3-Ply

This is a call for help.

I don't know how much longer I have. My iPad, my last connection to the outside world, is down to 10 percent. A few more minutes to send out this desperate message is all I have left.

You see, I'm stuck here, and I guess I have to fill you in on how exactly I got stuck in this shitty situation.

It was an ordinary day. I woke up, got ready for the day, ate breakfast, school, homework, you know, the daily routine. As per my routine, to finish the day, I was to take a shit.

So I did.

Before anything else, I have to say that my bathroom is different from others. For reasons I don't know, the owner had a stall for the toilet, like those you'd find in those shitty public bathrooms.

Perhaps he didn't want to see his fucked up face in the mirror the toilet faced.

It didn't really matter though. I've gotten used to closing and locking the stall every time I used the toilet. Call it a force of habit, or an obsessive compulsion to use everything I come across.

Next to the stall was a window and a narrow ledge, where I put all my tissue. The ledge caused a small gap between the stall door and the window. Great for stuffing more tissue or the occasional magazine I'd bring along.

Nothing absolutely extraordinary or strange, but it was different.

Anyway, I pulled my pants down, sat, and felt the cold plastic on my bare ass. With nothing left to do but let nature take its course, I pulled out my iPad and started reading.

Of course, I started reading some creepypasta. It was late, quiet, and I was all alone: a perfect time to get a few goosebumps.

As I was reading and literally getting the shit scared out of me, I noticed a faint scratching on the stall door. It was as if a dog was scratching the flimsy plastic door except it was slower... more deliberate.

It stopped moments after I noticed it. I was unnerved. I didn't have a dog. It couldn't have been the wind. Those noises couldn't have been fake.

I was scared as fuck, but I dismissed it. It must have been the plastic flexing from the temperature. Yeah, that was it.

I continued to read. I was almost done shitting, to be honest, but I couldn't just leave my seat without finishing the story.

Then I heard a drop, a soft thud. The stack of tissues wedged between the door and the window collapsed. It fell forward out from my reach.

I checked the window outside. The night was as still as it could be. It couldn't have been the wind. It was something else, something from the inside.

No, no, I was scaring myself. I slowly chuckled to myself. The rolls were probably just unbalanced in the first place.

So I continued. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong though. I set aside my iPad and slowly unlocked my stall. I gave it a slight push, but it wouldn't budge. I reasoned that it must have been rusty.

I pushed harder, and harder, and harder, as hard as my seated position could muster, yet it wouldn't move. It was as if someone on the other side was pushing back, holding me here.

I was panicking. Some malevolent force was keeping me here. I knew what was to happen next. I would be killed, or flayed, or mutilated, or driven to insanity.

The scratching began again. Louder, louder, louder. I could feel the plastic slowly being ripped to pieces.

I swear, it was toying with me.

Then I saw it.

A hand, if you could call it that, crept up to the gap, reaching in. This was it.

The hand was a rotting shade of green and grey, like it had just freshly dug itself out of the grave. It was putrid, and overpowered the already foul smell of the stall.

It's slender, bony fingers ventured into my stall, grasping for something, seeking to rend the flesh from my bones.

I was frozen in fear. Imagine an end like this, caught with my pants down, found dead on a toilet.

The hand inched, closer and closer. I could almost feel the cold death permeating from its cold, pale flesh.

I was ready to die.

It suddenly rushed.

I closed my eyes and screamed. Tears came out of my eyes, sweat came out of every single pore, hell, I even pissed myself on the toilet. I waited. A few seconds, a few slow agonizing minutes. I did nothing.

I mustered up my courage and opened my eyes. It was gone! I was saved. I breathed deeply. No, I wasn't ready to die, and I'm glad I didn't.

I pushed the door once more, and I was greeted by an empty bathroom.

It took me awhile, but eventually, I realized.

My tissue.

It was gone.

All of it.

This is a call for help.

Please, somebody save me.

I like triple ply.

---

Credited to Urich Victorino 

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