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Irrational Fears

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Dark, damp, unwelcoming

First, I would like to acknowledge the fact that fear is irrational, some in more ways than others. People may argue otherwise, but logically speaking, there is truly nothing to fear. That being said, I have a confession to make: BATHROOMS SCARE ME.

They have since I was a kid, still do. It might be the Hollywood cliché of a serial killer hiding in your bathroom. It could even an expectation of a mangled body suspended by a noose hiding in my shower. Though I don’t think that’s it. I had an... experience... you might say. Where something “happened” to me, that I don’t think I believe.

I came home from school one afternoon to find the house completely empty, my mother and brothers were out shopping and my dad as usual, was at work. This didn’t bother me really, I enjoy the solitude. I set my school things down and went through my home alone mental checklist.

You know the one, turn the TV on to chase away the monsters that lurk in the silent tranquility of an empty house.

Turn the kitchen faucet on full blast, letting the swift liquid current wash over your uptight thoughts after a long day dealing with people who just don’t get you.

Maybe it’s just me.

Regardless, we all have our patterns, it’s something that can’t be helped, no matter how sporadic you think you are. My home alone school ritual ends with a challenge though. I have to get to my room, and to do that, I have to walk past my bathroom.

The bedrooms for my brothers and I are located in a three way hallway. My bedroom door, which is always kept close, is located facing the hallway entrance, my brothers’ room is on the right, and the god forsaken bathroom is on the left. This made it difficult for me to get into my room for, as I said, I have an irrational fear of bathrooms.

However today I didn’t care, my laptop was in my room, and I wanted to finish playing my emulated Majora’s Mask game, clock town needed me.

So with a resolute expression I began towards my door, facing forward the whole way. I gripped the doorknob, my head still locked in a forward position. I twisted and pushed, however I didn’t achieve the expected result.

Ironically, it was my tendency to keep my door closed that caused what happened next. My door had a habit of jamming you see, and upon trying to open it I found my face slammed into thin plywood, as I hurried through a closed threshold.

As my face hit, it was crammed in such an awkward fashion that it was forced to the left.

I felt my blood freeze, as I found my gazed fixed on a dark, damp, unwelcoming chamber, lit only by what little light managed to find its way into it and reflect off the three mirrors within. Mirrors, there’s another thing that scares me about bathrooms. I’m sure I don’t even have to tell you why.

A warm spill of fear soon found it’s way from my stomach to my throat, I thought I might begin to dry heave terrified screams. It wasn’t long before I acted, I felt my hand begin to creep up the wall, feeling for the hall light switch. I scraped against the peeling paint, shuddering at the aching protests it made, until finally I found it, the worn switch adorned with a cheep vine pattern cover bought at home depot.

I unleashed redemption with the flip of a switch. A cool white light spilled into the hall.

I closed my eyes and let it seep through the thin skin cover that kept me from the unsettling room. I breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the bathroom door. I didn’t find it though. Instead, I felt something cold, like thin skin rigorously tightened around a cadavers bone.

I didn’t open my eyes, I couldn’t. I could only close them tighter as what ever I touched gently wrapped itself around my wrist.

“Have you finished your chores darling?” Came a whisper like chilled liquor, that burned as it permeated throughout my body.

Then I was pulled into the bathroom, not yanked, but guided. The door shut behind me, and I was swallowed in darkness.

When my mother came home, she obviously inquired as to why I was in a dark bathroom by myself. I told her only that I had zoned out, it had been a long day and my brain was wired. I didn’t tell her about the thing that led me into the dark, or how it pressed its cold lips against mine. Fear is irrational, but bathrooms will ALWAYS scare me.

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