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Mid-Summer Poop Horror

It was mid-summer, and I was out on a vacation with my family. The vacation was actually a drop off for my brother at his new school in a town far away from our city. We decided to take a room and spend some days site-seeing, before my brother's new school started.

Luckily, the school principal was a generous man and had offered us an unfurnished house that was recently built; for free. But this was a common act as many came to the school from far away places and often needed a place to stay; and all the hotels are a long bus ride away.

The man even offered us a car ride since we had too much luggage.

"You packed the entire house for four days!", grandma said before we started our journey from home.

A driver picked us up and our luggage in an Omni van and drove us off to the house.

The house was neat. We had neighbours who were very helpful. It wasn't too big, but was fairly big and spacious due to the lack of furniture. It had a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms and two bathrooms.

One of the bathrooms had an Indian toilet and it was attached to the bedroom, opposite to the entrance door. The other one had a western toilet and was attached at the end of the other bedroom and that was it. That was the end. There was no other room beside it and it was somehow odd as the entire front part of the bedroom was left empty and the bathroom was on the extreme end.

At first, it didn't seem like an oddity. But the way I looked at it changed one night after we had gone out to some nearby tourist attractions and came back tired. Dad unlocked the door and we all went in to clean, change and do whatever seemed fit to us, when dad asked, "Who used the toilet and left without flushing?" It was that odd bathroom at the end of the long bedroom.

"Not me!" exclaimed my brother.

"I didn't use that toilet even once", I said.

"Then who?", asked dad.

"Maybe you did. It's not the first time.", I replied.

"Not me. I flushed properly. Someone has used it."

Why the fuck had my dad thought this? I mean, it would've been an entirely different experience if my dad had just told us that one of us didn't flush and left it at that. But he said, "someone has used it." Someone? Who? Did someone climb their way through the bathroom window from the back which was filled with trees by the way?

And that's when its position started seeming odd. But I didn't care much for it because I had another bathroom to use. But my butt was loaded and I was holding in farts. And my brilliant mother was using the normal, non-freaky bathroom. I tried my best to not let a sound escape, but my uterus started cramping. Fuck it!

I walked into the bedroom with no light (it did not have a working light), and saw the lit bathroom at the end. Fuck! I walked towards it, and it seemed so easy to get there. But when I looked back to the bedroom entrance on the other end, the entrance (which is also the exit) seemed too far away. Anything might come from the darkness of the bedroom or the goddamn bathroom, or the Poop Man might jump through the window, or a hand might reach from the toilet, and I'd be grabbed and taken away.

It was too late. My body couldn't hold it in anymore and I threw myself onto the toilet seat. Now, I have no idea if anybody in this world has ever felt what I felt while pooping that time. My heart kept pounding, sweat started rolling down my forehead, and I kept gulping down the fear. I did not dare to look at the dark window on the top right wall.

Something would grab me through the toilet. Just come out already! I was talking about my poop. I condemn anything else coming out! Did someone really sit here and poop; someone other than us? Did someone come here just to take a shit while we went outside? If so, why would they do that?

It's so fucking funny when you hear that. This lady is scared of poop. Ha ha! I shit you not, it is scary!

The most trivial of things become terrifying when fear is associated with it. Give someone a pen and tell them that it was used by a suicide victim to write her suicide note; they wouldn't use it. When they hold that pen, it's like the dead person is holding it too. And maybe the pen will teleport you to the incident when it happened, or maybe you'll feel the urge to write a suicide note yourself and hang from the ceiling right after.

Or take the famous example of Bloody Mary. You say the dead woman’s name three times, and she’d rise from her grave, teleport through the toilet pipes and pull you along with her into the sewage. I don’t know which is worse - the ghost or the sewage.

So yes, the thought of this toilet being used by a mysterious person when we weren't present in the house, gave me the creeps. Scary thoughts started building up and my breathing became heavy. I even uttered “Bloody Mary” inside my throat two times, and I did not dare to think it the third time. That’s what happens when you’re scared. Your brain deliberately brings more scary thoughts and makes you play along. Stupid human brain!

I tried distracting myself with the fun part of the morning we spent by the canals and the temples. I tried feeling happy, but it was a strange kind of happy, mixed with chilling horror. But the thoughts of the day helped me poop out as much shit as I could. I wiped, and without looking back at the toilet, flushed and unlatched the door before any hand could come through the flushing waters to drag me away.

I went out into the darkness of the bedroom and walked hurriedly towards the living room light. I still had to change my dress, but I thought I could do it in the other bedroom, now that my mom was out. The fear of that bedroom along with its bathroom had crept its way to this bedroom as well. The person, whoever that was, could climb through this bathroom window too.

I quickly put on my dress and hurried to unlatch the door, but the bloody git wasn't budging. It stayed hard to the top and I tried my fucking best with my scrawny body strength to pull it down before the Poop Man crawled in and dragged me away. I almost teared up, then the latch finally budged, and I opened the door to a comforting sight of my family.

I thought I was safe - the mornings weren't times for horrors, we were given this house only for a night's stay, so I only had to get through the night's sleep. And it would be easier because the entire family would sleep in the breezy living room on the floor covered with sheets. But I was wrong.

My family decided to keep all windows open since the air was stuffy and hot inside. There was a window right in the direction of my legs. I kept looking at it as I slept in the middle of the hall, feeling safe, surrounded by my family. But the lights were turned off and the only thing that lit the window was the faint moonlight.

I would see a silhouette of the Poop Man. Somehow my mind fixed on the gender of the mysterious pooper as being a man. And I went with it. I slept, but I kept opening my eyes from time to time, staring at the open window. It's like I wanted to see a figure standing there when everyone else was asleep. Was I trying to protect my family and warn them in case he showed up? Or was it one of the many dumb and awkward results of fear? Did I want to see that figure?

I don't know. I opened my eyes some twenty to thirty times throughout that night. My brain somehow managed to wire my body to do that in the middle of the sleep that night. Every time I plunged out from my sleep and was about to open my eyes to stare at that open window, I expected to see the figure. But sooner or later, my eyes resisted opening, and I fell into deep sleep.

The night went long and away. The sun was shining bright when I stared out the window the next morning. I got up. I couldn’t remember when I fell asleep. Did I see the Poop Man one of those times I opened my eyes? Did he come in again during the night and poop? Did he poop and leave without flushing?

My dad was now walking into that bedroom. "Who didn't flush the toilet again?"

Oh, Crap!

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