Curtains

By

K.V.T.

“It’s Psycho syndrome,” Casey’s mother claimed, “every woman since

Hitchcock and Janet Lee has been afraid to shower in a supposedly empty
home. Hell, I still get the jitters when I know your father is in the other room
watching football.” There was sooo much wrong with that assessment. 1.
Casey had never seen Psycho. 2. If anybody was likely to kill her mother, it
would be her father. 2a. Dad wasn’t really a sports fan, he just flipped on the
game because he knew it would get mom out of the room. 2b. If Casey had
stayed in that house one minute after turning eighteen she would stuck a
hatpin through both eardrums to blot out her mother’s incessant prattling. 2c.
Why the hell had she called home in the first place? She knew her mother was
likely to pick up the phone just for a chance to gab at someone. The woman
made telemarketers hang up. And all because she’d been spooked when she
thought she saw someone in her bathroom. “You know you always have a
home with us baby.” That gave the scare some perspective. An imagined fright
or mom’s ‘girl talk’ sessions? Easy choice.

“I know mom, and I’m sorry I bothered you with it. I guess I just need
some time to adjust.”

“You will be home for Sunday dinner though, right?” Dear God, why
hadn’t she applied to an out of state university?

“Sure mom. Look, I gotta go. Someone’s at the door.” It was a lie, but an
effective one.

“Ok sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too mom. See you Sunday. Bye.” Casey hung up without
waiting for a reply. Her mom was notoriously hard to get off the phone but
Casey had discovered the trick. Press end before she could get her next
sentence out. It wasn’t polite, but it had saved her months of actual living by
her estimation. Yup, she’d solved that problem, but not the one she’d called to
have addressed.
 Casey hadn’t really thought about what she expected to happen in the first
place. Maybe she’d hoped her dad would come over and check all the closets
and under the bed like he had when she was little. She was more than a little
embarrassed as she came to the conclusion that was exactly what she’d been
hoping for. So much for the tough, independent college girl. One shadow on
the shower curtain and she’s daddy’s little girl again, begging for stories and
afraid to sleep without a nightlight. She sighed, tousled her still damp hair, and
went outside in her sweats for a smoke. She’d only just taken up the habit,
some kind of newly found freedom rebellion, but it calmed her nerves.

In the smokers’ corner or the parking lot she puffed away at a Camel Crush
menthol until her heart stopped pounding. She bent to stub out the last embers
that glowed on the butt when she heard an unfamiliar voice, very close by,
address her.

“Those things are worse for you than the regulars, you know.” She stood
and turned in one swift motion, still feeling a little jumpy, to find a gangly
bookworm with an armload of laundry standing behind her.

“What are you, a doctor?” He grinned.

“Not yet, but I do have a master’s in chemistry.” In spite of his glasses and
unkempt hair, he was cute in a pasty nerd kinda way.

“You got a better way to calm yourself after being jump scared?” He
appraised her quizzically.

“I don’t recall the Surgeon General releasing any warnings about

meditation. You been watching Japanese horror or something?” Though he
might have meant the question derisively, Casey gathered from his tone he
was concerned. She was good at reading people. She was studying to be a
psychiatrist after all.

“No,” she chuckled, bemused by her own stupidity, “I just thought I saw
someone in my apartment.” The boy smirked.

“Well that’ll put anybody on edge. Still doesn’t justify poisoning yourself,
but I could see how you might be feeling edgy. I hope I didn’t spook you.”
 “No,” she was doing an awful lot of casual lying this evening, “you just
surprised me is all.” He smiled and extended his hand. The gesture of courtesy
cost him his bundle’s stability. The wash tumbled onto the asphalt. Whether
from embarrassment or social awkwardness, he held his position until she
shook his hand.

“I’m Omar,” he choked. He was clearly not happy about his level of
smooth. Casey shook her curls and snorted out a laugh.

“Casey,” she offered, “you want some help with your laundry?” He looked
sheepishly down at the pile of clothes.

“I guess I was a little over-eager there, huh?” He bent to scoop up his jeans
and t-shirts from off the ground.

“Yeah,” Casey stooped to help him, “but that kind of dedication has its own
merits.” Omar pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and regarded
her with a slack-jawed expression. She felt the look begged for clarification.
“I’m not asking you out Omar, I just think that was pretty smooth for a goof.”
His jaw wobbled up and down some before coming to a decidedly tight snap
shut. His cheeks were red and his face drawn in like a caricature. “You live
here?” Casey asked, hoping to befriend an ally in her fight against imaginary
demons.

“Yeah,” he sighed, paying his full attention to the ground, “I’m in 204.” Oh,
he was her hallway neighbor.

“Really? I’m in 205,” she offered, “how long have you been here?”

“Too long.” There was a morbidity in the phrase that struck her ear.
Something about the place was malign.

“Why too long?” Omar checked both his left and right shoulder before he
spoke.

“I had a friend who used live in your apartment,” her interest was piqued,
“he disappeared.” Casey must have made a face, because Omar instantly tried
to downplay the significance of the coincidence. “It’s not like he was killed or
anything, he’s just missing.” Though it was meant as a relax her, the news
made Casey that much more nervous. “Shit, I really messed this up, haven’t I?
Let me try again. Hi, my name is Omar and you live in my friend’s old
apartment. He disappeared a while back, but if there’s ever anything you need
just let me know. Also, you shouldn’t smoke.” It wasn’t smooth, but it was
honest.

“Hi Omar, I’m Casey. I just got a little freaked out this evening. I thought I
saw someone in my bathroom. If I help you carry your laundry upstairs, would
you mind playing the surrogate father this evening and checking all the nooks
and crannies in my abode?” Omar’s eyes widened. “No subtext chief, I really
think there’s an intruder. This is not a booty call.” Who knew a guy’s cheeks
could get that red?

“Sure, sure,” Omar nodded, “thanks for helping me out. I’d be glad to
check your place with you.” The ‘with you’ was added without a trace of
innuendo. ‘With’ was Omar’s way of asking if she’d be beside him during the
inspection. Casey thanked him for his bravery, though a hamster might have
shown more guts.

The pair deposited Omar’s wash on his threadbare couch, and then turned
and stalked into Casey’s apartment. Omar led the way, turning on every light
that he could and jumping every time a shadow crossed his path. When Isis
emerged from her bedroom and brushed his leg he’d nearly passed out.

“It’s ok. It’s just my cat.” The longhair rubbed against Omar’s leg, begging
for affection. “I hope you’re not allergic.” He shook his head and bent to
stroke Isis’ head.

“No, I like cats. Cats and turtles; the two most self sufficient house pets.”
Turtles. Go figure. Casey was willing to bet anything Omar had owned, or did
own, a turtle who’d been named for one of four renaissance artists. Probably
Donatello, judging by his scientific leanings.

“My Russian tortoise, Donny, he’s indestructible.” Nailed it.

They continued exploring her apartment but, when every cupboard had
been checked and every room inspected, there was no was no sign of an
intruder. All her things that weren’t in boxes were where she’d left them.
Nothing was missing and there was no muddy trail of boot prints with a
prominent limp leading out her front door. A-okay.

