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She Waits for me in the Tub

she waits for me in the tub


Estimated reading time โ€” 4 minutes

I failed and, now, I don’t know what to do.

To clarify, I write about and, sometimes, perform popular rituals I find online. Yeah, it’s kind of a stupid hobby, but I thought it was fun. I even made money from recording some of them and posting them on YouTube. It also boosted my confidence. Sad, but whenever I performed a ritual successfully or had a close call, I felt as if I escaped Death’s grasp. As if I was slowly building a type of immunity to it. But, after this last one, I now see that I was blinded by my arrogance. I know she is waiting for me in the tub.

If you’re wondering what game, what ritual I messed up, it was ‘The Bath Game.’ If you are on this website, though, then you probably already know about it. At least, I hope you do. I hope you can help me. God, I hope one of you can. I’ll start from the beginning.

I was, like most of these types of stories, bored and out of ideas. I had just read ‘Tomino’s Hell’ to a live audience on my YouTube channel and was scrolling through Reddit for new ideas when I came upon someone’s account of their ‘Bath Game.’ I already knew a bit about it from other people’s stories and online narrations but, I never thought about performing it before. It just never caught my attention or imagination like the other rituals did. Some girl trips and kills herself on the bathtub’s tap, becomes an angry ghost, and ends up becoming a ritual just doesn’t seem as cool as a cursed poem or a way of asking spirits questions. But, as I said, I was bored and out of ideas. So I read the ritual and prepared.

It started off fine. I turned the lights off, managed to get into the tub with my eyes closed, and started to wash my hair as I kept repeating, “Daruma-san fell down.” If it wasn’t for my imagination conjuring up her gruesome fall and her blood dripping down into the tub, this would have been a relaxing experience.

Soon after, I felt something rise up behind me. The smell of mangoes, coconuts, and sulfur started filling the room, causing me to gag. That was my cue to leave the bath with a final question, ” Why did you fall in the bathtub?” I remember walking to my room, concentrating on not tripping over the pile of clothes I had left in front of the washer, getting into bed, and falling into a dreamless sleep.

The next day was ordinary in the worst way possible. Throughout the day, I constantly looked over my shoulder. I even only went to the restroom at my part-time job whenever I was sure someone else was in there. And nothing happened. No lady in a white dress several feet away, staring at me intently. No odd blend of sweet and rotten assailing my nose. Nor the feeling that I was being watched by a malicious unseen pair of eyes. It got to a point where I thought that I was in the clear. That, for some reason, the ritual failed even though I performed everything right. I guess that’s why I did what I did.

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I fell asleep. I knew that it was a bad idea, but I hadn’t seen Daruma-san all day. I figured that if I shouted “Kitta” at my bathroom and performed the karate chop, it would still end the game. It didn’t. This must have angered her. Because when I, supposedly, woke up at 2:30 am, I couldn’t move. I know what sleep paralysis is, I’ve experienced it before, so I wasn’t scared when I realized I couldn’t turn my head. I only started to feel afraid when I heard the sound of running water surrounding me and soft squishy footsteps making their way towards my room. I could, once again, smell the strange scent of sulfur and fake fruit growing stronger. I shifted my eyes towards my door, trying to remember if I locked it that night when I heard it slowly creak open. Standing there was the silhouette of a woman, neither tall nor short, but entirely blocking my only exit.

She stood there as I tried to decide whether I really wanted to keep my eyes open or force them shut. Before I could figure out which was worst, she ran right for me. Whether it was due to the surge of fearful adrenaline or pure luck, but before she reached me, I managed to scream, “Tomare!” I managed to stop her, but she was now right next to me. Her clammy hand was on my bare shoulder. I could finally see her. Everyone online always describes her with long black hair that slowly sways from an unknown breeze and an empty socket that still had blood oozing down from it. They were right. But they never mentioned how her skin still had old water sliding around on it. That you could see her darkened blood vessels underneath nigh translucent skin, or that her remaining eye was cloudy with age as she watched me. They never talked about how unseen water dripped from the ceiling on top of your head every few seconds. An unnerving countdown to what would be a grisly end. The sound of rising water was louder now. I could see steam rising from the edges of my bed, but I never took my eyes off her. We just stared at each other as the water rose up over my bed, waking me from my sleep. If it weren’t for the wet footsteps leading up to my bed from the bathroom, I would have written it off as nothing more than a bad dream.

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Since then, I haven’t slept, and I’ve been avoiding my bathroom. I keep going over to my neighbor’s apartment to use theirs, saying that there’s something wrong with my bathroom’s plumbing. But I’m not sure how long I can keep doing this. Each time I walk past my bathroom, I can hear water sloshing around in the tub and feel the faint touch of steam slip between the cracks of the closed door. Each time I close my eyes, I hear her whispering about how she will drag me into the bathtub to join her. And the worst part is, it’s three am, and I really need to pee. So please hurry, she’s waiting for me in the tub.

Credit : A. Reader

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