The motion sensor lights were installed, and they came with dimmers. We rejoiced, at first, because too bright track lighting is blue and depressing. Also, it felt a bit like Star Trek to walk into a dark room and have it light up without flicking a switch.
When Jane complained about the lights shutting off while we were at our desks and having to stand and do a “little dance” to get them back on, we laughed. I, maybe a little smugly, explained that getting up from our seats might be good for us.
I never thought of the seat. What seat? The one that equalizes all. We are vulnerable there, alone and immobilized by filth and the promise of total unhygienic sullying if we should flee the bowl without cleansing first. It likely goes without mentioning the destruction of one’s social status should they exit the bathroom without first completing the purity rituals.
Some may argue that death is worse. I am not among them. That is why it chose me. I know that now.
I am regular, more regular than a colleague’s “fiber intake,” according to him, whatever that means. During the last fifteen minutes of my lunch break, I always visited the bathroom.
The colleague was referring to my daily walks with his fiber comment, but I’m also fairly certain everyone knew what number I was committing in the bathroom each day too.
I was okay with that because I used a potent cologne afterward that everyone said they enjoyed. Plus I made efforts to hide additional evidence of defecation; I’ll spare you those disgusting details.
The motion sensor lighting changed everything. I entered the bathroom at 11:45 precisely and went for the switch that had been removed as the lights came on.
“Right,” I said, wondering when I’d finally remember not to look for the light switch. I sat and closed the lone stall in the room, the employee bathroom, doubling as the custodial closet. I pulled out my phone and began to scroll as I settled in for the final break before the afternoon work session.
The light went off after a minute. I wiggled and waved to reignite it, but to no avail. No matter, I had my phone and the flashlight app. To my chagrin, however, I dropped the device, and it bounced out of reach beneath the stall door. That’s where the flashlight app revealed, briefly,a dirty, barefoot in transit.
I couldn’t quite stifle my gasp. I’d put a wedged doorstop beneath the entrance; the lock no longer worked. To get into the bathroom would require a great deal of effort and noise, so I was sure nobody had come in without my noticing.
That meant somebody had already been in here and hiding, though where and why remained a mystery, as did the choice to apparently remove their shoes and socks. The foot I had seen did not look clean; the toenails were yellow and long enough to click against the floor.
That clicking began again. My phone had landed facedown, and I was stuck on the toilet in total darkness.
“Hello? Is somebody there?”
The clicking stopped. “Hello? Is somebody there?” they said with perfect tonal similarity to my voice. They began moving, toenails suggesting a slow pacing outside the stall. I always locked the stall door, but that only prevented accidental intrusion. An intentional breach under the door or over it would be all too easy.
“Please,” I said, “you’re scaring me.”
Again, the pacing stopped as if they were considering my words. “Please, you’re scaring me.”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“What do you want?” It was my echo but uncanny, like hearing a recording of your voice.
“I want my phone, I need to clean up, and I need to return to work with my dignity maintained.” If it came to fleeing in the dark, several challenges would need to be overcome first.
First, I would have to endure the thought of not cleaning up post-defecation. Second, I would have to pull up my pants quietly, without alerting the intruder; the jingle of my belt would be difficult to prevent without eyes.
Alternatively, I could slip my legs out and run without underwear or pants into the bullpen of desks and respected colleagues. I could imagine their faces upon seeing me. This would obviously be my last day of employment here.
There was also the doorstop to remove. I usually kicked it into the corner upon exiting. If I didn’t get it right away, then the intruder would have me. My only hope would be the motion sensor light coming on when I left the stall.
As I prepared for my dreaded escape attempt, the toenails clicked against the floor, and the true horror of the situation descended upon my trembling mind: Why weren’t they triggering the motion sensor?
What the hell was this thing? I listened, and suddenly, the toenails stopped clicking right in front of the stall. I couldn’t see its feet, but there was an odour of soil and rot. I heard the dial handle rattle. It was trying to get in.
“Go away!” I begged. “Occupied! Occupied!”
A metallic thud sounded from the floor - the handle falling off. A slight breeze from the door silently swinging inward followed. It was there. I could sense its presence.
“Occupied,” it said, speaking my words again but with its own horrid voice this time. Something wet and warm touched my face - a tongue. It licked me? Its fetid breath confirmed it.
I was too shocked to shout for help, and besides, how would anyone get past the door stop in time?
Firm needle nose digits seized my jaw.
My forehead burned, and I felt blood dripping down the sides of my nose. I knew it used a clawed finger to carve a sign into my skin, the same blank circle framed in black ink I’ve seen on your investigation channel. The only difference was the colour I’d later learn. Red versus black.
“Don’t,” I said quietly.
“Don’t,” it repeated with guttural indifference.
I finally found the courage to take hold of the arm, gripping my jaw. It felt cold and rough, stone skin with microscopic edges grating my fingertips.
“Ow,” I said before retracting my hand.
“Ow.”
I could have resigned myself to death - I felt like I should - but a moment of slight reprieve presented itself. It removed its hand, and I was relatively free to move.
I reacted before thought, and propriety could stop me, standing up and sort of leaping forward, sideways in anticipation of the thing blocking my path.
The lights came on, illumination bright enough to breach the skin of my eyelids, which were shut firmly over eyes facing the floor. I couldn’t bear to see it. I crawled like a worm to the exit, removing the door stop and clawing at the edge of the door until it opened. Into the office bullpen, pants and underwear around my ankles, shitass exposed, I shamefully continued.
“Dear God,” the first colleague said
“What are you doing?” asked my horrified manager.
I just shook as I struggled to my feet. People screamed, maybe from the bloody etching on my forehead, maybe from my exposed genitals. They asked for an explanation, but I couldn’t form the words and could only point to the bathroom.
They ignored my whispered ramblings of warning and went in to see what was the matter. It didn’t take them long to return with expressions of disgust and confusion.
I pulled my pants up and buckled my belt. It was too late, however.
“There was something,” I tried to explain.
“Come with me,” the manager said, gesturing toward her office. I waddled behind her. She covered her nose with her hand because I obviously stank.
We waited sometime before the police showed up to take me away. No charges were read. I wasn’t being arrested. They said it was a wellness check. I didn’t resist or refute as they brought me to a hospital.
The creature in the bathroom dark had thoroughly ruined me. I was understandably fired. The scar on my forehead and lack of references prevented hiring at other jobs.
A former colleague texted eventually that everyone believed I’d cut the circle into my own skin after a psychotic episode. Apparently, my efficiency and dedication to daily routine supported this theory.
For a while, I didn’t argue about it either. The only reasonable explanation really was a psychosis. I believed it and sought treatment. Then, the creature returned as I lay awake in bed in the night.
It told me things I could not possibly know or guess, including the future. It said my humiliation was a necessary step in my evolution. This, I did not accept, and have since kept on all the lights to prevent another meeting.
If you could arrange to meet with me, Mr.Cleriot, I would be grateful.
Thank you for your time
P.S. I do not advise anyone against motion sensor lighting. It is good for the environment and stops the passage of germs via touch.
Darkness comes for us all eventually. It doesn’t matter how. The best we can hope is that we’re not on the toilet, defecating, when it does.