TLDR: Listen Instead

Melvin came to me at 3:47 pm on Christmas Eve.

He said, “The bathroom door is unlocked.”

I was cleaning up, getting ready to close early at 4 pm. I said, “What do you mean the bathroom door is unlocked?”

He said, “I mean, it’s unlocked. After three months. After ninety-two days. It just unlocked itself. At 3:32 pm. Fifteen minutes ago. And I’ve been documenting what happened since.”

Now I’m walking over to the bathroom door. And Melvin is right. The door is unlocked. The handle turns. The door opens. And inside, the bathroom looks completely normal. Clean. Dry. Like nobody has been in there for three months. Like the water I heard running was never real. Like the footsteps were never real. Like it was all just a glitch that resolved itself.

I said, “Melvin, this is good. The bathroom is back. Everything is normal.”

He said, “No. Everything is not normal. Because I’ve been documenting what came out.”

I said, “What do you mean, what came out?”

He said, “At 3:32 pm, the door unlocked. At 3:33 pm, the door opened. At 3:34 pm, something walked out. I didn’t see it. But I heard it. Footsteps. Slow footsteps. The same footsteps I’ve been hearing for three months. And they walked out of the bathroom. And they walked through the shop. And they’re still here.”

Now I’m terrified. Because Melvin is right. I can feel it. Something is in the shop. Something that wasn’t here before. Something that came out of the bathroom. Something that’s been locked in there for three months. And now it’s free. And it’s walking around. And I can’t see it.

I said, “Where is it now?”

Melvin said, “I don’t know. I’ve been tracking the footsteps. They walked to the waiting area. They stopped near the chairs. They walked to the retail display. They stopped near the Reuzel products. They walked to the front door. They stopped. And then they walked back to the middle of the shop. And they’ve been standing there ever since. Just standing. Not moving. Just existing.”

Now I’m looking at the middle of the shop. And I don’t see anything. But I feel it. I feel something standing there. Something watching. Something waiting.

I said, “What does it want?”

Melvin said, “I don’t know. But I’ve been documenting its behavior. And I’ve noticed something. Every time a customer comes in, it moves. It walks closer to them. It stands near them. It watches them. And then when they leave, it goes back to the middle of the shop. Like it’s curious. Like it’s learning. Like it’s trying to understand what we do here.”

Now I’m documenting this. Because Melvin is right, this is important. This is the thing that was locked in the bathroom for three months. This is the thing that was walking back and forth. This is the thing that was washing its hands endlessly. And now it’s out. And it’s in the shop. And it’s watching us.

I said, “Should we try to communicate with it?”

Melvin said, “I’ve tried. I’ve been talking to it. I’ve been asking it questions. But it doesn’t respond. It just stands there. Listening. Watching. Existing.”

Now it’s 3:55 pm. Five minutes until we close. And I’m wondering if I should leave. If I should lock up the shop with the thing still inside. If I should come back tomorrow and see if it’s still here. Or if it will be gone. Or if it will have done something.

Melvin said, “I don’t think we should leave it alone. I think we should stay. I think we should document what it does when nobody else is here. I think we should see if it reveals itself. I think we should see if it tries to communicate.”

Now I’m looking at the clock. 3:58 pm. Two minutes until closing. And I’m making a decision. I’m staying. I’m documenting. I’m waiting to see what this thing does.

At 4:00 pm, I locked the front door. I turned off the “Open” sign. I dimmed the lights. And I sat down in the waiting area with Melvin. And we waited.

At 4:03 pm, the footsteps started again. Slow. Deliberate. Walking from the middle of the shop to the front window. Standing there. Looking out. Like it was watching the people walk by. Like it was watching Christmas Eve happen outside. Like it was curious about the world beyond the shop.

Melvin said, “I think it’s been trapped in the bathroom for three months. I think it couldn’t see outside. I think it could only hear us. Hear the customers. Hear the conversations. Hear the haircuts. Hear the life happening outside the locked door. And now it’s finally out. And it’s seeing everything for the first time.”

Now I’m feeling something I didn’t expect. I’m feeling sorry for it. Whatever it is. Whatever came out of that bathroom. It was trapped. It was locked away. It was ignored. And now it’s free. And it’s just trying to understand where it is.

At 4:15 pm, the footsteps walked to the barber chairs. They stopped at the first chair. They walked to the second chair. They stopped. They walked to the third chair. They stopped. Like it was examining them. Like it was trying to understand what they were for.

Melvin said, “I think it wants to sit down. I think it wants to experience what the customers experience. I think it wants to understand what happens in those chairs.”

I said, “Should we let it?”

Melvin said, “I don’t think we have a choice. I don’t think we can stop it. I think it’s going to do what it wants. And all we can do is document it.”

At 4:22 pm, I heard something. A sound I’ve never heard before. A sound that wasn’t footsteps. A sound that was almost like breathing. Slow breathing. Calm breathing. Like something was finally relaxing. Like something was finally at peace.

Melvin said, “It sat down. It’s sitting in the second chair. It’s sitting where customers sit. And I think it’s happy. I think this is what it wanted. To be part of the shop. To be part of the narrative. To exist in the space instead of being locked away from it.”

Now I’m looking at the second chair. And I still don’t see anything. But I know something is sitting there. Something that came out of the bathroom. Something that was trapped for three months. Something that just wanted to be part of the story.

At 4:30 pm, the breathing stopped. The presence faded. The feeling of something being in the shop disappeared. And the second chair was empty again. Or maybe it was always empty. Or maybe it’s still there and I just can’t feel it anymore.

Melvin said, “I think it’s gone. Or I think it’s decided to stay quietly. I think it got what it wanted. It experienced the shop. It sat in the chair. It was part of the narrative for a moment. And now it’s content. Now it’s at peace. Now it’s just existing alongside us instead of being locked away.”

Now it’s 4:45 pm on Christmas Eve. And I’m locking up the shop. And I’m wondering if the thing is still here. If it will be here tomorrow. If it will be here forever. If it’s part of the shop now. Part of the story. Part of the narrative that keeps unfolding in ways I can’t predict or control.

Melvin said, “Merry Christmas to whatever came out of the bathroom. Merry Christmas to all the things that exist in this shop that we can’t see but know are real.”

And I said, “Merry Christmas, Melvin. Merry Christmas to the locked door that finally opened. Merry Christmas to the narrative that keeps surprising us. Merry Christmas to everyone who’s reading this and wondering if they’re part of the story too.”

Because maybe they are. Maybe we all are. Maybe the thing that came out of the bathroom is reading this right now. Maybe it’s sitting in your chair. Maybe it’s standing in your room. Maybe it’s part of your narrative too. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s what Christmas Eve is for. Acknowledging the things we can’t see but know are real. The things that exist alongside us. The things that are part of our stories, whether we notice them or not.

Here’s What We’re Thinking

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Look dapper. Acknowledge the invisible. Merry Christmas. 🎄