“Sorry to have dragged you over for a wild goose chase,” Casey offered at
the door as she showed Omar out, “I guess I’m just not used to being on my
own yet.” Omar snickered.

“Freshman?”

“Freshman,” she admitted, “I just got my stuff over here yesterday.”

“Well no wonder I hadn’t seen you before. I’ve been prepping for Dr.
Wahl’s chemistry one class all week. The guy is a real slave driver.” Wahl was
one of the teachers listed on Casey’s class schedule.

“Great,” Casey grimaced, “I’ve got him at nine in the morning on Tuesdays
and Thursdays.” Omar winced.

“Ouch, bad draw. I TA for him though. Maybe I can soften the blow.”
Again, pretty smooth for a guy who nearly fainted at the sight of an
unexpected cat.

“You could just give me the answer keys for the tests.” Casey licked her
lips in the most absurd pantomime of lasciviousness she could manage without
cracking up. Omar started turning into a beet again. “I’m just fucking with
you,” she smiled, “I think I can hold my own in a one-o-one chem course.”
Omar blew out a breath he didn’t seem to know he was holding.

“I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed,” he chuckled, “maybe a bit

of both?” Casey graced him with an easy smile. There was that dorky charm
again.

“I think you’ll find that it’s more disappointed later. Bye, thanks again.”

“Bye.” She shut the door as he ambled over to his own apartment, still
looking at her over his shoulder. Yeah, he’d be more disappointed.

Casey had been careful not to overburden herself her first semester. All her
classes were on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It made for long hours, but it gave
her time to study and recharge between classes. That meant that she had the
whole next day to unpack and ready herself for the grueling task of becoming
a preeminent doctor/psychologist. But after a few hours of unpacking, she
knew she’d never be up to snuff in the field of interior decorating.

Half the boxes she’d brought from home were still brimming with bric-a-
brac (she was a pack rat) and she was already exhausted by the effort she’d put
in. After a ritual cigarette she slogged back up to her apartment for a shower.
The dust from all her hoarded treasure was clogging her pores. She could feel
the blackheads forming.

Once she’d set the water temperature and stripped, Casey drew the shower
curtain back just far enough to slip into the soothing stream. Sweet baby Jesus,
the water felt good. She wondered how long she could stay under the jets
before they ran cold. Not long, she guessed. There was no water heater in her
unit which meant that all the hot water in the complex came from one source
or that there was a bank of heaters acting in concert somewhere on the
premises. Either way, her little indulgence wouldn’t last too long. She
scrubbed off the grime the boxes had coated her with, rinsed her hair with a
peach scented shampoo, and applied a generous dollop of the mated
conditioner. She was luxuriating in the hot water for just one more minute
when she saw the shadow again.

There was someone, or something, moving just beyond the veil that
separated the tub from the rest of the bathroom. Casey didn’t know what to do.
If she drew back the curtain to expose her stalker, she exposed herself in the
process, naked and unarmed save a loofa. If she stayed behind the screen she
couldn’t see the attack coming. Casey chose to be bold. She ripped the shower
curtain back to reveal…nothing. She quickly threw on a haphazard outfit and
began searching her home.

Another sweep of her living quarters turned up nothing. None of her things
had been disturbed, no trail of guilt led out of her bathroom. Whoever had
been peeping had vanished the moment she left the comfort of the hot water.
Hell, she’d seen his shadow projected on the Goddamn curtain a millisecond
before she’d drawn it back. But there was nobody, nothing, to prove she
wasn’t having a nervous breakdown. For hours she sat on her thrift store
couch, wearing a hole in Isis’ fur, wondering if she’d had a mental break. It
was common, she’d learned, in people ensconced in foreign surroundings.
Derealization was a relatively common affliction that could affect any given
person at any given time. That it had happened twice in two days enough to
call her sanity into doubt. When she heard Omar’s door opening, Casey rushed
her own egress in an effort to validate her competence.

“Omar,” she whispered breathlessly, “the intruder’s back!” Omar held up

his index finger, retreated into his own private living space, and returned with
a bat. Gutless or not, Casey had to admire his moxie. “You ever used that
thing?” she questioned as they shuffled into the recesses of her apartment.

“Never had a reason to, you?” She shook her head. Obviously, she’d never
used his bat but there was an underlying question that needed to be answered.
No, she’d never been the victim of a stalker and no, she’d never had a prowler
in her house. Now she’d had both, not once but twice. Chalk it up to paranoia,
homesickness, whatever; Casey Decker was living the nightmare. Omar found
nothing to validate her fears, however.

“There’s nobody here,” he announced after a pseudo-manly sweep of the

living space, “are you sure you weren’t just spooked by your own reflection?”
That her own reflection would be impetus for such a fright was insult enough,
but add to that the very real and cognoscente feeling of being watched and
Casey went off the deep end.

“Listen here my chess team champion, I saw someone in my bathroom. I

didn’t imagine it, I’m not asking you over here because I secretly harbor
sweaty fantasies about you, and I’m not Goddamn crazy!” She could tell by
the way Omar raised his hands in the ‘don’t shoot’ position that her self-
professed mental state was in conflict with her actions. She bit her lip and tried
to assert her competence in a more rational tone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have
said that. I’m just scared.” The admission made the fear more real. So real, in
fact, that her eyes welled up with tears and she could feel a catch forming in
the back of her throat. She was on the brink of sobs when Omar finally saw
the indicators and embraced her.

“It’s ok,” he whispered as he held her to his chest and stroked her hair, “I
get it. You’re scared, you’re alone and you’ve been seeing freaky stuff in there
when you bathe.” He stroked her hair soothingly. “If I was in your shoes I’d be
scrubbing a brown stain out of my tub right now.” She laughed a little. It made
the tears in her eyes cascade down her cheeks, but it was still good to laugh.
The geek had some talent for consoling a frantic female, and Casey let him
know it.

“You’re pretty good at this,” she sniffled into his sweater vest, “ever
consider a job in counseling?” He shook his head.

“I’m the third of five children, and the only boy. I think my skills at
comforting a distraught female have less to do with clinical skill and more to
do with a monthly self preservation instinct.” Ok, that was decidedly not
smooth, but Casey had to admit he’d been both the white knight and the
sensitive shoulder in her hour of need. One menstruation joke wasn’t reason
enough to go all post-feminist on him. Besides, her relationship with her own
mother and her ridiculous female stereotypical behaviors were pretty strained.
She could only imagine what that must have felt like times five from the
opposite side of the table. If anything, she felt bad she’d dragged him into her
mess. She raised her head to look into his eyes.

“You’ve been nothing but accommodating to me since I got here. I’m sorry
I went off on you like that. I just don’t know what to do.” He returned the
earnest look and ruminated.

“Have you tried the scientific method?” She cocked an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you tried recreating the exact circumstances that led up to your
experience?” She thought about it. In a way, she had. But the circumstance
was just showering. Surely, taking a shower couldn’t trigger an event. She told
Omar as much, but he seemed credulous.

