My eyes started stinging, the fluorescent bulb bleary to my sight, though I refused to blink, even for a second. I kept my breathing steady so I could listen for signs of life, but besides the beating of my heart, I could hear nothing. No sound, no movement, no anything — as if the world had gone still. I had to pinch myself to make sure it hadn't, though I'm not sure it proved anything other than I was awake.

The thud I had heard moments ago echoed in my mind. Was it a knock? Or just my imagination? I was almost certain it was real, but the outside world felt so silent that doubt slithered into my mind.

I stood there staring at the door for what felt like an eternity– long enough that my calves started to burn, the weight on my tiptoes taking their toll, though it probably wasn't longer than a minute—time had a peculiar way of seemingly stretching in moments like this.

It didn't matter how long I looked; it wasn't like I could see beyond the surface of the door. Staring only made me appreciate the wooden grains beneath the white gloss paint. More importantly, there was still no sound. Perhaps it was just the house making noise; old houses tended to do that.

I let myself relax, feet flat on the ground again, and took in a deep breath. The smell of chlorine, synthetic lemons, and cleaning products wafted into my nose, snapping me back to the present and oddly heightening my senses.

"There's nothing there." I reassured myself by speaking out loud, the sound of my voice a comfort in the eerie silence."If there was, it would have made more noise." Still, I picked up the nearby mop as a weapon — failing to prepare was preparing to fail after all.

Armed (but still not dangerous), I cautiously moved towards the door. Just inching closer made my heart thump faster. My fingers extended, closing on the bolt, until I heard a — Click.

My hand gripped the wooden weapon tighter, my breath held in suspense.

Nothing happened. "Of course nothing happened," I muttered, half to convince myself, half to dispel the lingering tension in the air.

Scolding myself for being a wimp, I‌ mustered the courage to swing open the door.

"Ack!"

A silent scream escaped my lips, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

A woman was standing motionless before me, arms crossed, back to the wall, jet black hair striking against her pale complexion and white nightgown. Her eyes were sunken from sleeplessness and bored into mine with unspoken disapproval.

"What's wrong with you?" she said dryly, quirking an eyebrow. "Seen a ghost?"

"Yeah, you!" My voice quavered, betraying a hint of fear behind the exclamation. "What are you doing?!"

“What most people do when they're standing outside bathrooms. Waiting to go in. Why aren't you wearing a top…” her eyes glanced over the mop I reflexively raised as a makeshift spear. “And why are you holding the mop like that?”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"The reason most people do." I barely paid attention to the question, my mind still reeling from surprise.

"And that is?" she prodded.

"Uh–to clean the floor?"

"Mhm. So… are you planning on standing there, or can I have a turn?"

"A turn with what?"

"The bathroom…"

"Oh. Sorry."

I returned the mop to its designated corner before making my way towards the exit. In passing, I stole a swift glance at the mirror, taking in the fleeting reflection — my reflection. It greeted me as normal behind the curtain of condensation instead of whatever spectre I had seen before.

"Is there a spider in there?"

"A what?"

"A spider. Little thing with eight legs and shoots —"

"I know what a spider is, Mum," I said, exasperation and confusion heavy in my voice. "Why are you asking?"

"Because you screamed like you saw a spider." Her eyes swept over me again, quietly adding, "the last time you saw one, you peed yourself."

Mum walked into the room without waiting for a response, so she didn't see me roll my eyes. I was afraid of spiders, sure, but I was thirteen. I wouldn't have wet myself.

"No spider," I replied.

"So why did you—," her words broke off abruptly, morphing into a weary yawn. "Nevermind, Kalak. Go to bed." She then closed the bathroom door, dismissing me, leaving me to wander back to my room. I managed to get to the entrance when I heard her belatedly yell, "you didn't clean the mirror!"

"Oops."

Back in my sanctuary, I left the door slightly ajar, allowing a warm, yellow hue to spill from the passage light. It resembled winter twilight, with shadows that seemingly danced in my mind's eye. Still, after the little scare in the bathroom, enveloping myself in darkness felt ill-advised, and though the shadows flickered in the dimly lit room, I could at least discern shapes and contours. Were the room pitch black, my imagination would have run wild.

The simplest solution to my troubles was for the morning to come quickly, so I scurried for the protection of my bed. It was a warm embrace, welcoming to even my feverish self. The sweat and cold air worked wonders to cool down my super-heated body.

Settled in, I let out a deliberate exhale to calm down my still-racing heart. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to sink into the comfort of my surroundings. And when I next opened my eyes, nothing had changed: it was the same night, same hour, same minute.

Sleep had not come. If turning the bathroom light hadn't caused sleep to flee, then finding Mum standing outside certainly had. I was desperate enough that I started counting sheep until I lost focus and repeated the same number three times. Then I moved on to regurgitating math equations, hoping to tire my brain out, but my mind kept spiralling back to the shadow I saw in the mirror.

What was it?

The figure's outline materialised in my mind, and I realised its strange resemblance to Mum. It made me chuckle considering how ghostly she'd looked waking up so late.

The laugh was cut short when I heard the bathroom door open, trailed by the creaking floorboards I had heard earlier; it was the sound of footsteps as Mum made her way back into her room. I could tell it was her. Footsteps held distinctive signatures, like a unique blend of weight and pace that defined a person.

I followed the noise until a resounding thud reverberated through the house, originating from the location of her bedroom.

"That was definitely mum," I said aloud, finding company in my voice. A ghost wouldn't have made so much noise, nor would a burglar.

Half convinced, I redirected my focus back to falling asleep, turning to my right side for the most comfortable sleeping position.

That's when I saw it — eight limbs slowly crawling below the corner of the curtain — and I felt an involuntary trickle of warmth flow between my legs.