The Wet Ghost

My family moved to Victoria when I was very young (less than 3 years old) and we lived in an old Spanish styled house. This is the actual house.

We lived on the main floor and I don’t remember too much of the house other than this:

It was one of those houses that had a sink and a bathtub in the middle of the floor plan, and the toilet was in its own little room all by itself. A little room with a really heavy door that had several locks on it. It also was dark and scary and it was at the end of a hallway that had a hardwood floor.

I know there are a lot of houses with a lot of issues and a lot of toilets that are banished to their own little room at the end of hallways. This house just had a little extra included in the rent.

It had a wet ghost.

I don’t know the history of the house, I don’t know what goes on in the house now. To be honest, I didn’t even really think about it for years. I can’t answer questions on it, I can only give tiny snips of what I remember.

We had an old TV in the TV room, one of those ancient ones that were in the big wooden frames and you had to get up to turn the knobs to turn it on or off. The TV would turn on and off on its own, and there would be little puddles left beside it:

This ghost seemed to have a taste for some TV, and was very judgmental. It particularly hated one particular commercial. One I also hate and the tune of this commercial randomly infests my brain at the worst times. It’s this one:

If you want to watch it, go here. It's 30 seconds. You'll regret it.

I’m sorry in advance for the years of “indubitably” entering your brain.

This ghost’s main thing was to walk down the hallway towards the terrible toilet. I’d just been learning to use the bathroom on my own and while sitting on the toilet attempting to pee, I would hear a sloshing slow step down the hallway towards the bathroom door, with it stopping just outside. If the door wasn’t locked, it would slowly creak open and reveal a small puddle of water just outside the door, with tiny footstep like puddles leading up to it. 

There was never any other noises, or evidence of this water logged creature, other than its disdain for terrible commercials as well as its constant need for interrupting people’s private times.

When I am in water closets to this day, I automatically strain to listen for steps outside the door and must ensure the door is locked or I just can’t pee.