“You’ve had the same reaction on two separate occasions, and both were
predicated by the same event. That’s not, scientifically speaking, a pattern but
it is justification for further testing.”He made an inscrutable face and asked her
the weirdest question she’d ever heard. “Would you mind if I tried out your
shower to see if I get attacked?” Her jaw bobbed for a minute while she
struggled to answer. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask you in with me, I just
want to know if you are the control or the variable. I need you to watch the
bedroom door to see if anyone comes in or out.” The slick scientist returned
with a brilliant reason to get naked in her apartment.

“Yeah, I’d be ok with that.” Her answer was coy, though Omar didn’t seem
to notice.

“Good,” he was all business, “you watch the bedroom door and I’ll shower.
If either of us see’s anything, holler. Sound good?” Casey nodded. “Ok, make
sure you keep both the bathroom and bedroom doors in your line of sight. I’ll
get my trunks.” Out of nowhere, Casey objected. She covered the objection
with scientific reasoning, but her goal was to make Omar blush again.

“Wouldn’t the experiment be hampered by unnecessary wardrobe? I was

naked in the shower, shouldn’t you be too?” He looked like he was about to
object on the grounds of pure modesty, but then his higher brain took over.

“You’re right,” he conceded, “the fewer variables the better.” He glossed

right over her intentional innuendo and began stripping on his way to the
shower, starting with his Birkenstocks. “Let me know if someone comes in
unexpectedly.” Casey was so flabbergasted she had no choice but to do as he
instructed. Five minutes later she was listening to the sounds of an almost
stranger in her shower, using her hygiene products, when the shouting started.

Omar had dictated that an unexpected arrival was to be met with a warning
cry. Casey had seen no one enter or leave the apartment. Truthfully, she hadn’t
been watching her post as carefully as she had been instructed. As quietly as
possible, Casey had crept to the bathroom door to catch an eye-full. Omar had
the curtain dawn, so nothing much was visible apart from the top of his head,
but when he screamed like a girl on fire and tore out of the shower like he’d
just been molested by one of Satan’s own hand maidens, Casey was Johnny on
the spot.

“I heard you screaming,” she excused her instantaneous incursion, “is

everything alright?” Omar reached for anything handy to cover up. As it was
the box of Q-tips and washrag weren’t sufficient. The geek was packin’.

“Something grabbed me!” He looked just as shaken as Casey had felt

earlier. Ignoring his package, Casey pressed him for details.

“You saw him too? What did he look like? How tall was he?” It took Omar
a good minute to calm himself enough to make a description.

“It was Anton,” he wheezed. The significance of the name was lost on
Casey. “I’m sure it was him. I saw over the curtain. He was wearing that same
coat and hat.” She pressed him for more details about Anton.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Casey learned more than a little
about her stalker. Anton Dee, her apartment’s previous tenant, was a
combination physics and chemistry student. His guiding contention was that
everything was a chemical reaction and that life was indistinguishable from
fire on so many levels. For the most part, Casey couldn’t refute his arguments.

Anton had believed that the holy trinity of life was a fair gauge. A thing
must eat, breathe, and reproduce to be classified as living. There was that
fourth pesky qualification, but Anton had explained that away too. If a thing
avoids harm, it must be alive. Fire consumes fuel and oxygen. It doesn’t
reproduce in the strictest sense but it does spread, which is close enough. And
lastly, if a cup of water is poured on a campfire, the flames retreat to the dry
portion of the pit. It wasn’t a perfect analogy, but Casey could see the point.
Fire was a form of life in Anton’s mind; a living thing without a corporeal
body. By extension, that meant that life existed without material form. For all
his scientific research, Omar claimed, Anton was seeking to validate
metaphysics.

“So let me get this straight,” she questioned as Omar dressed (she turned
her back, but she still caught glimpses in the medicine cabinet mirror), “the
ghost of your missing friend, who vanished without a trace, is haunting my
bathroom?” Omar hummed an approval of the assessment as he slipped on his
jeans.

“That’s my working thesis.” He slid his shirt back on. Casey couldn’t
believe how toned he was. Sure, he was really thin, but cut thin. He had a six-
pack! “How does that sound in the world of psychology? Casey?” Right, right;
less drooling, more ghost busting.

“It fits with what you told me about him from a mental standpoint. He
believes in a-physical beings and finds a way to become one. How is the real
question? And why does he only show up when someone is taking a shower?
Was he some kinda perve?” Omar shrugged.

“I never heard him give the first indication that he had a sexuality. He was
one of those driven types who didn’t have anything else to talk about but his
research. Even I own some secular materials, movies and video games and
stuff, and I’m pretty studious. Anton; nada. He didn’t have one thing in here
that functional or educational. Certainly no girly posters or hentai, if that’s
what you’re asking.” It was.

“Well then why does he only show up when there’s a naked, helpless victim
on hand?”Omar stuck out his lower lip.

“I’m not sure that’s the variable we should be focused on. You haven’t seen
him anywhere else but the bathroom, right?” She nodded. “And you were
watching the other entrances when you heard me…uh…call out?” He was
embarrassed about the high-pitched scream, the red in his cheeks made that
obvious. Casey thought that was cute, but it didn’t diminish her own
embarrassment. She tried to deflect the question.

“So he shows up in the bathroom for what reason?” Omar didn’t fall for her
attempt to derail his query.

“You were watching the doors, right?” Casey bit her lip and shook her
head. “Well what were you doing then?” Casey tried to stammer out any
excuse she could think of, but in the end she decided to own up to her
voyeurism.

“I didn’t know you had such a nice body under all that nerd. I just got a
little fixated.” His complexion, which she’d expected to redden, went full on
purple. He like he would die from pure humiliation. Casey felt bad enough for
what she’d done that she wasn’t about to let him think she was mocking him.
“I mean it. You’re a sexy man. I’m sorry I didn’t live up to my end of the
bargain, but after you started undressing I had to get a better look. Forgive
me?” She employed her most fetching pout, the one that had made her father
cave in to every request. Omar was no match for it.

“Of course…I…I didn’t think you liked me, you know, like that.” He
scratched at his arm and dropped his gaze. Years of conditioning by a
predominately female household had made him a punching bag for feminine
tricks. Casey felt worse.

“One way or another, I’m not comfortable here by myself. Would you stay
here tonight?”

“No.” The refusal was so immediate, so absolute that Casey was about to
get vehemently offended. Omar clarified before she could. “We should go to
my place. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with here. Any number of
variables we haven’t taken stock of could be a factor in this…haunting. We
need to be somewhere outside the spectrum of the events. I knew Anton and
my apartment hasn’t been compromised. That means this phenomenon is
localized. Let go to my place and work out the details there. You can even
have my bed, I’ll take the couch.” Casey nodded and grabbed a change of
clothes.

Omar’s apartment was exactly what Casey had envisioned. An enormous

flat-screen TV inhabited one wall opposite a couch that looked like it had been
bought and returned from the same thrift store at least a dozen times. There
were books, movies, and video games aplenty on every available shelf and
dust on all of his flatware. There were only two cups in the whole house, and
one was a used Mc Donald’s forty-four ouncer with the dregs of a who-knew-
how-flat Coke in the bottom. Omar raced around the living space, trying to
tidy up but when Casey took his hand and pulled him towards the couch he put
up no protest.

