. A little haunted. Because some sounds fade with time. But others—the ones that come right before the fire—stick with you forever.

Story by: Bethany

See her tell the story here: https://youtu.be/8sqYHUrVV4o