crumbs

horrors & dread #39 - It's Friday the 13th so here's a very unlucky story about getting trapped somewhere dreadful.

They know me here, is the first thing you think when the door latch snaps off in your hand.

You’d only popped in for an oat latte or two, maybe a crumb of cake... All that a subconscious misdirection to your real objective: picking up the new James Patterson. Then, purchases complete, you’d sat in the bookstore to nibble away at both cake and paperback. The coffee was good, as it always is, but as you’d turned the page to close off chapter one, your bladder sent off a flare.

Strewn across the table were your assortment of belongings: your bag tucked under your chair while your jacket hung from the back of it. You can leave all your stuff here, you’d reasoned. You’d only be a moment. Still, best to assign your distrust to someone in case.

“Can you just watch my stuff for a second?” you’d asked the person opposite as you were already getting up.

“Ssh— sure.” They’d splutter, like they had a choice.

The bathroom was at the back of the shop, down a corridor in the centre. As you’d made your way over, you’d seen a man leave where you were heading to. He’d given you the awkward glance of someone who’d just been to a public toilet.

You’d seen the lowered seat before the smell had hit.

A stray choking cough followed not soon after.

You considered turning and leaving. Home wasn’t far. You could’ve made it. But no, you’d have looked weird to have sat back down so quickly after getting up. That person you’d left in charge of your stuff would think you were odd. No, best get it over with.

You’d turned to shut the door and twist the lock closed then held your breath. You’d lifted the seat then done what needed to be done. Breathing only through your nose. Relief, like the warm water from the tap, ran over you as you’d washed your hands. You were nearly free of this ordeal.

Then, as you’d turned back to open the door the eagerness to escape had doomed you. The door lock snapped off as you turned it. The sound of metal rang out like a coin in a vending machine as it fell to the floor. In your hand was the other half.

Stunned in the here and now, you pull on the handle but it’s useless. The pin is stuck in place. You are trapped in here. Quickly, you squat down and weave your fingers around the snib, hoping you can gain purchase on it. A fingernail or something, anything, to twist it back and let you out.

Sweat forms on your brow as you fail.

Next, your hands pat down your pockets as you go for your phone. Maybe you can call the shop discreetly and ask them to come help you. But no, your phone is in your jacket out there. You have nothing.

You raise your hand to thump on the door. To at last call for help. Then you think of the smell that surrounds you. You feel the odour clinging to your sweat. Breeding with it.

You can’t do that. The shame. The embarrassment. They’ll always associate you with this. You’ll be a joke in the shop forever onwards. Remember that idiot who stunk up the toilet and then got himself trapped in there? Hahaha! They’ll say.

They know me here, you think again. Someone will come. Someone will notice me gone.

So you do nothing.

Photo by Jean-Philippe Delberghe on Unsplash