“Let’s just watch a movie. You got anything funny?” He perked up at the
idea of being able to pick out something humorous.

“You like Monty Python?” She smirked. She’d only ever seen The Holy
Grail.
 “Sounds good.” Omar took a disk from a spindle of burned disk and
jammed it into the PS3.

“And Now for Something Completely Different,” he announced as he

plopped down beside her. After watching the first sketch, Casey had to admit
it was completely different. How not to be seen was a new theme in her life,
and the value of not being seen struck her as both comical and valid.

She held onto Omar’s arm throughout the random misadventures of the
Monty cast, wincing sometimes, laughing the next. By the time the parrot
sketch was presented, she was tired and comfy. She nuzzled Omar’s arm and
cooed at him.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“What’d I do?” He seemed genuinely taken aback.

“You believed me.” With that utterance, Casey fell into a deep, peaceful
slumber. Omar’s alarm clock robbed her of that peace the following morning
promptly at six. Omar tried to stop the noise before it could rouse her, but the
incessant buzzing had destroyed her dreams.

In the dreamscape she had been in her apartment, preparing to shower,

when Isis had brushed up against her leg and cocked an ear.

“You’re not really gonna step foot in that shower again, are you?” The cat’s
question, though perfectly legitimate, was met with a scoff.

“Of course I’m gonna shower! What kind of monster would I be if I went to
class smelling of yesterday’s funk?”

“The live kind.” The cat answered, and skulked off to do cat things. Casey
wasn’t even in the shower before the specter of the previous tenant was on her.
She woke beaded with sweat, in an unfamiliar bed.

“God, I’m sorry,” Omar mumbled, “I forgot I still had this one set.” Casey
sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“Did we sleep together last night?” she yawned. Omar started stuttering.

“N…no! I ju…just p…put you in here after you p…passed out.” Casey
smiled at him and stretched.

“I wasn’t accusing you, I just wanted to know if you slept next to me. I’d
feel bad if you spent the night on your loveseat.” He started to nod, then
switched to shaking his head.

“Yeah, I slept on the…I mean no, I didn’t sleep in the bed. I’ve got to get
ready for class, but you can stay as long as you want. We’ll work more on the
problem later?”

“Sure, I’ve got class today too. I’ll see you around six?” Omar agreed. Six
it was. Casey rose, still dressed in the mish-mash she’d thrown on after her
towel debacle. He hadn’t undressed her. Did that make him a gentleman, or
inconsiderate for letting her sleep fully clothed? Sometimes girl logic didn’t
make sense even to a girl. The question faded as Casey slumped through her
own door. Instinctively, she went to the bathroom and turned ran the faucet in
the tub. She was checking the temperature of the water when the stupidity of
her actions hit her.

Haunted bathroom. Confirmed spirit of previous tenant. Self-styled

occultist and missing person. Summation; turn off the damn water. Casey shut
off the faucet and thought more about the instances surrounding the
phenomena. The attacker had always come from behind the shower curtain.
Maybe his ghost preferred the sneak attack. If she took a bath, maybe he
wouldn’t appear. She knew the risk factor was high, but being able to afford
the working theory a new wrinkle would impress Omar. Oh God, was she
falling for him?

As she collected the plastic portion of the shower curtain and set it outside
the lip of the tub, Casey asked herself in earnest if she was really interested in
the guy. Yup, she decided as she turned the hot water knob up full blast, why
else would she risk life and limb to impress him? If she cared any more about
his esteem she’d have thrown herself at him the night before. She wanted him
to think of her as an equal, mentally and physically, though she doubted that if
their roles had been reversed she could have carried him to bed. So as not to
be caught completely unaware, Casey left the bathroom door wide open. An
egress was a good contingency plan, plus it ensured that Isis would come and
harangue her for submerging. The cat hated it when she took a bath. If she
showered he’d stay the hell off the linoleum. But if she bathed he’d been in
there beside her, yowling like a concerned citizen on site at an attempted
suicide. Isis would keep her safe.

When the tub was filled to just below the smiley face (her dad had called it
that, the chrome circle that hung just below the tap), Casey disrobed and eased
into the steaming water. It was hot, almost too hot, but the heat brought her
nerves to life. Coffee was no match for the rush of feeling the submersion
gave her. And she did submerge.

After the first fifteen minutes enjoying the healing properties of the water,
Casey dipped beneath its surface instinctually. She was under before she
thought about just how vulnerable a position she’d put herself in. A little
leverage and she’d be just another drowning victim. Maybe Omar would raise
a stink, but his voice would never be heard. He’d be passed off as a nut, and
she’d be the girl who couldn’t handle a college setting. The imagined headline,
Overwrought Freshman Drown in Expectation, made her shudder. Casey made
quite a splash as she sat up. It wasn’t the fear of being drowned that preceded
her exodus, it was the fear of looking nuts to those around her. Only Omar
would know her real reasoning, and even he would be hard pressed to think
she’d do anything so stupid. Shampoo, conditioner, and body wash neglected,
Casey vaulted out of the tub carrying a considerable volume of water with her.
Her exit was met with no resistance. The ghost never showed.

After toweling off and selecting her wardrobe for the day, Casey
remembered the dinner she’d forgotten to make an appearance at. No doubt
her dad had brushed it off, telling her mother that other plans had interfered.
Mom would be on the verge of nuclear meltdown, fretting any and all possible
demises of her one and only. Casey took a minute out of her prep time to
address the elephant in the room.

“Hi mom. I’m sorry I spaced dinner last night. I wanted to see you guys but
something came up.” Yeah, a pissed off, self perpetuating entity that wanted to
grope her, but only if she was standing in a shower of falling water. “I’ll catch
you next Sunday,” she promised, “I love you. Bye.” Even in her own ears, the
sentiment sounded dry. ‘Bye, hope I see you again.’ Lip-service at best. She
had a week to figure out what was going on. After that she may as well move
back in with her parents’ because apartment life was proving way too stressful.

Between the haunting, the cute nerd, and classes Casey was in the way of a
huge disaster. Shit, classes! Her courses started today, and since she had opted
for advanced study in a number of subjects, her absence wouldn’t go
unnoticed. She hastily threw on whatever was handy and bolted to her first
class; Abnormal Psychology.

Dr. Lyman was nothing like what Casey had envisioned. In the first place,
she was a woman. In the second, she wore a tweed-free pant-suit. Hell, she
even spoke North American English. Lyman was as far from expectation as
Casey could get from stereotype to actuality. Funny that her first lecture was
on stereotypes.

For her first example, the doctor called up a young man from the assembled
crowd. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was himself, a
stereotype; a clean cut white boy with a five o’ clock shadow and a vague aura
of discomfort. His blue polo shirt and khakis were almost a uniform for Young
Republicans on campus. Casey thought that was perhaps why he’d been
selected for the demonstration. She was half right.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Dr. Lyman announced in a somewhat theatrical

tone, “when you look at this young man, what do you see? Don’t bother
raising your hands; just shout out the first word that comes to mind.” The class
was not overly eager to participate, but there were a few brave souls who
participated.

“Jock,” someone shouted from the back of the auditorium.

“Christian,” another voice fairly accused.

