The stall door shudders slightly in its frame, almost imperceptibly, and only for a moment. The resultant clatter is brief, but Harvey, alert for any sign of disturbance, doesn’t fail to hear it.
His spine clenches, toes curl and his feet arch forward to raise his knees above the level of the toilet seat. The small of his back presses into the base of the tank, its cold a sharp and sudden shock to Harvey’s exposed skin.
Perhaps the door had just shook with the building, he thinks, but could he really risk the assumption? Maybe, but then, he couldn’t exactly blame the wind here, could he?
“H-hello?” he stammers, the dryness of his mouth fumbling clumsily over the word.
Harvey feels the fingers of his left hand digging into the meat of his palm, as he recoils further into himself with a tense anticipation for any further sounds that he might hear — or imagine. With his right hand, Harvey scrambles for the roll of toilet paper crudely screwed into the stall wall beside him. The stall is so cramped, and its contents so close together, Harvey has already struck his elbow on the exposed toilet roll a handful of times.
Its slightly spongy surface had been a comfort each time, offering him an assurance that he wasn’t going to be abandoned without the essential required to mop up his business when the deed was finally done.
But it was no such comfort to him now, as his fingertips run over its coarse exterior, clutching for the semblance of safety it had offered him only moments before.
Harvey heaves in a deep breath and holds it tightly, trembling as he waits for any kind of a response to his investigative query.
Yet, of course, none comes.
And it never does.
Seconds pass, maybe minutes — he thinks that he loses track — but finally Harvey allows himself to release his tension, exhale and settle back again. As he does, he feels the underside of his bare thighs splay out under the toilet seat’s rim, forming a kind of seal of pinkish, human dough over the fetid contents within.
With an almost soundless dull thud, Harvey’s heels return to the floor as his tension unspools. Bending at the waist, Harvey leans over to look down at his feet, wedging his face between his knees and expelling another deep, wavering exhale — relieved.
This wasn’t the first time Harvey had worked himself up into a panic while in a public toilet stall, like it wasn’t the first time he hoped that it would be the last. Maybe that’s true of all anxieties, Harvey wonders. But then, his anxiety wasn’t exactly a typical one, was it?
Maybe not. Then again, what was ‘typical’ anyways?
Harvey sighs, using his right hand to swipe downward on the roll of toilet paper beside him, uncoiling a length of sheet for him to tear free.
Now comes that familiar question, Harvey ponders. How much is too much? Or too little?
Too few sheets and Harvey would risk his fingers bursting through, dipping into the mess beyond. On the other hand, too many sheets and the excessive bunch that would result might fail to reach the deeper remnants as it ran out of room between his cheeks.
It was a delicate balance, and Harvey isn’t convinced that anyone has ever managed to master it for themselves. So he simply resigns himself to the greatest possible result, tries to identify the perfect middle ground, and tears his best guess away from the toilet stall wall.
Carefully, Harvey pushes his thighs up off the toilet seat high enough to hover mere inches above it, craning his right arm up under himself to run a trail of the wadded paper up the length of soiled skin beneath.
The method here was important, as Harvey knew that switching up for down could result in a potential disaster.
Up, and he wouldn’t risk wiping any of the remains on his clothing as he hitched his t-shirt beyond the wad of paper’s reach. But down, Harvey knew that the odds would be that he’d end up wearing traces of the mess home.
Slightly louder this time, the door shudders again in its frame.
Harvey freezes mid-wipe, feeling the familiar chill begin skittering up his spine. He’s sure then that he hears a soft voice whisper his name, quickly, like it was just a burst of dust chasing a footstep.
“Harvey,” it says.
Even more afraid now, Harvey clears his throat with a perceptible volume, attempting to coax the silence of the toilet stall and the rest room around it to convince him that the sound had just been his imagination again.
“Is… is anyone there?” Harvey asks the silence, stammering again.
Beneath him, Harvey’s right hand relinquishes the stained wad of paper stowed in its grasp, letting it tumble down into the depths of the toilet bowl where it can begin to slowly dissipate and dissolve. His quivering legs remain fixed in place, holding him still hovering aloft the toilet seat.
Seconds of silence pass again, as Harvey waits with bated breath for a response. So, maybe it had been just his imagination?
Unconvincingly, Harvey assures himself that it had been, as his trembling hand again clutches for the toilet roll to begin unspooling another length. This time, he moves with more hurry, as Harvey knows that the growing swell of simmering panic in the pit of stomach was beginning to edge closer and closer to being frantic.
There’s no way, Harvey thinks. Why would anybody bother him here of all places?
He did imagine it, Harvey assures himself. He must have.
Harvey’s trembling hand wipes at his exposed behind with his now frenzied speed, and even the fear of missing something unseen isn’t enough to convince him to take greater care or slow down at all.
Harvey tells himself that he just has to get out of there. Even if he had only imagined the voice, he had been in there too long already. Much longer than he had intended.
Suddenly, the phone in his pocket buzzes, causing Harvey to jump in fright. As he does, his heels again lift from the floor, and his cheeks clench against themselves, one smearing its grotesque prize against the other.
No, no, it’s not grotesque, Harvey tries to remind himself. It’s normal, perfectly normal, and he was fine. Everything was fine.
As he ruminates on this thought, a thin, pale hand shoots out from beneath the toilet stall wall to swipe at his foot. It appears only for a moment, before being thrust back, as Harvey’s most immediate reaction has him sputtering a soft moan. The fear pushes his knees forward abruptly, the trousers cresting around them forcing him to topple backwards on to the toilet seat with a loud clatter that echoes around the rest room.
