Another creepy tale preparing for Halloween

The old house creaked under the weight of the storm, wind howling through the cracked windowpanes, rattling the very bones of the structure as if trying to shake loose memories of a time when it wasn’t so forgotten. I stood in the bathroom, the air thick with steam, my hair a crown of shampoo suds cascading down my shoulders like an extravagant waterfall. The flickering bulb above cast jagged shadows on the peeling tiles, illuminating the gaps in the walls that whispered secrets of those who had come before me. My biggest fear was a childish one, I’d always thought—taking a shower with a head full of suds and the lights going out, leaving me shrouded in darkness with nothing but my own racing thoughts. But tonight, that fear felt less foolish as the storm raged on outside, bringing with it a sense of impending dread that clung to my skin like the moisture in the air. The rhythmic thumping of rain against the roof only heightened my anxiety, making my heart race harder with every flash of lightning that revealed the room for brief moments, reminding me that in this unsettling solitude, I was utterly vulnerable.

The water scalded my skin, a distraction from the unease knotting my gut, a sensation that seemed to pulse in rhythm with an unseen tension in the air. The house had been empty for years before I moved in, its history whispered throughout the town like a specter: strange disappearances that left families shattered and lights that danced without power, casting eerie shadows on the walls. I’d laughed it off—old wives’ tales meant to scare children into behaving. But the flickering bulb in the dim corner wasn’t funny now; it buzzed incessantly, dimmed to a faint glow, then flared too bright, as if it was fighting to stay alive in the face of some unseen force. I gripped the edge of the sink, feeling the smooth ceramic beneath my fingers, and wondered if I was simply succumbing to fear or if something truly haunted these halls. The air felt heavy with secrets, and the resonance of unshakable dread darkened my thoughts like the fading light.

I rinsed my hair, eyes stinging from soap, when the bulb popped, sending a crackling echo through the confined space. Darkness swallowed the room like a thick fog. My breath caught, heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic beat that resonated in the eerie void. The water kept pouring, hot and relentless, but the silence beyond it was deafening—no storm, no creaks, just a suffocating emptiness. I fumbled for the faucet, suds dripping into my eyes, burning with each sting, desperate to wash away the trepidation blossoming within me. My fingers slipped on the knob, slick with soap, and the water wouldn’t stop, a torrential reminder of my helplessness. As I stood there, heart racing, a faint giggle echoed, not from outside but inside the bathroom, a sound laced with mischief and something darker. My skin prickled, cold despite the steam that hung in the air thickly. “Hello?” I whispered, voice trembling as uncertainty enveloped me. There was no answer, just the steady drip of water and another giggle, closer now, like it came from the drain, a haunting melody that stirred the hairs on my neck. I stumbled out of the shower, feet slipping on wet tiles, each step a battle against an invisible force, groping for the door that seemed to hold an ominous grip on my escape. The handle was ice-cold, unmoving, as if welded shut by a presence that lurked just beyond the veil of reality, leaving me trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

The air grew heavier, thick with something sour, like damp rot, wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud. I blinked through the suds, eyes burning, squinting into the murky depths. And then I saw it—a faint glow in the mirror that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. It wasn’t my reflection. A figure emerged, small and hunched, its head tilted at an unnatural angle as if it had been wronged by the very fabric of existence. Its eyes were hollows, blacker than the dark itself, absorbing the very light around them, and its mouth stretched into a grin that wasn’t human, a grotesque mockery of joy. The giggle came again, bubbling up from its throat, wet and wrong, echoing ominously as if mocking my terror. An overwhelming sense of dread washed over me, every instinct screaming to flee, yet my gaze remained locked on that haunting visage, drawn in by an inexplicable force.

I backed away, heart lurching, and tripped over something soft and cold. A hand—clammy, too small—grazed my ankle. I screamed, kicking out, but the darkness seemed to pulse, alive, pressing against me. The mirror’s glow flickered, and the figure was closer now, its bony fingers reaching through the glass, clawing at the air. The shampoo stung my eyes, blinding me, but I felt it—the thing’s breath, rancid and icy, on my neck. 

The door finally gave, swinging open with a groan that echoed through the empty house. I stumbled into the hall, suds dripping from my clothes, each drop leaving a trace of my earlier intentions, and slammed it shut with trembling hands. The lights in the house flickered back on, weak but steady, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. The bathroom was unnervingly silent, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my mind. I didn’t go back in; a gnawing dread rooted me to the spot. I haven’t showered since that night, as if the very act of washing away would bring forth whatever lingered in that room. At night, I hear it—the giggle, faint and disembodied, echoing from the drain, creeping into my dreams and pulling me back into the darkness of that moment. And sometimes, in the mirror, I see suds in my hair that I never put there, floating like reminders of a sinister presence that refuses to let go, taunting me with each flicker of my reflection.

From my book Link