The Soul-Stealing Toilet

Now, the new house had two lunatics.

My mother sat slumped on the floor, eyes blank, muttering, My soul was sucked into the toilet

Beside her, my brother wore the same vacant look, repeating the same eerie words.

Just last night, my mother had been normal. Obsessively, she had retraced every step my brother took before he fell ill, trying to find the causeuntil she used that same toilet late at night.

It all went back to the first time my brother used the toilet in the new house. When he came out, it was as if his soul had been drained, leaving him deranged.

My parents world collapsed. They took him to every top psychiatric hospital in the country, but no expert could explain it. Nothing helped.

As my parents grew more worn down, older relatives quietly suggested the house might be unluckythey should get a spiritual master to check. But my parents always refused such things outright.

Science had no answers; superstition was rejected. In desperation, my mother made that fatal choiceto relive my brothers steps.

She never expected that when the toilet flushed late that night, the same vortex that stole my brothers soul would take hers, too.

My father realized the gravity of the situation. He put on a stern face and borrowed a hefty sum from relatives, friends, and the bank.

He planned to take my brother and mother out of state for treatment first thing this morning.

Before leaving, my father sealed all the bathrooms in the house with red bricks and cement, forbidding me from using them.

I wanted to go with them, worried that my father couldnt manage on his own.

But my father told me gravely, "You're about to take your final exams. The family's entire hope rests on you. Don't disappoint us."

My legs were frozen in the doorway; I dared not take another step, only watching their figures recede further and further.

He was right, the familys hope rested entirely on me.

My father used to be a construction contractor. He had made a tidy sum a few days prior, capitalizing on the booming economy.

To give me a better educational environment, he had bought a house in the city.

But scarcely had we moved in when this happened. This sudden turn of events completely shattered our peaceful and harmonious little family.

By the time I reacted, their backs had already disappeared down the stairwell.

I returned to the living room, slumping onto the sofa, staring blankly at the empty room. It was then that a bone-chilling cold washed over me.

The house didnt get much light; every corner I looked at was shrouded in a dull grey.

It was strange, but every time I came home, I felt incredibly sleepy. And now, an unstoppable drowsiness was creeping over me.

In a state between sleep and wakefulness, I heard the toilet flushing in the bathroom.

But the bathroom door had clearly been sealed with red bricks and cement by my father; no one could possibly be using it. How could I hear such a distinct sound of rushing water?

To confirm I wasn't dreaming, I forced myself to sit up, but found I couldn't move at all.

I knew I was experiencing sleep paralysis.

When I was studying in the countryside, I often heard my classmates tell stories like this.

Back then, I thought they were making it up, but now I believed them.

My blood ran cold, my limbs pinned to the sofa, unable to move.

Though my eyes were closed, I could clearly perceive everything happening around me.

A black, legless figure emerged from the bathroom and floated towards me.

When it reached the sofa, it simply collapsed onto my body.

I screamed with all my might, struggling until I rolled onto the floor, waking up covered in sweat.

The terrifying experience still left me shaken, and then, the rushing sound of the toilet flushing came from the bathroom again.

I slowly approached the red brick wall, so nervous I almost forgot to breathe.

My ear was pressed tightly against the cold wall when a sudden tapping sound echoed.

I jumped back immediately, my heart pounding in my throat.

The tapping continued, and thats when I realized someone was knocking at the door.

I took a deep breath, scolding myself for scaring myself.

After calming my thoughts, I walked to the door and opened it.

A man in a property management vest stood at the doorway, handing me a utility bill.

"Are your parents not home?"

I nodded.

"Well, you'd better contact your parents. Your utility usage is way too high. Pay it as soon as possible."

He mumbled as he turned and went downstairs.

I stared at the utility bill, completely bewildered.

Our family had been living here for less than half a month.

How could we have accumulated such a high water bill?

I immediately tried to contact my father, but his phone was constantly unreachable.

I didn't know who else to turn to; all our relatives were back in our hometown. In this city, I had no family, no connections.

The living allowance my father left me was only enough for this month.

There was nothing I could do; I could only pretend not to see that bill.

But it was like a thorn embedded under my skin.

During this time, my head was constantly in a daze; I was rarely fully awake.

Since transferring to the city school, I had always stayed in the top ten in all my exams. This time, my monthly exam scores even dropped out of the top hundred in the entire school.

My homeroom teacher had also noticed something was off with me and had spoken to me several times.

But I actually kept dozing off in the teacher's office. Finally, my homeroom teacher angrily dialed my father's number.

