I leaned in unnecessarily close to Tim’s face to repeat myself. My tongue felt like a huge sponge, engorged with vodka, flopping haphazardly around my mouth as I spoke.
“I HAVE. TO USE. THE SHITTER.”
Tim looked disgusted. I don’t know whether it was my statement or my breath that he was reacting to. Tim twisted a finger around in his ear as if to clear it. Through the haze of alcohol I realized that his look had probably been due to the volume of my voice. I hadn’t meant to shout quite so loud. I backed up a half step and muttered an apology.
“’Sokay” he slurred, “You can stop by my place to shit, it’s closer than yours.”
I shook my head. He didn’t understand. My guts roiled with pressure. I had to consciously make myself stop shaking my head. The world kept spinning and I had to shut my eyes for a moment to right myself.
“Nonono, ‘s too far, man. ‘Slike six blocks. I godda go.” I insisted. I pointed at the doors to a nearby club. The windows were blacked out, but the thumping of music clearly indicated that the establishment was still open. Tim looked annoyed.
“I don’t wanna go to a club. I’m good for the night.”
I almost shook my head again and then remembered the dizziness from last time. “No dude I’ll be right back, you just wait here while I take a dump real quick.”
Now it was Tim’s turn to shake his head. “I’m not gonna stand outside some sketchy ass club for half an hour in the middle of the night all by myself while your drunk ass falls asleep on a toilet.”
I rolled my eyes. “Five minutes dude, I’ll be in and out.”
I edged toward the door, reaching out for the handle. I clenched my sphincter. This conversation was going to have to end soon, one way or the other. Tim kept walking in the direction we’d been headed, passing me by.
“Sorry bro, no can do. I got a three o clock appointment with a tall glass of water.”
I was surprised, and then annoyed, and then confused. The booze pickling my brain only allowed me to experience one emotion at a time. Tim was a few feet past me down the sidewalk when I finally arrived at my response.
“I’M GONNA GO. SMOKE A BONG. AND WATCH CARTOONS.” Tim yelled over his shoulder, imitating my speech pattern from a few moments ago. “See ya tomorrow Eddie.”
“Fuck you too you pieceashit” I called after him.
He chuckled. “See ya tomorrow!” he repeated.
I turned my attention to the door in front of me. My vision swam and warped as I tried to focus on the handle. I missed the first time, but managed to yank it open on the second try.
It was late on a weeknight, and the club didn’t have a doorman outside. I handed my ID to the bored-looking security guard sitting on a stool just inside the door. He barely glanced at me before returning my driver’s license and waving me into the club. I took a moment to be silently thankful that there was no cover charge to get into this place. Like I said, it was a weeknight.
The place was large and dark, and I couldn’t easily spot the bathrooms through the mass of sweating, bouncing flesh on the dance floor, so I approached the bar to ask.
I had to scream at the top of my lungs to be heard over the booming dance music. Or at least, I thought I had to. Based on the bartender’s face, I realized that I had perhaps once again misjudged my own volume. She, like Tim, looked annoyed.
“Paying customers only, buddy. I just saw you walk in.”
My intestines painfully contracted. I crossed my legs and clenched as hard as I could. This night is not gonna end with me shitting my pants, I told myself firmly.
“Alrght alright, just get me uhhh shot of Jameson.” I said, spouting off the first thing I could think of. The bartender turned to grab the bottle, and I pulled the last ten-dollar bill from my wallet. The whisky and the money hit the bartop in unison. I slammed down the shot as fast as possible.
“Ok, now where’s the bathroom?” I said. I could feel a vein popping out on my forehead. I was beginning to sweat.
The bartender sighed and rolled her eyes, but pointed me toward a dark corner of the club.
“Thankskeepthechange” I murmured, not even looking back as I sprinted in the direction she had indicated.
If I had been sober, I would have probably taken one look at the bathroom and walked right back out the door. It was dark, filthy, graffiti-covered. There were two stalls. The door of the far stall was shut, and a pair of shoes beneath the door betrayed an occupant. However, the near stall was blessedly, miraculously vacant. The toilet itself was yellowed and old, but thankfully looked relatively clean compared to the rest of the surfaces in the restroom. I wasted no time in locking the stall door, dropping my pants, and sitting down. Sweet release. I probably groaned aloud, remembering too late that there was a guy in the next stall over.
