I couldn’t shake the image of that thing on the tiles, lying there as if it had simply dropped out of the ceiling. The shape bothered me most: thick, uneven, and disturbingly organic. I kept replaying who had used the bathroom, whether anyone had stepped on it, and whether it had crawled in from somewhere darker, wetter, and unseen.
When the photos finally matched an image online, the answer felt both relieving and horrifying: a leech. Not a toy, not a gasket, not a piece of plumbing—something that feeds on blood.
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