The result was the same; she couldn't reach my father either.

After evening self-study that day, I returned home and looked at the roughly built red brick wall, a deep sense of unease in my heart.

I tried my best to use the school restrooms daily, but tonight, my stomach suddenly hurt terribly.

I had no choice but to fumble in the dark to the public toilet next to the complex.

It was 2:30 AM, the world utterly silent, save for the occasional honk of a passing truck.

But it sounded like there were other people in the public toilet.

"Why is this person using the toilet here so late at night? Doesn't he have a bathroom at home?"

"I don't know, maybe the toilet in his house also sucks souls."

"Does he think he's safe just by coming here?"

"How about we drag him down to join us?"

...

My heart seized up. The voices were coming from the squat toilet beneath me.

Now I was truly panicked.

I didn't even stop to wipe myself, quickly pulled up my pants, and rushed out of that public toilet.

Back home, the sound of the toilet flushing in my bathroom grew increasingly distinct. I told myself it was coming from next door, forcing myself to try and sleep.

But tonight seemed destined to be restless.

Just as I was drifting off, from the other side of the cement wall, I heard my brother and mother calling out to me for help.

"Leo, Leo, help us."

I struggled to sit up in bed, carefully trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

Leaving my bedroom, I walked into the living room.

That pitch-black brick wall still stood out starkly in the darkness.

"Leo, help me..."

My brother's voice echoed again, sending a shiver down my spine.

I slowly, tremblingly, approached the bathroom.

A grating, piercing sound filled the air, like fingers clawing at the wall, tearing flesh until only bone collided with the cold cement.

Slowly, a human figure began to emerge on the wall.

On its black face, two rows of pristine white teeth were remarkably prominent, gnawing rapidly like a rodent.

Soon, it had gnawed a hole in the wall.

I thought I was dreaming and quickly rubbed my eyes.

When I suddenly opened them, I found it had opened its mouth wide and was aiming for my throat.

Instinctively, I swung my fist, punching it hard in the mouth.

When my fist slammed against the cold wall, the pain in my hand brought me back to reality. Everything returned to normal.

I realized I had been sleepwalking and returned to my room to rest.

Because I hadn't slept well the night before, I dozed off in class today.

The teacher once again called me into the office and lectured me.

She told me, heartbroken, that if I continued this way, I wouldn't even get into a decent college.

I knew this couldn't go on, but I just couldn't control my muddled brain.

Since moving into the new house, my life had become a mess.

Every time I remembered the distraught, panicked expressions of my mother and brother, tears of heartache would unconsciously fall.

Could all of this be caused by the bathroom toilet?

Before they lost their minds, they had indeed both used that toilet.

If there was nothing wrong with it, my father wouldn't have sealed it with red bricks and cement.

But I had used that bathroom too, hadn't I?

Why was I fine?

I had asked my father, but he had stammered and refused to tell me the truth.

I thought about it all through evening study and decided to find the answers myself.

On the way home from school, I passed a hardware store, went in, and bought a large sledgehammer specifically for demolishing walls.

I carried it all the way, attracting many curious glances from passersby.

As soon as I got home, I eagerly picked up the sledgehammer and slammed it against the wall, again and again.

However, after only a few swings, a neighbor complained to the property management, saying I was disturbing the peace.

Under the property management's interference, I had to postpone my plan.

But those few hits weren't entirely useless; if you looked closely, a crooked crack had appeared in the wall.

I found my toolbox and grabbed a suitable tool to widen the crack.

Our bathroom window faced the street, and the tall streetlights shone directly into the bathroom, so I didn't even need to turn on the light when using it at night.

I don't remember how long I picked at it, but piles of cement dust and brick fragments had accumulated on the floor.

Until, a beam of light penetrated through the narrow slit.

I squinted, looking inside through the crack.

What I saw next sent a chill down my spine and is forever etched in my memory.

A translucent figure of my mother appeared in the bathroom.

Her face was expressionless and pale, devoid of any living aura.

She was mechanically moving back and forth between the toilet and the vanity, the sound of the toilet flushing echoing as usual with each press of the flush button.

Suddenly, she stopped, stood still, and turned to look at me.

Her lips moved, as if speaking, but no sound emerged.

After our eyes met, she abruptly vanished.

My gut told me something terrible had happened to my mother.

The sudden surge of longing brought tears to my eyes.

I used to have a happy family, loving parents, and a harmonious relationship with my brother, but all of it had vanished overnight.

