The Creepy Little Girl in the Restroom

I really needed to number two. I guess that’s kind of been the theme lately. Anyway, I rush into the back of the restroom and pick the second to last stall– because that’s polite and all, right?

So I’m sitting there doing my business (keep in mind this is usually a pretty empty restroom), when I hear footsteps. “I wonder which one I should pick?” Her deliberate footsteps echoed as she proceeded down the line of stalls. I saw a small blurred figure inbetween the cracks of the stall door. Why are the cracks always made so big? “I wonder which one I should pick? I think I’ll pick…” Then she hooked her foot with the white shoe underneath my stall door. “This one.” I panicked. All sorts of thoughts raced through my mind: you better not come in. What are you doing with that foot in the door? am I about to murder a little girl? am I going to be in jail? is she going to climb under here? But come ON! I was pooping; I was defenseless.

In the midst of my confusion, I saw an eye trying to peek in and froze in terror. I calmly answered, “Um, well. There’s someone in here.”

“Oh!” she twirled herself around and continued speaking out loud. “Then I’ll pick… This one.” Okay, great. The stall right next to mine. I saw the pair of little shoes hop its way over. Okay, so it is a little girl, I confirmed with myself. This is awkward.

Her feet dangled and she began moving them back and forth. “I wish I had a mommy. I wish Mommy didn’t leave me. And a daddy. I wish I had a mommy and a daddy. Then I would have a family.” She repeated variations of this for a while. The tone in her voice made me think she was expecting a reply. Should I be calling child services? “That would be so great. I could have a home. I wish Mommy didn’t leave me here. But nope.” She flushed. I heard more footsteps. Oh thank god. Now she’ll have to murder all of us instead of just me. Two women came in, one to a stall and another to wash her hands. “Have you seen my mommy?” the little girl asked the woman washing her hands. The woman was taken aback at first.

“No, I haven’t,” she said patiently. “Do you know where your mommy is?” I don’t remember what the girl said, but next thing you know I hear rapid little footsteps prancing out of the restroom and the door closed conclusively. I wondered if I was dreaming.

“It was a ghost!” was the first thing my roommate, Erika, said later that night when I recollected the experience. What do you think? Is the little girl a creep, a troll, or a figment of imagination?

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