Harvey’s latest soiled wad of toilet paper tumbles from his hand to the floor and bounces, falling to a halt between the bowl and the stall wall.
As quickly as before, the hand shoots back, closing its bony fingers tightly around the wad and pulling it away.
Harvey screams.
“Who did that?” Harvey demands, trying and failing to sound braver than he was. “Who’s there?”
Harvey doesn’t dare to wait for any kind of response this time, pushing himself to his feet and hurriedly fumbling to wrench his trousers up and over his naked legs. A part of Harvey recoils in disgust to know that he hadn’t yet finished wiping, but, in his panic, the thought is only a fleeting one.
Harvey fastens his belt and thrusts himself forward to struggle with the lock on the toilet stall door, hurrying to free himself from its confines.
Again, Harvey is sure that he hears a hushed voice call out his name, this time emerging from somewhere closer behind him.
“Harvey!” it hisses.
Harvey ignores it as he bursts out through the toilet stall door, barely able to stop himself from falling forwards to the floor.
He isn’t surprised to find the rest room itself empty of people or signs of life, with only a trio of sink basins and a scuffed length of mirror offering Harvey’s own reflection to greet him. Harvey sees that his eyes are agape with a visceral fear, as strands of sweat-laden hair drape amok over his forehead and threaten to dangle more loosely over his eyes.
Harvey spares a brief thought about craning his neck to see if he might spot any sign of the hand’s source in the gap beneath the door to the locked stall beside the one he’d emerge from, but thinks better of it just as swiftly.
Bizarrely, he asks himself if he ought to still wash his hands, even hurriedly and without the benefit of soap that the rest room’s custodians haven’t seen fit to provide access to? Harvey dismisses the idea, pivoting instead to lunge the few steps to the exit door. As he does, he hears the door of the locked toilet stall behind him begin rattling loudly in its frame, rising suddenly like a frantic drum beat nipping at his heels and threatening to swallow him whole.
“Harvey,” the voice hisses again, much louder this time. “Harvey. Harvey. Harvey.”
Over and over it repeats itself, almost in-song, each repetition gaining in volume.
“Harvey. Harvey. Harvey.”
Harvey feels the comforting cold metal of the door’s handle butt into his palm as his fingers close around it, his whole body clenching to wrench the door free and expose his escape. Despite his panic and the force of his pull, Harvey is horrified to find the door remain resolute in its frame, refusing to budge.
“No, no,” Harvey sobs, pulling at the door with all the effort he can muster, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightens even further.
Behind him, Harvey hears the voice and the door’s rhythmic clatter fall suddenly silent, exposing the sounds of his fruitless struggle with the exit door. He grunts and shudders with the expulsion of a panicked exhale, feeling himself beginning to hyperventilate.
For a moment, Harvey considers turning to look behind him, wondering if he ought to take the risk. Maybe it still might be just his imagination? Harvey curses himself for deciding he should indeed check, slowly turning to peer in the direction of the row of toilet stalls he had left behind.
Harvey’s eyes narrow to focus on the toilet stall that had been locked beside his own, and from which he had heard the voice emerge.
Only now, of course, it is no longer locked at all.
And the door is no longer closed.
Instead, a pale face peeks out from the edges of the frame, looking out in Harvey’s direction.
Harvey takes quick note of the face’s features — its cloudy, grey eyes appearing to swirl like the coiled tips of a freshly stoked fire, and crystalline blue lips curling over exposed yellow teeth as it grins.
“Harvey,” the figure offers, almost laughing.
Not wasting a moment, Harvey spins back to begin pulling with an even greater fervour at the exit door, desperate to escape into the world beyond.
“Harvey,” the voice says again, whimpering with laughter. Harvey doesn’t dare to look, focusing his full attention instead on his futile attempts to wrench the exit door free from its frame.
“Harvey,” the voice whispers sharply in his ear, spattering Harvey’s exposed earlobe with warm spittle.
He’s sure that he can smell the figure, his senses barraged with the sickly scent of rotting fruit and dust, and he hears the thing turning a lolling tongue across the surface of its mouth.
Harvey screams again just as the door finally gives way to his pull, its suddenness causing him to clumsily fall backwards to the floor with a heavy thud. Harvey clamours to break his fall with his free hand, turning slightly as he lands, exposing him to the grotesque sight of the figure’s exposed feet standing inches from his hand.
With a horrifying speed, the figure bounces down to its haunches, its face hovering closely to Harvey’s own. Still, it grins, as its clouded, swirling eyes search Harvey’s face.
“Harvey,” it whispers softly, though authoritatively.
Harvey screams once more, and without a second thought propels himself to his feet. Hurriedly, he sprints for the exit, bursting out into the foyer beyond and barely managing to miss colliding with a perplexed man heading in the opposite direction. Pirouetting around the man, Harvey doesn’t break stride, turning only to shout a panicked warning over his shoulder.
“Don’t go in there!” he screams.
The man stands fixed in place for a moment, watching Harvey go, his brow tightly bunched. The man shrugs for nobody’s benefit but his own, turning back to resume his journey just as the fleeing Harvey disappears from view.
“Fucking junkies,” he mutters and reaches for the rest room door, pulling it free and stepping in to vanish into the empty room beyond.