Creeps, true stories from Reddit (Second book)

I can't use the bathroom at night sometimes

I had a great childhood even though I grew up very poor. My parents worked many jobs to get by, from mowing lawns, hauling junk, cleaning houses that were up for sale for one reason or another.

Throughout their endeavours they would come upon some interesting finds. Some we kept to decorate our own home. When I was 6 years old my family of 5 lived in a one bedroom loft in Houston, Texas. We decorated our humble home with whatever we could afford, build and some hand me downs. My parents slept in a pull out couch downstairs in the living room and the room upstairs was comprised of a bunk bed. My brother and I slept in the top bunk, and sister in the lower bunk.

We lived there for a little over a year and I had a horrible bed wetting problem. It wasn't because of a weak bladder or because I was young. It had to do with my parents teaching me manners and being a shy kid, let me further explain.

I would wake up in the middle of the night with the urge to pee. I would climb down the old rickety steps of our homemade bunk bed and walk through the dark room into the restroom. The only light I had was the moon shining into the open open floor plan upstairs. The room was always beautifully illuminated by the moon at night. My favourite sight was the painting that hung to the right side of the bathroom door. It was my guide, it was a painting of a flower pot with a single flower. When I would get to the bathroom and open the door, I would sometimes see a lady inside. Quietly sitting in the toilet looking straight down. She would never make eye contact but I somehow knew she felt my presence.

She was an old lady, fully clothed in an old long dress. She had white curly hair and dark brown glasses from what I could make out. Being the innocent kid I was, every time I would see her in the bathroom, I would quietly climb back to bed and wait for her to be done. Sometimes I would beat the urge to sleep and see her quietly walk down the stairs. Always keeping her head down. I could hear the faint sound of her dress dragging through the carpet, but the noise was masked by the ground creaking softly beneath her. There were times the urge to sleep would beat me and I would wake up soaked. My parents would get so upset. I would tell them about the lady I was waiting on. I would ask my parents why the lady sat in the restroom by herself for so long and why she looked sad. My parents thought it was my wild imagination. This went on the whole time we lived there.

My parents were able to get a good deal on a two bedroom house and we eventually moved out. We boxed all of our belongings and began the process of moving our stuff to the new place. My mother and I were clearing the second floor while my brother and sister were packing the car with my dad. My mom picked up the beautiful painting of the flower pot with the single flower and stretched her arms out as to admire it. She tells me it was a gift from an old gentleman she cleaned for. She tells me he lived alone after his wife died 10 years ago. I stood in front of my mom looking at the back of the painting when I suddenly see a picture of the artist. It was an older lady with white curly hair and dark brown glasses. I tell my mom "that's her! That's the lady in the bathroom!".

I saw my moms face turn cold and emotionless. She started crying and told me the lady in the back was in fact the wife of the older gentleman. I told my mom I never felt scared or threatened by her.

When we moved to the new place my mother kept the painting in the garage out of respect. I would never see her anymore.

Flash forward 20 years. I'm 26 and living on my own in California. I kept the painting because it was just so beautiful. Some things have changed. I've begun to see her again at night. I don't wet the bed anymore, but I sometimes wake up with a single flower next my pillow and her presence isn't as peaceful. 

Posted by u/doesnotexistanymore