The Shower
By Brandon Palzkill
The warm water cascaded down Marcus’ face and it was exactly what he needed, just then. Quite frequently, he would come home after a long day and take a nice warm shower, keeping his tiny bathroom cloaked in darkness. It was a very Zen-like experience for him, as the darkness kept the anxieties of the world far away from him for a few minutes, while the warm water swept his every trouble down the drain. More often than not, he just needed the peace that it provided.
He comfortably let the shower drench him, while he closed his eyes and waited for the water to expel all of his daily negativity. His stiffened muscles had slowly started to unclench under the heat of the therapeutic fluids and part of him felt tempted to lie down in the bathtub and take a nap. The creeping feeling of utter relaxation had reminded him of why this was his preferred unwinding method and a content smile had crossed his lips.
As he stood there, letting go of his day, the shower curtain moved in and brushed against his arm. Marcus thought little of it and batted it away from him. In that moment, he felt something out of the ordinary, though he didn’t immediately register the sensation; it seemed like a hand had been on the other side of the curtain and pressing inward upon it. When his mind finally made that connection, a brief spasm of wariness overtook him.
He felt an odd momentary chill that didn’t fit in with the warm water continuing to pour down. For reasons he didn’t understand, or just for his own peace of mind, he quietly peered through the crack of the curtain’s edge. The cramped bathroom was otherwise empty and the adjoining hallway seemed equally sparse. Writing it off as a figment of his imagination, he resumed his shower and tried to erase this new tension from his body. Soon, however, the curtain waved in once more and again he was met touch the pressing hand on the other side.
Once again, he silently chanced a glimpse through the infinitesimal crack, and once again, he saw nothing but his own solitude. Marcus could feel his heart beating faster as a cold sweat beginning to ooze out of him, mingling with the warm rain. He quickly decided that the shower was over and what he really needed was a stiff drink. Turning the shower off, he reached out to throw the curtain open, but he felt something to make his racing heart nearly pause. The hand was there still, but pressed much more forcefully from the other side.
“Who’s there?” Marcus finally exclaimed.
Marcus cautiously returned the force of the hand and it immediately retracted. In the next instant, the curtain was hammered with what seemed to be a pair of fists, violently punching it over and over. Panicked, he grabbed the first thing within reach; a shampoo bottle, and tore the shower curtain open, nearly yanking the bar off the wall. He frantically scanned the miniscule room while his chaotically hurried breaths made his lungs sting. The room was still empty, as was the hall, but his stomach immediately dropped as his eyes brushed over something.
A shadowy outline of a figure stood in the closet across the hall. Yet was it really standing? As far as Marcus could tell, it didn’t seem to have any legs to stand on, but appeared to disappear below the waist. It was like a silhouette given solid form and Marcus couldn’t make out any of the specter’s features apart from the eyes; blood red and burning with the utmost malice. Marcus had almost leapt back against the shower wall as its stare burrowed into him.
“Who are you?” Marcus demanded, raising the bottle over his head.
The being said nothing but continued to stare at him.
“Answer me!” Marcus shouted. “Who the hell are you?”
The person held to their silence but suddenly glided toward Marcus, a menacing hand outstretched. He heard a slow, wet, raspy voice scream that seemed to echo within his own head, and thought that the voice, alone, would be the death of him. Overwhelming dread engulfed him as the thing drew nearer and, in a moment of reckless desperation, he leapt from the bathtub, bottle readied to strike. This did nothing to stay the creature, and when it was within ten feet of him, he knew the full measure of its hideousness.
The moldy gray thing looked like a decomposed body covered by a wispy transparent sheet. Bits that Marcus could only assume to be skin seemed to be peeling and hanging off of its body, exposing its decimated organs. However, it was in its face, where the true terror of it was clear. Its vengeful eyes were alight with a demonic fury, but the rest of the face seemed emotionless and resembled melted clay, where the mouth and nose had sunk down to sit unnaturally around its cheeks, while its ears seemed to be stretching down near its neck.
A loud, ghostly war cry echoed from the creature’s deformed lips as it pushed forward, nearly causing Marcus to cower at his knees in abject horror. Just as the being reached the bathroom door, Marcus desperately hit the light switch in the hopes that it might momentarily get blinded into confusion. The entity, suddenly bathed in the blinding glow, let out an unholy shriek of agony as it crossed the threshold into the bathroom. The disturbing sound lasted but a second before the creature vanished as inexplicably as it had appeared.
Marcus stumbled back into the tub and took deep steadying breaths as he tried to make sense of what had happened. His gaze wandered around the restored emptiness of the room and uncertainty had engulfed him. Could any of that have been real? If it had been real, would anybody believe him? If it had been in his head, was he losing his mind or just in dire need of a vacation? He grappled with all of these important questions and was certain of only one answer; he was never going to shower in the dark… ever again.
