Behind the Curtain

I was a bit of a wimp as a kid. Average activities became horror stories for me. Thanks to the fear of something in my closet or under my bed, falling asleep was a challenge. Thankfully I grew out of all of them, all but one.

When I stepped into the bathroom, I came face to face with the last remaining evidence of my childhood paranoia. The shower curtain hung motionless, obscuring anything that could’ve been on the other side. I chose to ignore it. If I could suck it up, use the restroom, and get out, maybe I wouldn’t feel like a five-year-old every time I had to take a piss.

As I lifted the toilet seat, I heard something that made me stop in my tracks—the unmistakable sound of thin plastic rustling. My head turned so fast that my neck could’ve broken. It had to have been my imagination, but the terror had already set in. It was too late to go back to disregarding the curtain. My hand reached for the edge of the plastic. I took a deep breath and yanked the curtain back as fast as I could. There was nothing there. No burglar or monster crouched in the tub.

However, the tub was halfway filled with water. Ripples traveled through the water but came from the center of the tub. Like something was in there disrupting the otherwise still pool. I pulled the drain, and the water spiraled down as soon as I closed the curtain; sloshing noises emanated from the other side. The tub was full again. Tiny waves still made their way across the surface.  I fixed my eyes at the end of the tub, took a moment to prepare, and then moved my hand to the drain for the second time.

My hand touched a bony foot sitting on top of the drain. There was nothing to see, but that’s undeniably what the feeling was. I jerked my hand away. The shock forced me backward, and my body slammed onto the floor. The curtain whisked closed on its own. I sprinted out of the bathroom as quickly as possible. I mentally regress. I might as well have been that five-year-old child again terrified of monsters in the closet. I jumped into my bed and shoved my face into the pillow.

Splat splat splat.

Wet footsteps moved across my tiled bathroom floor. I shirked underneath my covers, too paralyzed to move. I hid, hoping that my thumping heart wouldn’t give me away. It had been a while. No sounds- if there was ever going to be a time to make a run for it, that would’ve been the time. Turning onto my back, I exhaled and pulled the covers off of me.

Wet strands of hair licked my face.

***

DJ Howard is an American short story writer born in Texas. They write macabre stories centered around turning relatable and everyday situations into horrifying scenarios, such as moving in with your significant other or working at a new job.