I didn't dare breathe. My chest felt like it was made of glass—so fragile that even the slightest exhale could splinter me into shards. I closed my eyes tight, hoping shut lids could keep the horror at bay. Not a sound passed my lips; not even the faint whisper of an involuntary release of air. The world outside my stall was suspended in a terrifying stillness.
The minutes stretched like elastic, each second a relentless reminder that I was pinned beneath something impossible.
And then—a shift. Something in the air changed. Not a sound, but a vibration. A presence. The stale odor of the bathroom—cleaning solution and something faintly metallic—seemed to warp around me.
I felt it before I saw it. A tremor in the overhead light, a half blink in the flicker. My heart leaped into my throat.
Slowly—terrifyingly slowly—I cracked open one eye.
At first, I saw the unremarkable ceiling of the bathroom stall. The peeling paint, the twisted metal support bar, a single rust spot—nothing out of the ordinary.
Then I felt that gaze. A negative space in the air, like a hole pressed against my skull. I cringed, my stomach clenching so hard I thought it would fold in on itself.
I forced my other eye open.
Above the door—a narrow gap between the top of the stall and the frame—a pair of eyes stared down at me.
They were black as tar but ringed with a faint, sickly glow, like embers in a dying fire. Above them, the wide-brimmed hat drooped at a strange angle, casting the rest of her featureless face into a maw of shadows.
And beneath those eyes, her lips curled into the most unnatural smile I'd ever seen.
It wasn't a friendly grin. It was a predator's smile, slow and deliberate, showing sharp teeth that gleamed pale in the flickering light. There was no warmth there; only the cruel delight of a hunter who's cornered its prey.
I froze. Every muscle in my body locked as if welded together.
She was closer now. Since I'd fled into the restroom, she had followed—slipping past my grasp like a phantom. Now she loomed just over the door, toes nearly brushing the ceiling of the stall. I could see the crease of her coat, the way it draped around her unnaturally thin frame, the long sleeves that hung over those gloved hands.
I wanted to scream, to bolt, to do something—anything. But my legs would not move. My lungs would not draw air.
I tried to squirm backward, to get farther away, but the stall walls held me in place. I scrunched backward on the cold porcelain lid, tiny flecks of paint flaking under my weight.
A soft tap, tap, tapped echoed against the metal door above me, as though she were testing the surface with a single fingertip, curious about its texture.
My mind raced. This was no longer an urban legend nicely confined to stories; it was real. She was real. And I was trapped beneath her smile.
Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back. If she craved fear, I refused to give her the ultimate victory. I clenched my jaw, closing my eyes once more. I tried to slow my racing heart with prayer, meditation—anything.
"Please," I whispered into the darkness, mouth dry. "Please go away."
The light overhead sputtered, as if in response, but held on. A weak beam cut through the gloom, illuminating her hat and the tips of her gloved fingers.
I pictured daylight—my room at home, Mom's pancakes, Dad's laughter over the morning news. Anything that felt real, warm, comforting. Yet as I tried to will myself away from this nightmare, I realized how powerless I was.
Then—a sound.
Not footsteps. Not humming. A whisper-thin sigh, like air escaping a tire. It came from above the stall partition.
My eyes shot open. The stall door rattled as if she'd placed her whole weight against it. The light swung on its axis, casting elongated shadows that leaped across the tiles.
I noticed, for the first time, the gap between my body and the stall wall. It wasn't large—just a couple of inches—but enough to slip my hand through.
With trembling fingers, I fumbled at the latch. If I could open the door, maybe I could dart out of the stall and hide behind a sink or in another doorway. Anything to put another barrier between us.
The latch clicked. My breath caught, and I held perfectly still. The door inched open—barely. I pressed my body to the inside of the stall, peering through the crack.
The hallway was empty. The harsh fluorescent lights had died, leaving only the emergency bulbs to illuminate the block of stalls. The bathroom beyond was deserted: a long row of sinks, the mirror cracked on one side, the other side smeared with water droplets.
I exhaled a silent sigh of relief. Maybe she'd retreated.
Then I heard it again—a soft scraping noise from above the mirror.
I peered up, every hair on my neck standing on end.
Out of the mirror's corner, I thought I saw her reflection—hat and coat in fractured glass. But when I turned, no one was there.
My heart slammed against my ribs. The sense of being watched was overwhelming.
I jumped down from the stall, careful not to make a sound. My jeans brushed against the damp tiles as I crouched behind the sinks, my back to the wall.
I texted: HELP.
No response. No typing indicator. Then: message failed.
Panic flared in my veins. I wanted to scream.
A shadow detached itself from the far end of the bathroom. She drifted forward, moving between the stalls, gliding without a sound. The hem of her coat hovered, brushing the floor tiles like a wraith.
She stopped at the sinks, tilting her head as if studying her reflection—or mine—in the cracked glass.
I saw her eyes flick down to my hiding spot.
And then the most horrible thing: she raised a single, gloved finger and traced a slow circle on the mirror's surface, condensing the misty water droplets into a perfect, tiny heart.
I retched in my throat, the sight sending bile ripping up from my stomach. My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor.
I didn't move. I couldn't. Every nerve ending screamed danger.
She disappeared from the mirror. The stream of water I hadn't noticed at the sink before sputtered and stopped.
Silence.
The overhead lights flickered one last time and died completely. The emergency lights in the hall dimmed, leaving the bathroom in murky half-light. Shadows pooled in every corner.
I pressed my back against the cool wall, trying to calm my racing heart. I closed my eyes, listening.
And then I felt it: the soft brush of air as she stepped behind me.
My eyes flew open. She stood a breath away, so close I could count the buttons on her coat. Her hat brushed the ceiling. Her smile was so close it felt like ice against my cheek.
I couldn't run. I couldn't scream. All I could do was stare up into that featureless face.
Then—nothing.
No words. No movement. Just that smile.
I slid down the wall until I sat on the cold tile floor. My legs folded beneath me as tears finally spilled free.
I didn't know if I passed out or just drifted into numbness. But all I felt was the press of her presence in the darkness, and the knowledge that I was utterly alone.