THE TILE BEHIND THE TOILET
1. The Hammer
If I had known what was behind the tile, I wouldn’t have picked up the hammer.
But I did.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, and my husband, Jason, was at work. The house was quiet—too quiet. That’s when his father, Richard, appeared in the doorway of our bathroom, a smirk on his face that made my stomach twist.
“Take this,” he said, handing me a claw hammer. “Break the tile behind the toilet. You’ll see.”
I froze.
“Uh… what?” I said, my voice faltering.
Richard leaned in, lowering his voice, conspiratorial. “Trust me. You want to see this. Just… take a swing.”
My pulse raced. My mind screamed: This is insane. Don’t do it. But curiosity—dangerous, irresistible curiosity—won.
I set my hands on the hammer’s handle, feeling its weight. I looked at the glossy white tile, pristine and ordinary, completely unremarkable, hiding something Richard insisted I see. I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears as I lifted the hammer.
One swing, I thought. One swing, and I’ll regret it… or I’ll know.
2. The First Strike
The hammer hit.
Crack.
A spiderweb fracture ran across the tile. Dust and tiny shards scattered across the floor.
Richard chuckled behind me. “Good. Keep going. Don’t stop until you find it.”
I hesitated, holding the hammer awkwardly. My hand shook. The smell of bathroom cleaner mixed with old grout assaulted my senses. My eyes flicked toward the toilet. What in God’s name could be hiding here?
Another swing. Crack. A piece of tile came loose. I dropped it, staring at the darkness behind.
And then I saw it.
A hole.
Small. But not natural. Not a gap caused by plumbing. Something had been deliberately hidden there, a cavity behind the wall.
My stomach churned. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the hammer.
Richard leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Go on. Pull it out.”
I swallowed. “Pull what out?”
He grinned. “You’ll know when you see it.”
3. The Discovery
I reached into the hole with shaking fingers. My nails scraped against something smooth but cold. The faint outline of a box, perhaps—metal or wood, I couldn’t tell. I tugged.
It came free.
And I wished it hadn’t.
Inside was… a bundle of papers, yellowed with age, tied with a red ribbon. A small vial of dark liquid. And a key.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was the photo beneath the bundle.
I picked it up with trembling hands, the picture crinkling slightly under my grip. My breath caught.
It was a child. A little boy, pale and thin, with hollow eyes, staring straight at the camera. And behind him—if you looked closely—a figure in shadow, blurred but unmistakable, holding something that gleamed. Something sharp.
I dropped the photo. The vial clinked against the tile. My knees went weak.
“See?” Richard said, his voice eerily calm. “I told you it’d be worth it.”
I looked at him, panic spilling into terror. “What… what is this? Why is this here?”
He shrugged. “Family secrets. Some better left buried.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to pull Jason home, call the police, destroy this evidence. But the mixture of horror and disbelief rooted me to the spot.
4. The First Realization
I pulled myself together enough to examine the rest of the bundle. The papers were old journal entries. Handwriting jagged, hurried. Some in ink, some in pencil, dating back decades. The handwriting wasn’t Richard’s—or so I assumed.
One line made me freeze:
“If anyone finds this, know that he must never learn the truth. He cannot know what lies beneath our home.”
I felt my stomach knot. Beneath our home?
Richard’s grin widened. “See? Told you. Nothing like a little family drama to spice up the day.”
I wanted to punch him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw the hammer at him. But I forced myself to focus.
I picked up the key from the bundle. Heavy, old, tarnished. It looked like it belonged to a door long forgotten.
“Where does this go?” I asked.
He leaned in closer. “That’s for you to find out.”
5. The Secret Room
Richard left me alone after that, apparently satisfied with my terror. I paced, trying to decide what to do next. Jason wasn’t home. I couldn’t call him—he would have laughed at my nerves and told me to calm down.
But curiosity—and fear—pulled me forward.
I searched the basement, following an instinct I couldn’t explain. The key seemed to vibrate in my hand, heavy with purpose. Finally, tucked behind the old water heater, I found it: a small, iron-bound door, about two feet high, almost invisible against the concrete wall.
I knelt, trembling, and slid the key into the lock. It fit perfectly.
The door creaked open.
Inside… darkness. Total darkness, the kind that feels alive.
I grabbed my flashlight from the tool bench, heart hammering, and aimed the beam inside.
