Waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I started scrolling through a social media thread. The title was: 【Day One of a Gen-Xer chasing a Gen-Z beauty—Hiding in her toilet to secretly enjoy her scent.】 A chill ran down my spine. Thinking it was just some creepy old man's disgusting fantasy, I recoiled in disgust and swiped away. After washing my hands, I realized I’d misplaced my phone. I called out to my voice assistant to find it: "Hey, Siri." The next second, my body went numb. Two Siri voices answered simultaneously from within the bathroom. "I'm here." "I'm here." One came from the crack behind the sink. The other came from inside the toilet. 1 I froze, my heart beating so hard I thought it would burst. The one behind the sink was mine. But whose phone was in the toilet? My mind flashed back to the post I just saw. A wave of cold air crawled up my vertebrae. Was there actually someone hiding in my bathroom? I mustered the courage to inspect the toilet. It was solid porcelain—no cracks, no hidden compartments. The tank was larger, but there was no way a grown man could fit inside. I let out a shaky breath, mocking myself for being paranoid after reading that sick post. My nerves were just shot. But just as I turned to head back to my bedroom— Rustle... rustle... In the silence, the faint sound of fabric rubbing against fabric drifted from the toilet area. My muscles tensed. I slowly turned my head. The toilet sat there, perfectly normal. Nothing out of place. To settle my mind once and for all, I shouted again: "Hey, Siri!" "I'm here." This time, only the phone on the sink responded. Complete silence from the toilet. I sighed. I’d been working too many double shifts at the hospital. Auditory hallucinations. Back in my room, I closed my eyes but sleep wouldn't come. Possessed by a dark curiosity, I opened the app again and clicked on that thread. The skin on my arms pebbled instantly. The user had updated two minutes ago. 【The beauty just came to the bathroom. I was right under her. I could smell her... she smells so sweet!】 【That pink silk pajama set is too cute. I can already imagine holding her while we sleep.】 I looked down at my brand-new pink pajamas. My stomach churned, and my heart began to hammer against my ribs. 2 This couldn't be a coincidence. It was too specific. My fingers trembling, I scrolled up to find the description of the "target." Born in 2000. Big eyes, pale skin. 5'7". A nurse at the City General Hospital. That was me. Every single word. But the user claimed he lived on the same floor of the same building—that they saw each other every day. There are only four apartments on my floor. Across the hall, the two units are dark and caked in dust, clearly empty. My only neighbor is Mrs. King, a single mom with a small child. There are no adult men on this floor, let alone a "Gen-Xer." Still, a deep, primal fear took hold. I typed a comment with shaking hands: "Aren't you afraid her family will come after you for doing something so disgusting?" I waited. No reply. I scrolled through the other comments. Half were calling him a freak; the other half were asking how he fit in a toilet. But a few twisted users were egging him on: 【Bro, you're already in her house. Why hesitate? Fortune favors the bold. Do it!】 【Exactly. You're holding your breath in a toilet just for a scent? Just push the door open and claim her. She'll be yours by morning. It's a rush!】 The original poster replied almost instantly: 【You're right. I’m taking her tonight!】 A split second later. Thud. A soft sound came from the direction of the bathroom. Then... tap, tap, tap, tap... Light, rhythmic footsteps were moving from the bathroom toward my bedroom. Someone was actually in my house. I stopped breathing. I lunged for the bedroom door and slammed the lock shut. Tap, tap, tap... The footsteps stopped right outside my door. Every floorboard creak felt like a gunshot. I pressed myself against the wall, sweat pouring down my face. The doorknob turned slowly. Creak. I covered my mouth with both hands, terrified of making a sound. The knob rattled again, more insistently this time. I thanked God I had locked it. But before I could feel relief, a low, faint chuckle drifted through the wood. My phone screen lit up. A notification from the app. He had replied to my comment. 【I’m not afraid of her family. She’s an orphan. She has no one.】 3 Terror swallowed me whole. It was me. I was raised in an orphanage. I had no family. The comment confirmation was the final nail. The predator was standing inches away. BAM! BAM! BAM! The door shook under a violent kick. Then another. He must have grabbed a tool because the wood began to splinter. CRACK. "Ms. Madison, I've loved you for so long. Just open the door!" The voice was deep, raspy, and dripping with excitement. It was a voice I had never heard in my life. The door was just cheap wood. He was going to break through. I ran to the balcony. Fifteen floors up. The height made my head spin, but the door behind me was already showing a hole. I climbed over the railing, my hands death-gripped on the cold metal. CRASH! The bedroom door gave way. In the final second, I swung myself out, grabbing onto the external fire pipe and shimmying toward the hallway window. My apartment is right next to the stairwell. I scrambled through the open hallway window. I saw the elevator was down on the 1st floor. I couldn't wait. I turned to the stairs. I had only made it down one flight when— STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed from above. He was coming for me. I ducked into a janitor’s closet on the 14th floor. I huddled in the corner behind mops and buckets, sending a 911 text with trembling thumbs. The footsteps thundered past the door. They didn't stop. They kept going down. I let out a sob of relief. My body slumped. Then, my phone began to blare. The ringtone was deafening in the cramped space. An unknown number. It had to be him. He was using the ringtone to find me. The footsteps downstairs stopped instantly. 4 I silenced the phone, but it was too late. The footsteps were racing back up. He was only one floor away. I couldn't outrun him now. My brain went into overdrive. I needed a weapon. I needed a distraction. My eyes landed on an old toolbox in the corner. Inside were wrenches, screwdrivers, and several unsealed bottles of industrial cleaning solvent. I grabbed a bottle and a rag. An improvised Molotov. I soaked the rag in the solvent, the acrid smell filling my lungs. As the footsteps reached the door, I sparked my lighter. The rag caught. I hurled the bottle at the door just as it swung open. SHATTER! The bottle clipped his shoulder before exploding on the floor. "Damn it!" the man screamed. Smoke and blue flames erupted in the doorway. I didn't wait. I dove out the small closet window, clinging to the gas line pipe outside. My hands were numb against the freezing metal. Inside, the fire was small but the smoke was thick. I heard him coughing, cursing. I looked down. 13th floor. The balconies below were all glass-enclosed. No way in. I was trapped on a pipe. "Ms. Madison! Catch this!" I looked up. My neighbor, Mrs. King, was leaning over her railing, throwing down a makeshift rope made of bedsheets. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the rope, tested its strength, and hauled myself up. Scrape. Scrape. The man had reached the balcony below me. I felt something strike the heel of my shoe. I pulled my legs up, heart hammering, and finally rolled over Mrs. King's railing. She pulled me inside and slammed the sliding door shut. "Don't worry," she panted. "I'm a single mom. I had this place reinforced with high-impact security glass and deadbolts. He’s not getting in." I nodded, gasping for air. Sure enough, we heard a muffled thud against the door, followed by a stream of low-frequency curses. After a few futile attempts, the noise stopped. Soon, sirens wailed below. The police had arrived. Following my directions, they swarmed the building and caught a man in the lobby. He was tall, dressed as a delivery driver, covered in soot, with singed pant legs. Even as they cuffed him, he stared at me with a terrifying intensity. A delivery guy? Why did it still feel wrong?
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