The Creepiness That Lurks
My gym workout was complete. I headed into the locker room to grab my stuff. Deciding to shower at home, I marked out a spot on a bench to change out of my sweaty clothes. I paused though. Being distracted by a very distinct sound. A grotesque. Yet familiar one. I listened. But hence. It came no more.
Maybe I heard wrong. That damp space was crowded, chaotic, and noisy. Plenty of strange things clicked to life from the cacophony of cell phones. Locks snapped open and shut. Athletes were clanging and mixing their protein drinks in bottles.
I proceeded with my exit routine. Opening my locker. Grabbing my duffel bag and setting it next to me on my seat. Checking my own Android device to see if that somehow produced the awful, harsh sound I heard in that jarring moment.
Amidst the hullabaloo, I changed into a dry T-shirt, underwear, and shorts. Then before attending to my feet. It came again. That mangled sound. Piercing the air with its unnerving quality. That repugnance furiously swept around the metal rows of lockers. It couldn't be what I thought. That would be utterly ghastly. Not in the middle of this many men and boys moving about.
Once more it ceased. All the fellas around me just carried on. Seemingly oblivious. I wondered if none of my health club mortals were hearing this grim and grating noise too. And feeling horrified by it all. I felt I was doubting my sanity. Perhaps I was going a little mad. Only imagining it.
It would be understandable. I was exhausted from a long day of meetings. Followed by an hour of cardio exercise on both the bike and the elliptical machine. Adding to that my howling hunger pains and my monster thirst for Gatorade. Fatigue had me in its gruesome clutches.
Here I was. Simply wanting to get home and shower and eat my dinner. So I nudged myself out of that trance. Forgetting about those weird noises. Pulling off my shoes and socks. I then searched my bag without success for the extra black socks I'd packed.
Barefoot. I retraced my steps. Guessing that those ankle length Hanes had fallen out of my bag. My hunch was dead right. There they were. Sitting in my locker. Folded together in a ball.
As I began my way back toward my seat; I stepped upon something jagged while in bare feet. I leaned against a beam to try and inspect the devilish detritus that had nestled into the spot between my toes. Wiping away the debris that unpleasantly carved into my skin there.
The next several steps had me frightfully hopping up and down. It was as if I'd walked across a floor full of tiny shards of glass. I stopped. Bent down to examine it closely. Revealed in horror to me were large raggedy toenail clippings embedded in my soft soles. And spread forbiddingly all over the deathly cold tile floor. Many of them were a macabre, dingy, dark color.
It was petrifying. I had literally been walking over a grisly graveyard of keratin and fungus. I located the guy who was bewitching us with this disgusting sorcery. He was several feet away on another bench. Continuing his accumulation of more gnarled discolored toenail clippings to the locker room floor.
That was the dreadful sound I'd been hearing in this very public space. Toenail clipping. It was sort of like staring into the eyes of Medusa. I thought I'd immediately be cast into stone from the hideousness that I'd seen.
Panic stricken and aghast with what other bodily parts lie in wait for me on the floor. I spun away from him. Quickly gathering my socks and shoes into my sports bag. Turning and running barefoot straight to my car. Bolting out of that disturbingly morbid scene.
Beware the creepiness that lurks nearby during your 31 days of Halloween.
This hair-raising story of what lies beneath is brought to you by that guy of midnight mysteriousness. That guy putting nails in the coffin is Ron Blake and he can be sent a batty message at rblake5551@hotmail.com.
