Article: 261617 of talk.bizarre
From: (Babs Woods)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: <FTSD: Repost>  Toilet Man
Date: Fri, 01 Dec 1995 23:53:42 -0500
Organization: Our Lady of Perpetual Mirth, Pacifica
Lines: 60
Message-ID: <>
Status: O

                                Toilet Man

Oct. 10, 1995

        I've carried this one around for *years*, although I've never 
written it out or followed it to its conclusion.

        There is someone in my toilet. It's clearly male. I know him by 
the hair on his arm and the musculature of his arm and hand. These are all 
I ever see of him. Pale, hairy skin, over a well-muscled arm to about 
maybe mid-bicep. Where the rest of him is I'll never know.

        He seems to live in the sewer system, except now that we're on
a tank, he's here, too. I encounter him at every toilet I'm ever over. 
I've encountered him at my friends' houses, my aunt's house, all the school 
toilets I've ever used, public restrooms, like in Grand Central Station. 
All of them.  Everywhere.

        Over the years I've learned to sometimes do my business really 
fast (public restrooms are really groady, anyway), ignore the rising 
anxiety and terror I feel, or sometimes to forget him completely. I don't 
know what ugly little reaches of my psyche I conjured him from, but he's in
every single toilet I've ever used.

        I see his hand come out of the bottom of the bowl and into the 
bowl and through the water and.........he misses! I am too fast for him 
somehow, and he's never caught me. I've always feared what he would do 
with me should he catch me. Where would he be able to gain purchase?  He 
seems both very directed, as if he can see what he's doing (how?), and 
to flail around like he can't see a thing (much more expected behaviour).
At least his nails are real short.

        Would he just grab me by the genitals and, like Janet of
Carterhall pulls Tam Lin off his Feary mount, "pu' the rider down"? Where
would he "pu'" 
me to? How would he get me there?  Do I become suddenly enchanted and 
reduced in size enough to go down the bung, folded like a tiny ragdoll, 
the size of shit? Or do I get stuck, hopelesslessly, in the bowl; hips 
breaking and rendering my legs useless to aid in my rescue?

        I am not waiting to find this out. 

        Swish-snap-zip-I'm outta here.

        I am not ready to take a swim in the greywater, nu-uh, nohow. 

        I can see it taking weeks before I can get the lid prized up and 
drag myself out into the end of the garden and lay in and 
snow. Great. Then I have to make my way back into the house without being 
eaten on the way. Then I have to get my family's attention and hope they 
don't step on me and they have a cure for this size thing. And hope I 
don't go down the plughole to the sink when they try to scrub the muck 
off me.

        Maybe I'll just let him catch me once and be done with it. Ugh. 


"Excuse me, while I dance a little jig of despair."
        - (Ted Hadley)