It hit him right when he entered the bathroom: “I better not see any hairs on that toilet, Clayton!” his mother’s voice screeched at him in his mind, just as she had so many times in the past. “Get rid of all of them, or you’ll be in big trouble!” 

He shuddered. For twenty-five years, he had to deal with that threat. He had dutifully cleaned up the toilet every time he had finished using it. He cleaned the rest of the bathroom, too, of course, with All of those cleaning supplies kept in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. 

His mother had always checked the bathroom after he finished cleaning it. The rest of the bathroom passed her inspection every time, but it was the toilet she had made him clean once or twice more because she always found little hairs on the outside of it, even when he had been sure he had gotten them all.

Now she was dead, he reminded himself. No more screams to put cups on coasters or clean any crumbs from the table. And no more demands that he clean the bathroom until it shined brighter than the sun.

He was finally free of her.

He smiled then resumed walking into the bathroom. Of course he would clean up after himself when he finished using the toilet; he had been raised to do so. But at least he didn’t have to worry about making the toilet perfectly clean, with every little hair gone.

After he finished using the toilet, he did the same thing his mother had instructed him to do for all those twenty-five years: He removed cleaning supplies from out of the cabinet under the sink and got to work. He slapped on the yellow rubber latex cleaning gloves then began removing all the items placed on the back of the toilet, placing them onto the sink counter. Then he removed the lid and seat covers. He flushed the toilet, applied toilet cleaner to the inside of it, then gently lowered the lid. Then he sprayed a lemon-scented all-purpose cleaner all over the exterior of the toilet, grabbed a handful of cleaning rags, then began wiping it down.

Once he finished cleaning both the exterior and interior of the toilet, he got to his feet, examining his work. It looked good, as well as smelling clean. Even with his mother not here anymore to supervise, he had managed to do a good job. There were a few hairs at the bottom, but no big deal. At least he had gotten the rest of them. He nodded in satisfaction and smiled as he turned. 

He froze before turning all the way around, his smile still pasted on his face. The dirty cleaning rag and multi-purpose cleaner dropped to either side of him on the floor. His eyes widened as he took in what he saw standing in the doorway: His mother, back from the dead it would seem. She stood all of six feet with her salt-pepper short hair curled up against her head. She wore the same dark blue dress she had been buried in, with the same rings on her left hand fingers, and the same string of pearls around her neck. The wrinkled skin on her arms and face appeared even more wrinkled now, almost scrunching up around her blue eyes. Yet he could still see the look of disapproval in them, as well as the way her lips formed a scowl. 

“The hairs,” she reminded in a menacing tone of voice. A voice that didn’t sound like his mother at all. The way it reverberated through his body made him shudder. She pointed with a bony hand. “Clean up all the hairs.”

“Yes, Mother!” he responded, suddenly becoming the devoted son he had been when his mother was alive. Seeing her again brought everything back. It was like she hadn’t died at all and she was once again examining his work. Once again instructing him to do a better job.

He snapped into action, grabbing the cleaner and a clean rag. He got on all fours at the side of the toilet and sprayed the cleaner on the area. He scrubbed it up, ensuring he got all of the visible hairs. Then he sat back on his heels, sighed and nodded.

“There’s more!” his mother growled from his right direction.

“Where?” he asked, scrunching his eyes as he strained to see them, cocking his head to the side as he leaned closer.

“Use the light on your phone, Clayton!” she cried out in an impatient tone, as though she couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it. “Then you will find them!”

Clayton straightened and grabbed his phone from his back pants pocket then turned on the flashlight. He shined it on the bottom exterior of the toilet and frowned when he finally caught sight of the thin, small hairs that were practically invisible. He used the rag to swipe them away then, using the phone light to scan the whole exterior of the toilet, he wiped away any other hairs he found. When the beam of his light didn’t reveal anymore, he got to his feet. “Got them!” he announced.

“Unsatisfactory!” his mother screeched.

He almost yelped at the growing look of rage on her face. Even in death, the angry look on her face sent a shiver down his spine.

“Clean it again!” she ordered. “All of it!”

