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Fabio V The Toilet

Original Patreon story by Janine Pipe 30/06/2020

Thank you for your support. I hope that you enjoy your death …

 

Reach out to Janine via her blog or social media accounts and, most important of all, support her on Patreon if you want to get killed!

 

We all have a fear. Something that keeps us awake on dark, lonely nights.

For many of us, it is irrational. It is highly unlikely you will meet a clown who is really a demon who turns into a giant spider.

Nightmares can seem very real, but most of the time, we are able to forget about them during waking hours.

But what if your greatest fear is a very plausible and tangible thing?

And what happens, when it comes true?

 

***

 

Quite rightly, people refer to mental health as an invisible illness. But there are others too. Things that people are equally as embarrassed about.

Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) is just one of those conditions.

And Fabio knew all about just how harrowing it could be.

What he didn’t expect for one moment, was that his very tangible fear of being unable to find a toilet, would end up being the death of him …

 

Fabio had suffered from stomach issues for years. Certain foods, certain situations, would have his stomach griping and before he knew it, the horrendous pain of needing a shit right there, right then.

It made specific scenarios difficult (like dinner parties – sure, he’d be near a toilet but it was still not nice to leave your friends bathroom smelling like a tramp’s arsehole) and there were many activities he avoided like the plague.

He always had a plan of action. Going into town? Know where the loos are. Off to the pub? Decent men’s room. Walk around the local woods? Nope, no where to go if caught short.

Travelling was a pain in the arse, literally sometimes if an onset started when he wasn’t near an exit with services.

But usually, he’d make it in time, just sometimes, but there were yet to be any unfortunate incidents.

Until that fateful day.

Truth be told, he hadn’t planned to be out as late as he was. The night should have wrapped up earlier. But catching up with old friends over dinner had a way of making the time just run away.

Before he knew if, the restaurant was closing up and it was dark outside.

Which would make the longish drive home more tiresome that was for certain.

And also led to the irksome feeling that he might need to look for a rest area somewhere on the way home, and that wasn’t ideal since it would be pitch black and he didn’t know these roads too well.

Still, he’d been careful with what he’d eaten and fingers crossed, he’d make it home without any rumblings in his stomach.

Paying his share of the bill, the waiter came over to their table, muttering.

“I am so sorry, gents. It would appear there was a little confusion with the starter. I know you requested no onion but it seems the chef made an error. It has been taken off the bill.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake thought Fabio. Just at the mention of the word onion, his stomach began to ache, the tell-tale sign that in around 30 minutes or so, he would be desperately needing to find someone to stop and relieve himself.

“Hey guys,” he called over to his buddies. “You happen to know if there are any turn-offs with services on the way back to mine?”

Alas for Fabio, they didn’t, but thought that there was an old service area about half way back that possibly still had a toilet block. Frowning, one of them thought he recalled hearing something about the site but wasn’t sure what? Maybe it was a hot-bed of illicit activity?

They all laughed.

Cursing his bowels and praying he would make it without having to stop at the dubious sounding toilet block, Fabio began the long drive home.

Luck was not on his side and those onions began to threaten to reappear bang on half an hour into the journey. Trying his best not to double over in pain, he knew he was going to have to locate the rest stop. And fast.

Spotting a decrepit looking sign pointing to a turn off that looked like it hadn’t ben used in decades, Fabio headed towards to his saviour.

As he pulled into the deserted car park, he felt a sense of both relief and trepidation. It was pitch black and he hoped the floor wasn’t covered in dog-shit. Hurrying over to the loo’s, he was thankful to at least find it hadn’t been boarded up or chained shut.

It smelt like death, but then, public toilets often did as people seemed to forget any sense of basic manners or hygiene as they pissed or worse, all over the floor. Gagging, he opened one of the doors just in time as the evil onion made an unwanted reappearance. He’d left the door open. It wasn’t as though there was anyone else around and the light was of course, broken. The streak of moonlight was just enough to enable him to do his business without having to guess where the seat was.

Finishing up, he turned to flush and thought he heard a sound akin to a branch snapping outside. Since there had been no other vehicles or any sign of life when he’d arrived, he found if hard to believe it was a person. More likely a nosey animal looking for some left over food to snaffle. Groaning and pressing the flush mechanism to no avail, he made a silent apology to the next unfortunate person to use the full and stinking facility.

Turning to the sink, and praying there would at least be a trickle of water from the taps, he failed to see the shadow looming over him from the door that was ajar.

Poor Fabio. IBS is a curse. Having to stop somewhere most people had forgotten about, no longer cared for or looked after was bad enough. But what he hadn’t known, was the legend.

You see, 50 years or so ago, this very place was the site of several grizzly, unsolved murders. The reason Fabio didn’t know about them, was that they had never been reported. Each had been treated as a Missing Person case. Their vehicles had never been traced and this was way before traffic cams. As they had all happened in the depths of winter and in the middle of the night, with no witnesses.

Now, thanks to a digestive system that couldn’t wait to expel its waste until the morning, Fabio was to become the latest victim of the Toilet Killer.

It took one blow to knock him to the floor, where he hit the back of his head on the years of filth encrusted on the tiles. His eyes widened and he screamed, kicking out at the form looming over him. It did no good. The monstrosity lifted him easily by the front of his sweater, as if he weighed next to nothing.

Roaring into Fabio’s petrified face, the thing then spun him around and shoved him face first into the toilet bowl filled with his own piss and shit.

Fighting was fruitless, but still, Fabio thrashed until his lungs finally gave in. Drowned in his own filth.

Once he had stopped breathing, he was carried back to his waiting vehicle.

Grinning horribly and oozing pure malevolence, his killer shut him in the boot. And drove away …

 

Fabio Scagliola,