I sat there relieving myself, the initial pressure thankfully gone, scrolling through some social media feed or another on my phone. After a few minutes, I began to feel a small rumbling in the floor beneath my feet, travelling upward. It was distinct from the thudding vibrations of the music. This was closer, and constant. I noticed with passive interest as it travelled up the wall behind the toilet that I was sitting on. It then stopped going upward, turning to the right and rumbling, louder and louder, through the wall toward the other stall. It was the pipes, I realized. Something was travelling noisily through the plumbing. Air bubbles, probably, I vaguely thought. Once the rumbling reached a point which I assumed was right behind the neighboring toilet, it reached a trembling crescendo before cutting off abruptly.
“What the fuck was that?” The guy in the other stall grunted. I don’t know if he was talking to me or himself. Outside of the bathroom, it sounded like a quieter song had just started, or maybe there had been some kind of interruption in the music, because for a moment it was eerily silent in the bathroom. My breathing suddenly sounded deafening. The other guy sniffed a few times.
Two things then immediately happened at once. Outside the door, the music came thumping back in full force. At the same time, the guy in the next stall over made a loud gasping sound. The combination of the two sudden noises made me jump, and I almost dropped my phone into the toilet. Once the wave of adrenaline subsided, I listened with mild curiosity to my neighbor. He was grunting and groaning softly, and at one point I heard a wet slapping sound. I almost started laughing out loud in disbelief.
Is this dude seriously jerking off right next to me? I asked myself incredulously.
It quickly became clear, though, that this was not the case. The guy’s groans suddenly shifted to gasps and yelps of surprise and pain. I heard a manic shuffling and rustling as the guy hurried to stand up. I saw beneath the stall wall that he began to bend over to pull up his pants. Something stopped him, however, and he suddenly cried out.
“AAAAHHH!! HEY WHAT THE FUCK?!”
His voice was panicked, and pained, like the yelp of a wounded animal. My eyes were fixed on his feet, I was transfixed by whatever unseen problem the man was having. I wanted to ask what was happening, or if he was ok, or if he needed help, but the words never made it from my brain to my mouth. The guy’s feet then moved rapidly backward, as if he had been suddenly and violently yanked back onto the toilet by a rope. From the hard, painful slap of what I guessed was his bare ass hitting the toilet seat, it sounded like that’s exactly what happened.
What followed was the most disturbing combination of sounds I’ve ever heard. The guy started screaming. Terrified, hoarse, inhuman barks of pure shocked agony. Simultaneously, a high-pitched hum broke the air, like the sound of a power drill putting a screw into a particularly stubborn piece of hardwood. Layered beneath this, there was some kind of raspy, squeaky chattering sound that reminded me of the sounds that rodents make when they’re scared. Worst of all was the wet, squishy plops of something soft rapidly hitting the water in the neighboring toilet bowl. Whatever was falling in there, it sounded like there was a lot of it. This was soon followed by a series of snaps, pops and crunches. Like joints, I realized, or bones.
As this happened, I could see the guy’s legs frantically twisting and writhing around beneath the stall wall, until they raised up out of my field of vision and never came back down. Moments later, all the sounds died off one by one. First to go was the screaming, subsiding into a soft gurgling moan before rattling out into nothing. All the other sounds kept up for a few seconds after this, but before long all I could hear was the music from the dance floor.
I gazed at the floor of the neighboring stall for several moments, barely breathing. Nothing moved. There was no sign that the guy was even still in there. His legs and feet were nowhere to be seen. I tentatively reached out for some toilet paper, ripping off a strip from the roll as quietly as I could, and quickly wiped my ass. I never took my eyes off the floor of the next stall. I rose slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements, and pulled up my pants. Painfully slowly, I unlatched and opened the door to my own stall, wincing as it creaked. There was nothing amiss outside my stall. The bathroom looked exactly the same as when I’d entered. I walked carefully toward the exit, my phone still clutched in one hand. I dismissed any thought of washing my hands. Too noisy. I wanted to make a quiet escape from whatever the hell had just happened. And yet…
I turned slowly to face the still-locked stall where the other guy had been. He had to still be in there. Maybe he needed help. Maybe he’d had a seizure or something, and all his jerking around on the toilet was what had made those god-awful noises. I took one step, then another, then another, each slower than the last, and before I knew it I was in front of the other stall. I raised my hand and knocked once, softly on the door.