The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became.

All of this was because we moved into this new house.

All of this was because of this bathroom.

I wiped the tears from my face, then once again swung the sledgehammer, furiously smashing the wall, roaring as I broke every piece of furniture in the house.

Soon, the property's security guards once again knocked on my door in the middle of the night.

Three burly men broke in and found me hysterically wielding the sledgehammer, acting like a madman.

Before I could calm down, they quickly subdued me on the floor.

I struggled fiercely but was injected with a tranquilizer.

In my dream, the image of my mother turning her head and whispering kept repeating.

I opened my eyes wide, trying hard to see what my mother wanted to tell me.

But then she suddenly leaned close to my face.

I woke up, startled.

As soon as I regained consciousness, I smelled a pungent disinfectant.

I struggled to open my eyes, and a blank, idiotic face was pressed against the tip of my nose.

"Ah!!!"

I screamed, pushing him away!

It was then that I realized.

The ward was filled with psychiatric patients in blue and white striped uniforms.

At that moment, my mind went blank.

I wasn't sick, but I had been confined to a psychiatric hospital.

I frantically jumped out of bed, not even bothering to put on my shoes, and rushed to the door, desperately pounding on the locked ward door.

"Let me out!"

"I'm not sick! Let me out!"

A nurse heard the commotion, walked over, opened a small iron window on the door, and yelled inside.

"Stop shouting! Everyone locked in here says they're not sick."

I quickly retorted, "Who sent me in? I can confront them!"

"Your guardian, of course! Otherwise, our hospital wouldn't admit you."

I froze. Could my father have returned?

I wanted to ask more questions, but the nurse slammed the small iron window shut and walked away without looking back.

I sank to the floor, burying my hands in my hair and rubbing it agitatedly.

No, I can't be held here for no reason.

I have to get out!

I need to find my family!

I stood up and frantically tugged at the door, then lifted a chair and smashed the glass window, intending to jump out.

In an instant, the ward became a chaotic mess, and several curious patients who had gathered were injured in the process.

Soon, five or six medical staff members entered through the door, pinned me to the ground, and gave me another tranquilizer.

After the medication wore off, I woke up again to find myself confined in an iron cage, my ankles shackled.

A male doctor in a white coat approached me, holding a record book.

His ID badge read, Dr. Miles Hamm, Chief Psychiatrist.

"Your manic episode has flared up. Until your condition is under control, you'll have to remain in here."

I gripped the iron bars tightly, pleading with him as if they were a lifeline. "Dr. Hamm, I'm truly not sick. I've been misdiagnosed. My emotions were indeed very agitated just now, but that was because I was scared."

Dr. Hamm adjusted his glasses, saying calmly, "Every patient with mania has said that."

Hearing that, my vision blurred.

Dr. Hamm jotted down a few things, then turned to leave.

I quickly called out, "Dr. Hamm, at least tell me, who sent me here? Who signed the admission papers?"

Dr. Hamm paused but didn't turn around.

"Your father."

My heart, like the doctor's fading footsteps, gradually sank into an icy abyss.

Because I had trashed the ward, I was "rewarded" with a solitary cage, and the noise around me lessened considerably.

I lay on the simple hospital bed, staring at the ceiling.

Perhaps it was due to having slept, but my mind was much clearer now than when I was at home.

Previously blurred memories gradually became distinct.

Perhaps, my father had been acting strangely even then.

When my mother and brother went to the bathroom late at night, the light on the balcony was on, and my father wasn't asleep.

The balcony and my bedroom were on the same side, so if the balcony light was on, it shone into my room.

I got up, intending to pull the curtains shut, when a waft of smoke reached me on the breeze. Then I heard my father speaking softly on the phone.

"Why are you in such a hurry? I promised you I wouldn't say anything."

"But my youngest son, he doesn't know anything..."

I heard my father mention me. Just as I was about to stick my head out to listen carefully, my head accidentally bumped the screen window, making a sound, and my father's voice abruptly stopped.

Moreover, since my mother and brother fell ill, he had kept the matter hidden, using other excuses to borrow money.

There were too many suspicious points about my father. Only by finding him could I understand the whole story and the truth.

I walked to the ward window, looking at the hospital's towering outer walls and strict guards.

The urgent matter at hand was to escape from here first.

But if my father was the one who put me in here, and he was determined to keep me locked up, paying the hospital on time, then there was no way I could get out.

Even if I wasn't sick, they would say I was.

Unless I made a big scene.