Maryland's Bathroom Mold





I try to sleep, but the bathroom mold keeps speaking to me.

I don't remember how I got here anymore. I don't remember the face of my mom, when she drove me from Pennsylvania to Maryland. Strangely, I remember the reason, I was going to buy my first apartment, I was finally moving to college.

I remember vague shapes as well, the cute receptionist or the kind and old landlord. The place wasn't anything fancy — it was rather old —, but that was everything I could afford at the time.

The smell was the first thing that struck me. It wasn't bad, or disgusting. It was odd. Like when you smell the air in an attic that has been locked for years. It smelled like dust and oldness.

The room, I assume, used to have bright green wallpapers, but it degraded over time until it became a putrid mix of yellow and blue. The bed was big, but moist, and so were the sheets. The door to my left led to a small kitchen. It had a little stove, and above it, a microwave. It had bits of grease all over it, so I decided to not dwell deeper.

And finally, just in front of the bed, there was the bathroom. It looked like a dead animal. Not in the sense that it smelled wrong, but in the sense that the bathroom, were it an animal, would be currently in the late stages of decomposition. The bathtub was cracked in a few places and was brown all over. A brown which, clearly, was not its original color. The toilet was cracked as well. At the bottom of it sat a thick orange liquid. It didn’t go away, no matter how many times I tried to flush it.

But something else caught my eye. Something that, no matter how much I tried, couldn't get out of my head. A corner of the bathroom, hidden between the toilet and the sink, was completely filled with a black goo, which I can only assume to be mold.

I don't remember how long I looked at it, but there was just something so captivating, something so obscure, so alien about it, that I couldn't force myself to look away. I noticed many things while looking. There were bugs in the bathroom, even a spider, but they all seemed to avoid the mold, and when I tried to not blink, I could swear I saw it waving, moving, like a blurry VHS film.

When I snapped back to my senses, it was late at night. I felt tired, and decided the best course of action would be to sleep and take care of everything tomorrow.

There was an uncanny silence in the room. No cars, no birds, no wind. Yet, I couldn't sleep. I wanted to close my eyes, but I was unable to do so.

Because the same image kept coming back to my mind. The image of that black mass in the bathroom.

Four hours went by and my brain began to fail me. It refused to let me enter the dreams I so desired, but it also refused to keep working. I looked around the room, and the shape of objects known to me began blending with the background. I could hear voices… no, music, I was hearing music. It sounded like classical music. But… it was wrong. The notes didn't match, the lyrics were just another noise in-between the sound, and it all seemed to be breaking apart, like if the song was dying.

The music kept getting louder and louder, and it is as if reality was distorting and contorting with the rhythm. Sometimes, between the amalgamation that was the realm of my vision, I could see the door of the bathroom open, and from inside, it looked at me.

I tried to cover my eyes, but my hands became see-through. I tried to hide in sheets that were no longer there.

It spoke to me. It told me it wasn't going to harm me, that it wasn't there to hurt me.

Its embrace covered my all.

Its touch was soft and moist.

I slowly became part of it. My memories began vanishing, running away, scared of what may happen to them.

My head was almost covered. It was hard to breathe, it was hard to think, but I could talk.

I called out to my mom.

I was scared.

"I don't wanna go"

I felt its arms around me, and then I stopped feeling.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License