“Yes, Mother,” he said. He turned to get a fresh supply of cleaning rags from the cabinet under the sink, using his left foot to move away the dirty rags he had discarded. He also retrieved the toilet cleaner from the sink counter then turned and sighed as he examined the whole toilet. It looked clean, but his mother demanded perfection. He had to please her. He didn’t want to make his mother unhappy; she would only make his life miserable if he ever made her unhappy.

Clayton got to work, paying attention to every detail as he cleaned the entire inside and outside of the toilet. This time, he wiped away errant strands of hairs he found on the exterior of the toilet, using his phone light to look for more. Seeing none, he stood and began putting away the cleaning supplies.

From the corner of his eye, he could still see his mother still in the doorway, her breaths coming out in angry huffs. He shuddered as her deathly gaze stared straight at him, almost as though she could see right into his soul.

“Again!” she demanded in her shrill voice.

He turned to look at her. “But, Mother, it’s clean. I got all of the hairs.”

“Don’t talk back to me, Clayton!” she growled, her body floating closer to him as it entered the bathroom. Clayton stifled his yelp of terror as he backed up against the wall. Every step he took back brought her closer, her ghostly figure appearing just as real even though it was much larger than she had been in real life. He braced against the wall, breathing in short gasps as her form towered over him, nearly taking up his entire view.

She’s a ghost, he told himself, struggling to stay calm as fear raced through his veins. She’s just a ghost and can’t hurt me.

But as much as he wanted to believe this, this thing that was his mother appeared too realistic to be a ghost. It didn’t even look transparent. She looked just as real and alive as she had been the day before, even though her figure was larger and she stood much taller.

And this was why he felt that he could not fight her. As he braced himself under her penetrating gaze, almost expecting her to hit him on the head as she had so many times before in the past, he forced a calm expression on his face. The only way to get her to back off was to agree with her, he reminded himself. Even if he felt she was wrong. She had been wrong many times about many things, but Clayton had learned the hard way that the best way to escape her wrath was to agree with her and do what she said.

“I’m sorry, Mother, I was wrong,” he replied, his voice cracked with fear. “I will clean the toilet again.”

“That’s my good boy,” his mother said, still in that evil growl. She backed away from him, her evil gaze boring into him as she seemed to float away. Her form grew a bit smaller, as though the rage that had consumed her was leaving her ghostly body. She continued to move away from him and went as far as the shower stall in the far left corner of the room. There she remained hovering next to it, watching him. 

Clayton grabbed the cleaning supplies again. He once again cleaned the interior and exterior of the toilet, once again making sure he got all of the little hairs he could find on it. This time he scrubbed extra hard and used a generous amount of the cleaning liquid to wipe away any smudges or tiny hairs impossible for him to see. Then he stood and faced his mother again, holding the cleaner with one hand and the rag with the other.

“You didn’t get all of the little hairs, Clayton!” his mother shrieked. “Clean it again!”

“Yes, Mother,” Clayton replied. He was never going to satisfy her now. He would have to clean this toilet inside and out multiple times, just as she made him do so many times before. She was his mother. She knew better. He had to obey her just as she had trained him to obey her in real life. 

He feverishly cleaned the entire exterior and interior of the toilet then once again stood for his mother’s approval. Once again she insisted there were little hairs on the toilet that he had missed, and demanded that he clean the whole toilet again. He did so, ignoring the hunger pangs in his stomach, the ache in his back and the headache that seemed to grow stronger with each passing minute.

He also ignored the pain in his chest. He knew he had to stop and rest, but he could not stop. His mother would not let him stop. He had to please her. Only when he did a perfect job cleaning the toilet, she would be happy and leave him in peace. Then he could rest.

He had to get it right this time. This time, it would be perfect. After ten cleanings of this toilet, it had to be sparkling clean. And all of those little hairs that only she could see would finally be all gone.

The pain in his chest grew but he ignored it, only caring about doing as his mother wished. He would rest soon. He would be done cleaning this toilet soon. This had to be the last time.

“It will be perfect this time,” he whispered to himself, still scrubbing away at the exterior of the toilet. “Just the way Mother wants it.” 

Clayton groaned, only now realizing he could no longer ignore the pain in his chest as he clutched at it in agony. His eyes widened and he gasped as the searing pain exploded in intensity, spreading throughout his body. His eyes closed for the last time as he fell to the floor.

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