“Hey” my voice quaked, “You ok in there?”
There was no sound except the pounding bass, matched beat for beat in my own chest.
There was a small crack between the door and the wall through which I could view just a sliver of the inside of the stall. I moved my face closer to peer through. A strangled cry barely escaped my lips.
The stall walls had been sprayed with blood. It had run down in slow-moving streaks which had not yet begun to drip onto the floor. Not a single drop had hit the ceiling, or the wall behind the toilet, but the two parallel walls on either side were splattered with the stuff. This was nothing compared to what was inside the toilet. The guy’s body, folded unnaturally in half, had been pulled ass-first deep inside the toilet bowl. Most of it must have somehow been pulled down the pipe, because all that was left sticking out of the toilet were his arms and legs, jutting out into the air at odd angles, and his crushed, deformed head, covered in blood and limply laying face-downward in a pool of his own gore. My mind reeled. I raised my phone to the crack in the door, my still-drunken mind reasoning that I would need to take a picture to show to the police.
I focused on the phone screen, trying to get as much of the gruesome scene in frame as possible. Then, suddenly, the screen went dark. For a moment I thought my phone had died, but the camera app display still showed on screen. It was only the viewfinder that had gone black. I lowered the phone and leaned in again to peer through the gap, only to find that I couldn’t. The crack in the door was no longer empty, but had been occupied by something wet and dark. I took a shocked step back. A fleshy slapping sound drew my attention to the top of the stall door. A tentacle (or a was it a tail? an arm?) whipped over the top of the door, sliding down the front leaving a trail of blood as it went. It was followed by another. Something was heaving itself over the top of the door. Something dense, and hairy, and damp with toilet water and piss and shit and gore. I didn’t wait to see what it was. I turned around and fled the bathroom, phone in hand, and left the club without so much as a word to anyone.
The next morning, my brain straining painfully against my skull from a horrific hangover, I stood outside the door of the club nursing a cup of gas station coffee. The bitter acid attacked my queasy stomach in just the right way. I looked the establishment up and down. I was surprised at how normal everything looked. I had expected cops and crime scene tape, maybe even some kind of hazmat cleanup crew, but there was nothing. Before I had been there long, a man in a leather jacket and jeans approached. He looked warily at me.
“The fuck are you doing hanging out outside my club?”
I cleared my throat, unsure of how to explain. “I’m here about an… incident. Last night. There was a guy who was, uh… attacked. In the bathroom. I’m sure you know about it already. There was a… a body.”
The man stared dead-eyed at me. His expression betrayed nothing.
“I just… I wanted to let you know I was there.” I continued. “If you, or the police, need like… a witness, I guess.”
“A witness?” He droned.
“What exactly did you witness?”
I paused. I knew if I told him the truth I’d sound crazy. Plus, I wasn’t entirely sure what I had and hadn’t seen. I’d been so drunk.
“Something attacked the guy while he was in the stall.” I said cautiously, “Some kind of… animal, or something.”
The man raised an eyebrow, but otherwise his face stayed absolutely unchanged. “Animal.”
“Yeah,” I was unsettled by the man’s apparent lack of concern. There was no way that the body hadn’t been found by now. “It really… fucked him up.”
The man paused for a moment before moving in close to me, lowering his voice but still speaking in that flat, dry tone.
“Listen, kid. The guy here last night had a heart attack on the john. Happens all the time. Club like ours, people enjoying themselves in all manner of ways, sometimes they have a little too much fun. It’s been handled. But thanks for your concern.”
“Heart attack?? No, it was… it was some kind of… creature. I think it came out of the pipes. It tore him to shreds. Didn’t you see the stall? The toilet?”
The man rested a heavy hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it wasn’t comforting either.
“I think it’s time for you to get away from my club.”
He turned, and unlocked the door. I stood, incredulous. Before shutting the door in my face he met my eyes. There was something there, for the briefest moment. Was it malice? Fear? I’m not sure.
“Just pretend it was a heart attack, kid. The poor bastard is just as dead either way.”
I love creepypasta.
especially when there are monsters!