“Individual,” Casey’s comment was out before she could stop her mouth
from moving. Something about watching a young man being appraised solely
on his appearance infuriated her. Maybe it was her own mental appraisal of
him as he approached the podium, maybe it was how many times Omar had
surprised her in the last two days. Either way, the room fell silent after her
offering. Dr. Lyman did not miss the cue.

“Miss…,” she waited for Casey to identify herself.

“Decker. Casey Decker.”

“Well Ms. Decker, I can surmise by your answer that you are either
deliberately missing the point of this exercise, or that you are on the path to
enlightened interpersonal understanding. I hope it is the latter. But I’m afraid
you’ve derailed my point. In a collegiate setting, the terms jock or Christian
are knee jerk reactions based on the context of the surrounding. Mister…,” she
waited again for her subject to identify himself.

“Bernstein,” he answered. A little titter went up from the few in the

audience who caught the implication.

“Mr. Bernstein, do you play any sport on campus?” The boy scratched his
head and answered with a question.

“Does hacky sack count?” There was an uncontrolled roar of laughter from
the class. Dr. Lyman waited for it to quiet on its own before answering him.

“I was referring to organized sports Mr. Bernstein, but since I didn’t make
that clear I’m as guilty as anyone of oversimplification. In the interest of full
disclosure without prejudice, are you a Christian?”

“Yes ma’am; The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.” Another
peel of laughter.

“A Mormon stoner?” someone asked credulously.

“Aha,” Dr. Lyman broke in, “another supposition. Tell me truly Mr.
Bernstein, are you a chronic pot user?” There were more than a few giggles
when she used the word ‘chronic’, but she took the derision in stride.

“No ma’am,” the boy answered, “I take Hap Ki Do and I thought it would
be a good way to practice my kicks.” A room full of bigots silenced their
superior cackling. Casey felt vindicated.

“So, Mr. Bernstein, you are neither a stoner nor a jock, but you are a
Christian?”
 “Yes ma’am.” The poor guy looked like he wanted nothing more in the
world than to be off the stage and back into ignominy.

“Then let’s all take this in, shall we?” Dr. Lyman released him from his
torment with a wave of her hand, and he scampered back to his seat at speed.
“All but one of the broad generalizations about this young man was fallacious.
Well, there was Ms. Decker’s comment, but that was a truly blanket statement.
While I had planned on using your collective presuppositions to illustrate the
point in a different way, this will suffice. Perception, especially uninformed
perception, is not only mostly wrong, it is contextually driven. Image you’d
seen Mr. Bernstein in a Wal-Mart and you were searching for a specific item
you couldn’t find. In spite of the fact that he bore no nametag or company
logo, you wouldn’t hesitate to ask him where to find the item, would you?” It
took Casey a moment to grasp her meaning, but she caught on; a blue shirt and
khakis. He must be an employee.

“Stereotypes are not always the evil that the word has come to connote. If
you see a person in a red vest and bow tie standing beneath the awning of a
restaurant with valet parking, you most certainly will not assume that they are
the chef. On the other hand, assuming that they are a valet in good standing
with the restaurant is an equally dubious presumption. A valet uniform is made
up of no more than five parts that can easily be purchased at a J.C. Penny’s.
The point of this demonstration was not to make you doubt your every
perception, but to take into account the level to which you ascribe to
stereotypical social norms. Any person is bound to be much deeper than their
outward appearance. My best advice is not to let the outward appearance
inform your actions without consideration. Remember kids, people have
dressed up as police for the express purpose of committing crimes.”

A whole new line of inquiry opened in Casey’s mind. She’d been judging
her haunter’s actions based on presumption of guilt. He was an occultist, he
was a loner, and therefore he was malign. Perhaps her metaphysical stalker
was all about a different purpose she hadn’t considered. She stayed after class
to get her new favorite teacher’s input on the problem at hand. Dr. Lyman
noticed her almost immediately after leaving her office. She cocked her head
and squinted at the girl left behind. Casey was not too shy to take advantage of
the attention.

“Ms. Decker, is there something you wanted me to clarify?” Casey took in

a deep breath, filled with consternation. It was now or never. She blurted out
her troubles in one brief, uninterrupted monologue.

“I moved into the home of a guy Hell bent on proving the existence of an
afterlife. He’s attacked me and my neighbor once each. I just wanted to ask if
you believe in the paranormal, and if you do, what steps I should take to
remedy the situation?” Dr. Lyman stood, her jaw slack, trying to make sense of
Casey’s plea. After a minute or so, Casey gave up hope. “I’m sorry to have
wasted your time.” She stood and gathered her things before Dr. Lyman
stopped her in her tracks. Her hand was cold and wet on Casey’s shoulder.

“What kind of phenomena have you experienced?” Casey warmed to the

unalloyed belief.

“Me and Omar, that’s the guy who lives across the hall from me, have seen
and felt the intruder.” Dr. Lyman fell silent for a moment, and then she began a
barrage of questions.

“You never smelled anything out of place?” Casey shook her head. “You
never found yourself tasting foreign substances or hearing sounds you couldn’t
explain?” No, she hadn’t. As Dr. Lyman continued squeezing her for the
details of her life, Casey noticed a pattern. The doc wasn’t asking about the
haunting at all, she was ruling out insanity. After about the twelfth query about
her mental hygiene Casey snapped.

“I didn’t make this up to get your attention, and I’m not crazy!” She knew
full well that nobody, not even those who peeled off their own faces, thought
they were crazy. It was kind of a nil-sum statement. But she had corroboration
(unless Omar was a hallucination too).

“Please don’t misunderstand me Ms. Decker. I want to believe you. I just

need to be sure of the circumstances of your particular event.” ‘Event,’ that
was a fairly novel way to characterize having the shit scared out of you by a
bathroom boogeyman. “You seem like a bright young woman, so I surmise
you’ve decided I’m questioning your sanity. I am, but I’m also questioning
you to assess what kind of phenomenon you’re describing. Paranormal
research has become a thing of rote in recent years, and any story conforming
to those parameters too rigidly is suspect in my mind. EMF meters and
thermal imaging is all fine and well, but it’s a failing of the human mind to
believe that technology is the answer to questions that predate the wheel.”
Casey could see what she was getting at. Precise digital equipment used to
figure out almost exclusively qualitative events did seem counterintuitive.
Radio static and nitrate film were subject to all kinds of interference, but a
thermoscope just recorded temperature change. Casey warmed to the
perspective.

“So you do believe me?” She held her breath as she waited for Dr. Lyman’s
answer. She didn’t have to hold it long.

“Yes Ms. Decker, I believe you. Furthermore, I think you may be involved
in something far more involved than a simple haunting. You mentioned the
previous tenant and his proclivities. Were you acquainted?” Casey shook her
head.

“No. Omar, my neighbor, told me about him. They talked I guess.” Dr.
Lyman pursed her lips.

“I should like to meet Omar and discuss this with him as well. Would there
be a good time to call on you both?” As it happened…

“Six tonight. We’re supposed to meet at my place at six.” Dr. Lyman

frowned.