The air smelled of rot and mold. Something metallic. Something… wrong.
I stepped inside, my feet crunching over broken bricks and dust. And that’s when I saw it.
6. The Horror Revealed
At first, I couldn’t process it.
A skeleton, dressed in rags that once may have been a child’s clothing. The skull tilted slightly, as if frozen mid-scream. Bones twisted unnaturally. A small tin box lay near the ribcage.
I gagged, stumbling backward. The flashlight fell, spinning light over the walls. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the papers.
And then I realized: the skeleton wasn’t alone.
A row of jars lined the far wall, filled with murky liquid. Something moved inside a few of them—tiny shapes. Eyes glinting. Small limbs.
I screamed.
Richard’s voice echoed from the stairwell, calm and chilling: “I didn’t tell you to look yet. You weren’t supposed to see this for another generation.”
“Why… why is this here?!” I yelled, panic suffocating me.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked slowly down the basement steps, each footstep deliberate, measured, like a predator stalking prey.
“Family secrets are dangerous,” he said. “And some of us… we guard them carefully. You just happened to stumble into mine.”
7. The Truth Unfolds
Richard sat on the dusty floor, watching me panic. His calmness made my skin crawl.
“They were never supposed to know,” he said. “The children. The neighbors. Not even Jason.”
“Why?” I whispered, voice shaking. “What… what is this?”
He sighed. “It’s the cost of greed, of obsession. My father… your husband’s grandfather… he… he believed that some knowledge is too powerful, too corrupting to share. He hid it here. Buried it. And I… I was supposed to protect it.”
I felt bile rise. “Protect it? By… by keeping dead children in jars?”
Richard didn’t flinch. “It’s not what you think. They weren’t alive when I found them. The ritual… it went wrong decades ago. I couldn’t destroy the evidence. I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even Jason.”
I wanted to leave. Run. Burn everything down. But my legs wouldn’t move.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “But now that you are… you need to understand. This family… we carry curses. Secrets. And sometimes, the past… it reaches out for the living.”
8. The Decision
I had a choice:
-
Leave, never speak, try to pretend I never saw this.
-
Or take action, expose everything, destroy the secret—and risk whatever consequences might come from decades-old curses, rituals, or Richard’s wrath.
I grabbed the hammer from the floor, my fingers tight around the handle.
“I’m taking this out of your hands,” I said.
Richard smirked. “Brave. Or foolish. Time will tell.”
I swung the hammer at the shelves holding the jars. Glass shattered. Liquid spilled across the concrete. Bones tumbled. I threw the papers and photo on top. Fire would have been safer, but the water heater was right there, and the thought of setting the basement ablaze was terrifying.
I smashed everything I could reach. And still… something inside that hole remained hidden, dark, and watching.
9. Confrontation
Richard lunged toward me. “Stop! You don’t understand! You’re destroying the family’s legacy!”
“Legacy?” I shouted. “You call this a legacy? This is sick. This is evil!”
He hesitated, and I took the moment to shove him back. “You won’t touch my son, or me, ever again.”
For the first time, I saw fear flicker across his face. Not for what I was destroying—but for what the law might see.
I grabbed the flashlight, picked up the key, and fled the basement.
10. The Escape
I called Jason immediately, trying not to scream into the phone. “You need to come home,” I said. “Now.”
His voice was calm. “What happened?”
“I… I can’t explain over the phone,” I whispered. “But we’re leaving. We’re never coming back. Don’t argue.”
By the time Jason arrived, I had packed what we could take, and Evan slept in the back seat, oblivious to the horrors we’d just uncovered.
I glanced back at the house one last time. Richard watched from the doorway, expression unreadable. The secret of the basement, the hole behind the tile… still lingered.
But it was no longer mine.
11. Aftermath
The house was abandoned. Richard stayed behind, perhaps to guard what remained. I never went back. I never spoke of what I saw.
But sometimes, late at night, I dream of the hole, the jars, and the shadows inside.
I know some secrets don’t die.
Some remain, waiting for someone else curious enough, reckless enough, or foolish enough to discover them.
And I’ll never let my son face that.
The hammer, the tile, the hole…
All of it was a warning I would never forget: some family secrets are too horrifying to uncover.
And some ancestors… are monsters hiding behind the facade of ordinary life.
