There’s nothing worse than showering at the gym. Old dudes staring at themselves in the mirrors. Chatting to each other with their junk hanging in plain sight. Definitely not an ideal place to catch up on current events. And it seems the older they get, the more time they want to spend flaunting their saggy bodies. But I digress.
The geyser back home had backed up, meaning that, after my daily sessions in the gym, my options were – a cold shower at home or deal with the old dudes and shower at the gym. Hot water trumps all, regardless of the uncomfortable stares that are synonymous with the men’s locker room.
It’s weird but, since I started showering at the gym, he’s been doing it too. We’ve never exchanged more than the shyly spoken “hey, how’s it going?” as we walk past each other in the locker room.
We barely talk. So, I don’t understand why this wrinkly old man moves my clothes, steals the towel off the door and hides my things in his locker. It might be unfair to blame him, as it could be a couple of the guys I horse around with in the gym, but they’re never in the showers, nor in the gym when I shower. So, it can only be him. Oh well. He’s probably a lonely guy, or I remind him of his kid or something. It’s harmless, so I let it slide.
Thursday rolled around. I made my way to the locker room to shower as usual, and of course, Old Man is in the change rooms. No towel around his bare waist and a creepy smile on his face. I pass a fake smile and head to my locker. I open it and it’s empty. I look back at Oldie, he’s snickering and laughing to himself. I looked around and found my bag under the bench.
Who would have thought such an old man could be so childish? I picked it up, placed it back in the locker and headed for the shower. Warm water is a blessing. I stood under the stream and let it wash over me.
The old man’s snickering started up in the shower next to me, the annoyance returned. I closed my eyes to wash my hair, the snickers stopped. Then, I heard something pop, quite a foreign sound.
I quickly rinsed my hair and looked down. A stream of blood flowed from the stall next to mine, merging with the water at my feet.
Rushing out of the shower, I began banging on the door of the stall housing the Old Man. With no one but me in the locker room, I had to get to him. The door seemed to be made of steel, it was impenetrable. Hopefully, the banging would attract someone to come and help. The door swung open, the Old Man was within.
His shaving razor lay beside him, being washed clean by the stream of sanctimonious water. His creepy smile, beaming up at me. He seemed to have a second smile, his neck cut from ear to ear.
The blood flowed gently down his chest, coating his white hairs and giving them a red hue. His throat was disgusting. The gaping slit pulsated, as the blood drained from him.
I reached over to turn off the water in the shower. The Old Man reached up from the floor and grabbed my towel, pulling it off and leaving me exposed. Confusion, shock, horror and surprisingly embarrassment washed over me.
“Haha!” He exclaimed.
“Got you again!”