“I have a class to teach until seven-thirty. Could I persuade you both to

remain outside your apartment until eight? I promise, I’ll be over as soon as I
can.” Casey nodded effusively. The offer of an accredited professional was all
the impetus she needed to stay out of her little corner of the world. Not to
mention, it would give her time to let Omar comfort her. Sexy nerd.

“Definitely,” she answered. Once she’d scrawled out her address on a piece
of notebook paper and handed it over to Dr. Lyman she felt a weight lift from
her shoulders. It didn’t matter that she was late to her next class, she was being
taken seriously by a scholar. The rest of the day was a haze. She attended her
classes and absorbed nothing. There was help on the way.

Casey stood in the parking lot, puffing on one of her menthols like a mad
woman, until she spotted Omar. At a distance of fifty feet, she ran to throw her
arms around him. She caught him in the crosswalk and was chastised by a
number of car horns that she ignored. Her knight in shining flannel was here to
protect her. After he’d ushered her out of the road, Omar asked her what was
up. She explained about her morning, about Dr. Lyman, and about their
appointment later that night.

“She asked me not to go in till she gets here. Can I hang out in your place
till then?” Casey employed her wide-eyed innocent look. Omar was putty in
her hands.

“Yeah…definitely. I’ll make us something to eat and we can watch some

more Python or whatever.” He was so sweet.

It turned out that when Omar had offered to make dinner, what he meant
was thaw some fish sticks and make a batch of Kraft mac and cheese. No
doubt there were better cooks out there, but Casey enjoyed the comfort food.
At least he tried. God knew any other guy would have pointed her to the
kitchen and demanded a sandwich for the trouble of raising his arm. Omar
even lit candles (tea candles, but candles nonetheless).

“Is it ok?” He asked after her first bite of Macaroni. Poor guy, he’d
probably been assaulted relentlessly about his cooking for years growing up in
an all female household. Truth be told, there isn’t a whole lot a person can do
to fuck up mac and cheese. But rather than dilute the formula, Omar had found
a way to make it richer.

“It’s really good actually,” Casey remarked around a mouthful, “what’s your
secret?”

“It’s an inversion of the butter to milk ratio,” he whispered conspiratorially,

“butter makes it taste cheesier. Milk just keeps it from sticking.” Still talking
like a chemist. If only the poor fool knew how pretty he was.

“Thank you Omar. It’s really sweet of you to do all this for me.” He scoffed
unconvincingly. Of course he would have made a full blown meal for himself
if she hadn’t been in attendance. Right. And maybe he would have hauled his
own unmentionables to the Laundromat if his ass hadn’t started to hurt from
all the dirty boxers he’d been wearing. Casey saw through him in a heartbeat,
and fell for him all the harder because of it. “I mean it. Thank you. You took
me in when most people would shun me as a nut job. You’re special.” She
took a moment to nuzzle up to him. He didn’t object.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered in hushed tones, “anytime.” Casey buried

her face deeper into his limited love-handles. It was there that she found a
peace that was only broken by Dr. Lyman’s insistent knocking, or maybe by
Omar’s shift in body mass. Either way, once her human pillow disappeared
she was pulled back to her own harsh reality again.

“You must be Omar,” the doctor was glad-handing her protector at his own
front door, “a pleasure to meet you. Is Casey here?” Omar, chivalrous through
and through, showed Dr. Lyman in and sat her across from Casey and took up
an unoccupied scrap of carpet. Dr. Lyman eyeballed the situation before she
voiced her professional opinion. “Ms. Decker, if I’ve interrupted something I
can come back at a later date, but you gave me the impression that this was a
matter of some urgency.” Casey snapped to, almost as though on command.
Bolt upright, she addressed the PHD.

“No,” her pitch was high, almost a squeal of protest, “don’t leave. We
waited like you asked.” Omar was eager to back up the report with vigorous
nodding. “I was just…I mean we were just having dinner.” Lyman shot her a
look that bespoke the value of honesty, but said nothing about the deception
she was complicit in.

“In that case, Ms. Decker, may I see your apartment now?” Casey nodded.
The three of them entered the space across the hall tremulously. When Isis
bolted out the door and into the hall, it was Casey who swore.

“Fucking cat!” The expletive was just that, pure and simple. She’d reacted
to the feline skirting her leg as anyone might have. Both Omar and Dr. Lyman
shot her dirty looks, but Casey played it off. “I’m supposed to know when a
cat is gonna freak out now?” No rational person could argue the sense in that
rhetorical question. The trio returned their attention to the task at hand.

Casey led them into her apartment, turning on every light she had as they
progressed toward the bathroom. It didn’t matter that the haunting was
confined to the lavatory; the alien presence had made her feel like all bets
were off. She didn’t set foot on the tile of the feared room when she got to it,
she just shot her hand into the dark and flipped in the light switch as quickly as
she could, drawing her hand back as quickly and inspecting it for bite marks.
There were none. The neat little bathroom looked as innocent as it had the day
she’d been shown the apartment. Not that it would ever look truly innocent to
her again, but there were no overt indication of the supernatural. Dr. Lyman
stalked past Casey onto the tile floor, her high heels producing a rhythmic
tapping.

“Well it certainly doesn’t look like a gateway to the beyond. Apart from the
toiletries and towels, did you have to supply anything else yourself?” Casey
shook her head.

“No. There was a curtain on the rod and a roll of toilet paper on the spool
when I moved in.” Dr. Lyman regarded the shower curtain with mild disgust.

“Mister…,” just as she had in class, Dr. Lyman waited for Omar to offer his
last name.

“Curtis.”

“Mr. Curtis, Casey tells me you knew the previous occupant and that he had
a fixation on the occult?”

“Yeah, Anton was always going off about metaphysics and how to
scientifically prove life was not just a collection of cells.” Dr. Lyman frowned
and nodded a little as she considered the idea. “Between his studies in
chemistry and physics he figured he could prove the existence of other planes
of reality.”

“And he went missing?”

“Yes ma’am.”
 “Did you notice anything different on the night he disappeared?” Omar
cocked his head to the side with one eyebrow up and the other down. He’d
never been asked the question before.

“Not the night he disappeared, but the next morning there was no hot water.
The water heaters in this building are set in sequence so when one empties the
next one in line gets tapped. Theoretically, it should give the other heaters
enough time to fill and warm again before their back in the rotation. But the
morning after Anton vanished there was no hot water at all. I had to pull a five
minute scrub and rinse before my Johnson crawled up inside my…,” both
Casey and Dr. Lyman were looking at him with mild horror. He opted not to
finish the thought. Instead he added, “It was cold.” Dr. Lyman took a moment
to arrange her thoughts before asking her next question.

“You endeavored to recreate the exact conditions Casey had been under
when you saw the apparition?”

“Yes.”

Instead of disgust, there was a faint air of wonder on Dr. Lyman’s face as
she regarded the shower curtain again. She began inspecting the shield, both
the outer, fabric portion and the plastic inner lining. When she gasped, Casey
nearly jumped out of her skin.

“What is it?” Casey asked.

“We need to take this back to my lab to have it analyzed.” Dr. Lyman was
still running her fingers over the surface of the vinyl, her face twitching every
time she felt an irregularity. Ignoring her self-preservation instincts, Casey
walked over to the horrid basin and began feeling for herself. There were
patterns etched into the plastic. Not deep obvious gouges, but subtle marks
that could have been made by a needle. The realization of what was going on
caught her all at once.

