So, I’m a masseuse at your typical spa. You walk in, there’s a reception area and a waiting room. You’re taken back through a door that leads to a long hallway, about a dozen doors, six or so on each side, and at the end of the hallway are the bathrooms and another door that leads to the break room. Nothing special.
It’s a slow Thursday night, and I’m the only therapist on the schedule. So, there’s just me and the front desk girl waiting around for my last client to show up. It’s dark out, but that doesn’t matter too much when you’re in a spa. My client arrives, I get him checked in and take him back.
“How’s your night going?” I ask him.
“It’s about to be a whole lot better. Busy night?” He asks, continuing the conversation that’s punctuated by the sound of his boots meeting the floor. I can tell his hips are out of whack by the way he’s walking like he’s trying to start a fight with he ground. It’s not uncommon, but noticeable.
“Nope, just me on the schedule,” I reply.
“Ah, I see. Do you mind if I use the restroom before we start?”
“Of course. All the way down the hall, last door on your left,” I answer.
“Thank you,” he says. The shouting of his footsteps growing fainter as he gets further down the hall.
I’ll be right here at room three for you,” I tell him, stopping outside of the only room that has a light on other than the break room and bathroom. The bathroom light disappears as he walks in, and I turn to look into room three.
Now, here’s the thing about room three: the door closes on its own. Who knows why, it’s really not that big of a deal, we just use a bolster to keep it propped open. Well, I notice that the blanket on the table is just a little off… not how I want it. So I walk into the room to straighten it out, I can be a bit anal attentive about these little details, so what takes someone two seconds, might take me five. And wouldn’t you know it, the door shuts.
I walk over to the door to open it, but it won’t budge. I pull a little harder and it still won’t budge. Then I hear the front desk girl, in an uncomfortable tone, tell my client that I should be waiting for them right outside of room three. I pull the handle one more time, and that’s when I realize the bolster isn’t in the room with me. I didn’t move it, which means someone else did while I was messing with the blanket.
I hear a light sob from the front desk, and then the power goes out. Complete and utter darkness.
I reach in my pocket for my phone and remember our ‘no phones in treatment rooms’ policy and get pissed at myself for choosing this one rule to actually follow.
I can hear his footsteps coming closer, the sound of those boots unremarkable but unmistakable.
Totally not relaxed, and now I don’t know what to do.