I used to shower with my bedroom door open just a crack.

For whatever dumb reason, the tiny cramped apartment bathroom that I've had to deal with for the last nine years or so

loves to steam and fog up, even with the water on warm instead of hot.

And since my crappiest hell, landlord to fix the ceiling-mounted fan,

which would have ventilated the room, along with the fact that it caused the ancient off-white paint to sweat and start developing mold patches,

something which he would have charged me to clean, I made the decision to leave the door open a bit to allow the steam to escape.

For almost a decade, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and to allow the steam to escape.

For almost a decade, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and I went about my daily life.

The habit became a routine.

It was until two months or so ago.

See, I was alone that day.

My roommate had gone out for the day to take part in some bowling tournament, and I had the

run of the place for the next four to six hours, as it was my day off from work.

I decided to start it off with a hot, long, relaxing shower, so I grabbed a fresh set of towels

from the small closet next to my bedroom, stepped inside,

and after turning on the water to let it warm up, I hopped in.

I just lathered the soap up in my hair when I heard a noise come from just outside.

It was almost masked by the sound of the water,

splashing down on the floor of the tub, but it was out of place enough that I caught it.

Scrake.

It was similar to the sound that you'd hear if you dragged long fingernails down the wall.

I froze, the shampoo dripping down over my face, making it difficult to see anything.

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