“My shower curtain is possessed?” Dr. Lyman scowled at her.

“No Casey, your shower curtain is a door. It doesn’t open both ways like
Anton had intended, but it is a door nonetheless. Your friend succeeded Mr.
Curtis.” Omar seemed to take her meaning immediately. “Anton proved his
theory, and I would like to see the results. If you two would indulge me, I’d
like to see for myself.” She took off her shoes. “Mr. Curtis, I’d like you to
watch the front door. Ms. Decker, please guard the bedroom. If I should call
out for help, by all means answer. Up until that point, leave me to my own
devices. Is that agreeable?” Omar nodded. Casey wanted to slam their heads
together until something like sense fell out.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’ve got physical evidence that
this guy hopped into another plane of being, and you want to tempt him to
come play in ours? You’re both nuts! Do what you want you want, but I’m
outta here.” Omar took her arm as she tried to walk out.

“Casey, this is our best chance to get validation for our suspicions. We’ve
got a professor here with us. What’s your problem?” Casey slapped his hand
away.

“What’s my problem? My problem is that we’re about to let a professor try

what you and I already know is a bad idea in my home. What if she’s not as
lucky as we were and Anton gets her? What if that thing just looks like Anton,
but it’s something a whole lot less predictable? What if the bogeyman doesn’t
show up and I’m left looking like a complete lunatic?” She was on the verge
of hyperventilating when Omar wrapped his arms around her.

“I know you’re not crazy,” he whispered and kissed the crown of her head,
“if she doesn’t see him we’ll figure out what to do ourselves. It could be as
simple as just buying a new shower curtain.” Casey squeezed him back and
chuckled. That would be amusing; if the cure for a haunting was a trip to Bed
Bath and Beyond. Dr. Lyman cleared her throat.

“Ahem. If you’re both satisfied with the plan, I’d like to get on with this
experiment.” Casey could understand her impatience if she was half as
interested in the paranormal as she claimed, but this was not an experiment. If
anything it was verification of an accidental discovery. And it was a stupid one
at that. But Casey sighed and stood her post, as did Omar. “Is there anything
special I should do to get this right?” Casey thought about lying to her just to
hamper the attempt, but she’d brought the doctor this far. No reason to chicken
out now.

“You have to keep the door shut and run the water hot.” Dr. Lyman smiled.

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t the opposite.” She marched confidently into the
bathroom, her heels still clacking on the floor until she removed them. When
Omar heard the water running, he shot Casey a brief glance that said he wasn’t
sure about the genius of this plan either. For that one split second, Casey could
see how afraid Omar really was. When he turned to face the front door again,
she could see the little hairs on the back of his neck standing bolt upright.
Casey suspected there was more to Anton’s sinister side than Omar had let on,
but there would be time to wheedle it out of him later. For now, they had a
PhD to scare out of her skin.

The minutes passed like molasses through a pinhole. Omar never took his
eyes off the front door after the shower began to run. Casey tried to share his
diligence, but the waiting was unbearable. Just the sound of the cascading
water made her heart flutter. People like to tell themselves how strong and
brave they’d be in the face of the unnatural, but nobody really knows what
they’ll do until they’re thrown into that scenario. Casey was kinda grateful she
hadn’t encountered something more ubiquitous. She could live with taking
baths for the rest of her life, but what if her encounter had come in bed or in
the dark? Would she sleep in a chair with the lights on for the rest of her life?
Who knew? Even if it was just the curtain, that much of the unseen world was
enough to make the ticking of Omar’s watch audible across the living room.
Casey thought she might go mad counting her own heartbeats between the
time it took for the sluggish timepiece to tick off the next second. Just when
she wanted to scream and go home to her mother’s prattle and her father’s
football Dr. Lyman screamed for her.

Casey had thought that Dr. Lyman would be better equipped to face the
specter than either she or Omar. Apparently, Dr. Lyman was not. Her shriek of
terror rivaled a boiling tea kettle in both pitch and duration. She also graced
the startled students with a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of her well
maintained figure, as nude as the day she was born. Casey couldn’t find the
will to act. It was Omar that pulled a decorative blanket from the back of
Casey’s rocking chair and draped it around Dr. Lyman’s shoulders. That took a
couple of tries. The first time the cloth met her skin, Dr. Lyman redoubled the
ferocity of her screams ran to the other side of the bedroom. It was only after a
great number of reassurances and soothing platitudes that Omar was able to
convince her to accept the makeshift garment. Many more reassurances later,
Dr. Lyman began to come out of her panic.

“I…I thought it would just be an image! You didn’t tell me it could touch
me! It reached through the damn curtain and grabbed me!”

“I told you we felt him.” Casey was on the defensive. She hadn’t wanted to
let the good doctor try in the first place, she wasn’t about to take a guilt trip
over it. Omar scowled at her. ‘Not helping,’ the look said.

“I thought you meant there was a feeling, an oppressive air, not vinyl
fucking hands!” Omar clenched his jaw muscles and shifted his head back
and forth ever so slightly. ‘Don’t harass the distraught psychiatrist, we might
need her.’ Omar was really good at talking without his voice. “It touched me!”
The mixed loathing and horror was written all over Dr. Lyman’s face in a
thousand creases and lines. When a leathery flapping sound echoed from them
bathroom she stood and forgot about her modesty again, backing into the
furthest corner from the noise and unconsciously clawing at the wall behind
her. Casey was sure that if the plaster had given way under those carefully
manicured nails, the last they would have seen of Dr. Lyman would be her
shapely ass bouncing off into the night.

“Omar, will you check it out?” Casey asked. Omar’s face drained of all its
limited color.

“Why me?” Sexist as it was, Casey wasn’t above playing the damsel in
distress when there was a phantom spirit invading her facilities.

“You’re Mister Scowls, go make mean face at your buddy until he takes the
hint.” That was a cheap shot, but he’d earned it playing protector of the
academic mass of naked jelly still trying to claw its way out of the corner.

“Will you come with me?” There was a childlike quality to the request; a
big brother needing his little sister’s hand so he could check the closet for
monsters. It was endearing. Casey unconsciously took his hand and the pair
tiptoed toward the fluttering.

Dr. Lyman had pulled the bathroom door shut behind her as she ran out.
There was light and steam pouring from beneath the barrier. Omar’s hand
shook as he reached for the knob. He turned it slowly, as though he thought
the sound might attract the shroud’s wrath. When he had the brass fitting
turned all the way, he flung the door wide open. The scene within was the stuff
of a child’s nonsensical nightmares.

Through the thick steam Casey could see the hands the curtain had formed,
straining to reach further than rod above would allow. The hands flailed and
clawed like the limbs of a drowning man. There was no ambition, no design in
their desperate groping. To Casey, it looked like the owner of those hands just
wanted out of the translucent sheet they’d been resigned to. In spite of the fear
the sight inspired, Casey couldn’t help but feel sorry for the prisoner. Omar
shifted toward the tub. Casey held him back.

