By the time we’d imagined every worst-case scenario—parasite, mutant mold, some rotting animal—the bathroom felt like a crime scene. My girlfriend kept asking if it was dangerous or if something was wrong with the apartment. I tried to stay calm, but just looking at it made my skin crawl.
When we found out it was just harmless slime mold, the fear didn’t vanish—it shifted into a weird unease, like the world still hides things in plain sight. We cleaned it up, aired the room, and laughed it off, a little shakily. But now, every time I step onto those tiles, I still glance down… just in case.