creds; blairdaniels
The car swung into the parking lot. The neon sign cut through the darkness, through the mist of drizzling rain.
"Try to be quick," Derek said, as the car rolled to a stop. "We're running late."
"I told you, I'll just be a minute!"
I ran towards the convenience store, hands thrust in my pockets, rain dampening my hair. I hurried through the aisles of chips, chocolate, and twinkies until I reached the bathrooms.
Creeeaaak.
"Wow." I expected the bathroom to be bad – but not this bad. The walls were pocked with holes. The floor was covered in a sticky wet film. The place reeked of air freshener.
There were only two stalls: one closed, the other open. I walked into the open one and plopped down on the cold toilet seat.
As I went, I read the graffiti on the back of the stall door.
It was full of the standard stuff. Declarations of love: Marisa <3s Jay!!!That stupid, stylized S thing all over the place. S S S.
But the weirdest thing was a drawing that took up half the bathroom door. It was a drawing of a man in a suit – though clearly done by an amateur. The limbs were way out of proportion with the body; they were far too long. And, for some reason, the face had been scribbled out with marker.
I sighed and pulled on the toilet paper. The roll thumped underneath my fingers, as clumps of white fell into my hands.
Then I saw it.
There was writing down there, too – a few inches under the roll of toilet paper. Six words, written in tidy, small handwriting.
don't look in the other stall
Huh. What does that mean? But I shrugged, pulled up my pants, and flushed the toilet.
Fluuuusssshh!
The noise echoed in the small room, bouncing off the metal and brick. I walked over to the sink, washed my hands, and glanced in the mirror.
Writing in black, bold Sharpie caught my eye.
A single sentence, just above the mirror, in the same tidy handwriting.
don't turn around
That's when I noticed the shadow in the second stall.
It spilled out from underneath the metal door, stretching across the wet tiles. Okay, so someone's in the other stall, I told myself. Yet the bathroom was – and had been – perfectly silent. No footsteps. No humming. No awkward splashes.
If someone was in there... they were deliberately staying silent. They didn't want me to notice them.
"Hello?" I called, my voice sounding more fearful than I meant.
No reply.
There was only one way to find out if someone was there. I crouched down, inhaling breaths of stale piss, peering underneath the door. The edge of the toilet came into view, grime crusted on where it met the floor. Then the curve of the toilet bowl, white and glistening in the fluorescent lights. Then the edge of the toilet seat. Then –
"Shit!" I jumped back, nearly toppling onto the sticky ground.
Way at the back of the stall, up against the wall... were two feet. Clad in men's black dress shoes.