“No,” she whispered, “watch.” As the steam gradually wafted out of the
room, the curtain began to still its commotion. Little by little, as the air cleared
the thrashing became a pleading reach, a weak pawing, until the cloth and
plastic stilled all together. Calm as it seemed, Casey still shouted at Omar
when he lunged for the faucet and shut it off.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Casey punched him in the shoulder
when he returned to her side.

“Ow! I was just taking advantage of the situation. Nobody wants that thing
moving, and the water seems to have something to do with it.” Casey thought
about the bath she’d taken. There had been no trouble when she left the door
open, and just now it had seemed like the restless spirit had grown less and
less violent as the steam cleared. It was the steam that was the key.

Casey shared her suspicions with Omar. When she got to the part about
taking a bath after leaving his apartment, he looked like he might blow a
gasket but he held his peace until she’d finished her summation. After a few
beats in silence, he articulated his response.
“I can’t believe you would endanger yourself like that, knowing full well what
could happen.” Casey looked at her feet and shrugged.

“It was stupid, I know, but we have a working theory now. It’s the water, or
the heat, or some combination of the two. It doesn’t matter if there’s a boy or a
girl in the shower, or how educated or old they are. The thing reacts to the
concentration of moisture in the air.” Omar cocked his head and put on his
‘eureka’ face. “What?” Casey asked.

“Water is the universal solvent. Even oils will dissolve in water if it’s hot
enough. Anton used to talk about it constantly. What if water is more than a
solvent? What if it’s the universal gate?” Casey considered the idea.

“But what about his ‘fire is alive’ speech? Water and fire aren’t friends.”
Omar answered that in an instant.

“Normally water and fire don’t cooperate, but then there are gas or oil fires.
You throw a bucket of water on one of those and all you do is spread the fire.”
Solid point. “Everybody knows the human body is mostly water, but the rest is
protein. That same protein, decomposing in the right conditions for the right
amount of time, becomes petroleum. Petroleum not only fuels fire, it’s the
base chemical ingredient for the plastic that makes up the angry part of that
shower curtain.” Also true. Casey didn’t know how any of that was helpful,
but it was an interesting diagnosis of her problem. Dr. Lyman agreed.

“You’re quite right Mr. Curtis.” She’d regained her composure though she
was still wrapped in a Navajo blanket. “Chemically speaking, your friend in
the curtain still bears a great deal in common with his former incarnation. But
water is the key to life as we know it. I don’t think we are dealing with a
ghost. I think your friend altered his state of being so drastically he fused his
conscious mind to the curtain, but he cannot act without the water vital to any
cognoscente action.” Well, she’d certainly regained her mental superiority, if
not her clothes.

“But how does that help? I mean, yeah, I’m gonna replace my shower
curtain, but can we do anything for Anton? I feel bad for him.” Dr. Lyman
passed between Casey and Omar and began to pick up her discarded
wardrobe.

“I can study the notes he left on the curtain, but if I figure them out the best
I can hope for is to trap myself in there with him. Reversing what’s happened
here might be impossible. His body was never discovered, therefore, it was
incorporated. I’m not sure it can be extracted.” Casey grimaced. While she’d
watched the curtain slowly lose its will, she had felt bad for the mind that
drove it to reach for something beyond itself. “I was hoping for this.” Casey
did a double…no, triple take at the admission. “I didn’t get into abnormal
psych for the likes of Ted Bundy. I wanted to be the preeminent authority on
the life beyond. I’ll tell you what, you let me publish my findings and take the
curtain off your hands tonight.” Between her teacher’s enthusiasm and the
promise of a ghost free apartment, Casey couldn’t help but be a little
enthusiastic about the simplicity of the cleansing.

“It’s all yours doc. We’ll let you get dressed.” Casey dragged Omar into the
living room. Once they were out of sight, Casey threw her arms around
Omar’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t deep or passionate, if
anything it was brief and clumsy, but it was a kiss and when Omar’s lips left
hers his eyes were still closed; a good sign. “She can take the shower curtain
and anything else she wants but I still don’t feel safe. Could I stay with you
again tonight?” Omar’s mouth opened and closed for a while until his lungs
finally broke in on the act.

“Yeah,” he croaked. Casey kissed his cheek.

“Thank you…for everything.” Omar beamed and brushed an errant curl

over her ear.

“My pleasure.” As chivalrous as ever. The moment was broken by another

of Dr. Lyman’s signature harrumphs.

“As touching as this is, I’d like to get to work analyzing this item and
you’re blocking the door.” Omar opened the door for the doctor and bowed
graciously. Anyone but Casey might have seen the gesture as pure theatrics,
but she knew Omar meant it as obeisance to his new love’s savior.

“Thank you Dr. Lyman. I think I can speak for both of us when I say we
don’t want any credit in your study. Take that thing and do what you will with
it, we’ll be watching Monty Python.” The good doctor exited with far more
pride than she’d displayed mere minutes earlier. Casey and Omar paid her no
attention. They were too wrapped up in each other’s gaze as they crossed the
hall into Omar’s apartment.

‘Frightened children,’ Emma Lyman thought of her two subjects as she

sped toward the campus parking lot, ‘they’ll regret not being a part of this
study. Oh well, more credit for me.’ She threw her Subaru into park in a
teachers’ only space, grabbed the cursed curtain, and began her long walk
toward the science building.

In sight of the science building doors, Dr. Lyman strode confidently with
her trophy. This sheet of plastic would make her name immortal, though
holding it was still somewhat disquieting. When she heard a pop, followed by
a hiss, she jumped. It was just the sprinklers coming on. Without a second’s
hesitation, Emma employed the curtain as a shield from the spray. When she
felt the hands at her throat, she knew she’d made a grave mistake.

The plastic paws fumbled around her head until they found a suitable
purchase around her throat. Once settled there, they were immovable. Worse
still, when she reached for the hands, the rest of the curtain fell over her like a
wet blanket. From all sides the curtain engulfed her, suffocating her skin and
lungs. As the world passed beyond her understanding, Emma Lynch had the
impression that she’d been drowned by a flailing swimmer, out of their depth
in the deep end of the pool.

Casey awoke early and made breakfast. She had to retrieve a few items
from her own fridge, but that wasn’t such a chore. Her apartment seemed
benign now, with the watery demon banished. Omar woke to coffee, eggs and
bacon. There was even sourdough toast. The lovers reveled in their first
morning (second really) together and enjoyed a leisurely repast before they
had to go their separate ways. Casey let Omar shower first, and once he was
off, she made use of his hot water. The cascade felt soothing, healing even.
Maybe she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life afraid of showering.

In a towel, Casey rushed to her own apartment door and slid the key into
the lock. She would have to dress and get to class in a big hurry if she intended
on thanking her heroine with any measure of punctuality. Casey felt her efforts
should have been televised as she made the acceptable standard of beauty in
under fifteen minutes. She jogged off to class glowing.

When she arrived at the lecture hall, Casey was told by a classmate that Dr.
Lyman hadn’t shown up yet. After the requisite fifteen minutes, police arrived.
Dr. Lyman had been suffocated with a shower curtain the night before, the
police said. Casey shuddered to think what would happen when that curtain
was tested for DNA.

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