Breathing shakily, I raised my tense fist to my neighbor’s door, praying he would answer, but feeling deep down it was in vain.
-
Two days ago, after a grueling overnight shift, I noticed it as I was toweling off post-shower. A fat, cold raindrop splashed onto my head, startling me out of a daydream. I looked up, expecting to see a heavy raincloud above me - except, I was in my bathroom. I was instead met with a nasty brown water spot that had started to stain the shitty ceiling tiles, which already looked like they belonged in some suburban, early 2000’s finished basement.
God, I didn’t want to have to talk to my landlord. He never failed to turn any repair into my problem, rather than his responsibility.
Begrudgingly, I pulled up his contact, sending a text asking if he was able to send someone by to look at it the next day.
“I’ll see what I can do. Busy here.”
Sure dude.
The day passed with no knocks on my door; of course, I had spent my whole day off waiting in case my slumlord decided to fulfill his legal responsibility. Surprise, he didn’t.
After wiping up the ever growing puddle in my bathroom for the fifth time that day, I decided I would take matters into my own hands. I had met my upstairs neighbor, Paul, a few times, though I didn’t know much about him. He was an older guy living alone, and as nice as he seemed, it put me on edge to be around him, so I’d stuck to niceties.
Begrudgingly, I threw on my slippers and a hoodie before heading down the hall to the stairs, and hastening up to Paul’s door.
-
After not hearing anything in response to my knock, I tried again. This time, I heard a few creaks before the sound of a deadbolt sliding and the doorknob turning.
I was immediately put on edge, as I stood there, expecting to see Paul as the door groaned open. Instead, I was greeted by an empty room, and utter silence.
Every bone in my body begged me to turn around, to let this be someone else’s problem, but I chided myself, deciding to carry on. I mean, what if something had happened to Paul? He was older, he could have fallen or something. And if that was the case, I wouldn’t have time to call someone else for help.
I stepped hesitantly inside, glancing around the apartment. It was laid out exactly like mine, but with much grungier furniture. I’m no designer, but at least my apartment had some kind of coherent feeling. Everything here was dirty, mismatched, and smelly. I guess Paul was grosser than he seemed. Even the floor was coated in a thin layer of water… which I soon realized was flowing out from under the closed bathroom door.
Shit shit shit. I really should call someone.
As I approached the bathroom door, I could hear a steady stream flowing. I begged not to see what I thought I would.
Throwing the door open, I was greeted by Paul’s naked, bloated body laying in the bathtub. Before I could control myself, I vomited straight onto the floor. Trying to catch my breath, I watched my own lunch swirl around with the carcass water, and followed it as it flowed over my feet.
-
Someone from down the hall found me there - apparently I’d been screaming. I don’t really remember. Cops came, I was asked the same questions 100 times:
I noticed the water a little over a day ago. Yes, I notified my landlord. No, I didn’t see anyone suspicious around the building.
Finally, they let me return home. I had been asked if I had anywhere else to stay, but I told them no. I didn’t want to be someone else’s problem. Besides, leaving meant there was something to be scared of. And I was fine. Paul was just a weird old man. Probably had a heart attack mid bath or something. I would be fine. And I mean, my landlord promised to send someone by to fix my bathroom the next day. Until then, I figured I’d just wait to shower and only go in that room when I needed to.
-
I woke up in the middle of the night, desperately needing to pee. I stumbled through my living room to the bathroom door, not even bothering to turn on the light before I relieved myself. As I washed up, I flicked the light switch to see how bad the ceiling had gotten.
The brown spot had grown, but that was to be expected. What I hadn’t anticipated was the writing, a deep red stain adjacent to the water damage:
you found me, you’re next
I ran out of the room and straight into bed, hiding under the covers as I had when I was five. Nothing can get you if you’re under a blanket.
-
It took everything in me to go back into the bathroom in the light of day - I had gone to the local Starbucks to pee in the morning, and was avoiding my much-needed shower. However, when the repair guy showed up at 10AM, I had to let him in. I showed him to the bathroom door, opening it and beckoning him in.
“Yeesh, gross” he said “but no problem, I’ll have the tiles replaced in a jiffy”
I looked at him, waiting for a comment on the writing. But nothing.
He went out to his car to get the tiles, and I took the opportunity to look at the stain again. To my surprise, the writing was gone. Was I mistaken last night? Could it have been a hyperrealistic dream? I didn’t think so, but it was possible…
-
That night, I was sleeping peacefully until about 2AM. God, I hate waking up in the middle of the night to pee. As I walked towards the bathroom again, I noticed the same sound I had heard in Paul’s apartment- water running from the tub and onto the floor. I looked down, and saw a small stream flowing towards my feet.
My heart started racing. I HAD to be dreaming again. Pinching my arm, I flinched in pain. No no no, this couldn’t be happening.
I tried to turn around to head back to my room, but my feet wouldn’t move. The bathroom door swung open in front of me, and I felt my legs carrying me towards the open casing. I screamed, yelling for help from anyone who could hear me.
I was pulled by some unseen force towards the overflowing tub, and thrown violently against the wall before crumpling into the water. I watched as the bathroom door slammed shut, and the lock turned.
The water began to get hotter, still spewing from the spout. I could feel my skin burning, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even thrash around as my body was forced towards the hot stream of water, and my face placed under the near boiling liquid.
As my consciousness faded in and out, I heard it all around me, as if on a loudspeaker. It was Paul’s voice, but warped as though some demonic filter had been applied:
You found me. Now it’s your turn.