Just as a pale, elongated hand reached out from the tub, the video feed glitched. The screen turned a vibrant, aggressive static blue.
Elias leaned closer to the screen, his breath hitching. In the reflection of the cracked medicine cabinet mirror, he saw the person filming. It was a younger version of the man whose estate he’d just cleared out. The man in the mirror wasn't looking at the shower; he was looking directly into the camera lens, tears streaming down his face, his mouth moving in a silent plea. in bathroomymp4
Suddenly, the shower curtain moved. Not a flutter, but a slow, deliberate pull from the inside. A silhouette pressed against the plastic—wide shoulders, but no head. Just as a pale, elongated hand reached out
It sat in a folder labeled "Recovered_Data_1998" on a dusty external drive Elias had bought at an estate sale. He clicked play. In the reflection of the cracked medicine cabinet
The curtain rod groaned. The fish-printed plastic began to tear.
The video was low-resolution, the colors washed out into sickly greens and grays. It was a fixed shot of a small, cramped bathroom. The shower curtain—plastic and printed with fading blue fish—was drawn shut. For the first thirty seconds, there was only the sound of a steady, rhythmic drip from the faucet. Drip. Drip. Drip.