The Twisted

A Story by Q

A short story I wrote after taking a shower

A gentle lob guides my airborne keys into the key bowl. Landing off center and hitting the inside edge of the bowl, playing a round of roulette before finally settling. Shower beer. I thought happily, as I swung open the fridge. F**k I’m glad it’s Friday. Works been hellish this week. Ill finish my paper while Halloween II plays in the background. Just in time for the last 20 minutes of the most gut-wrenching horror ever made. The bathroom door creaks, and a spine tingling chill crawls its way up the lower end of my spine and into the apex of my neck. Well that’s f*****g odd. I thought. I pop the top of the can as I turn the temperature gauge somewhere between molten core of the Earth and just hot enough to hurt a little. The heat builds an atmosphere of pure steam. I get in. F*****g seven hells that’s hot. I take a pronounced sip of my beer. For the love of god. That half empty conditioner bottle looked like a f*****g knife poking its curious edge through the shower curtain. Reaching out of the shower curtain, I grab my beer from atop the toilets tank. Peering out into the enveloping layer of steam, a sudden unsettling sense tingles my hairs. Alright then, no horror movies tonight. I’m already stricken with terror. I draw the shower curtain back and grab my shampoo. Water cleansing the mundanity of the work week, rolls over my face. Bubbles trailing behind. F**k, how’d I let soap get in my eye. Turning counter clockwise to revert my apparent irrevocable mistake of letting soap infiltrate my eyes, I notice the silhouette of a slender body, distorted by the wavy shower curtains. Lending it the illusion of a wicked entity, while bearing a twisted smile. Although somehow I knew I was already dead, I still felt the knife.