Episode Details

The Laundromathttps://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_LaundromatByHumanlike-Giraffe-WritesThere are many things that are in laundromats that should never be inside of a washing machine.The light of the street lamp meandered in through the window-pane storefront, and mingled with the stale air and the humming, yellowed lights of the Laundromat. It was dusky and quiet, as expected at closing. The tinny music of an iPhone rang out in sour notes and poppy tunes echoing through the dull and drafty building.It was located in a small college town, somewhere in the south just off of the interstate. A small blip in an even less significant area. Cathy wasn't expecting to end up working here, at a dead end job in a dead end town, and a couple bad grades away from dropping out of college. She sighed, as her cracked and dying phone assertively buzzed for a final time before powering off, dead."Might as well do one last check before closing," she mumbled to herself as she pushed her way out of the worn down rolling chair. It was already past closing. She knew this of course, but what was another minute, another hour, another month of this monotonous routine. It was exhausting, but it was all she knew.She stumbled past the flimsy plywood desk out into the tiled halls, her clumsy footsteps echoing in the dank and humid room. The air was sticky and thick, the type of summer humidity that left you drained and sweaty. She passed rows upon rows of the looming machines."They just wash clothes after all. Nothing ominous here," She chuckled to herself, even as the machines loomed above her, ever present, ever washing. She couldn't help but feel sick to the stomach.Defiantly, row after row of the washers still stood spotless and pristine, not even a ball of lint left in them. Intimidating in their demeanor, Cathy quickly turned the corner to the next row, rows 13-14-15. She slowly began her work, pacing between the aisles.It was the unmistakable residue of fingerprints, tacky to the touch and somewhat offset by the drying trail of water droplets that slowly traipsed their way half-heartedly down the inside of the glass door on washing-drying unit 13e. The two smudges on the inside of the machine were hand prints, as if someone was trying to push their way out. Like someone, or something had been inside the machine while it was running. It made her sick to the stomach, a curdled feeling that started in her gut and gushed its poison through her veins, setting her on edge.Pushing this to the back of her mind, Cathy left the door, slightly ajar, and continued to pack up. With a wheezing rumble her worn out second hand car stuttered to life, floodlights illuminating fluttering moths in the stagnant air. It was heavy and thick, just like her auntie's drawl. God, what she would do to go back home. Nevermind that though, because this was her life now, forgotten, probably disowned.She was reminded of this every lousy day, every failed test, every dull night spent with only the company of those monstrous steel machines. A break, a vacation, a breath of fresh air."Jesus," she snickered to herself, ironic how she had such bright prospects. Her younger self would sneer at the person she had become. Her knuckles paled a bony white as she gripped down on the steering wheel, a blotchy gray. She found it somewhat amusing, as this was the only gray part of the car, the seats, patchy brown fur-like fabric that was matted from overuse and riddled with unknown stains. The perks of a resale care she supposed. The car itself seemed to be eternally dusty and grimy despite her best efforts and hours put towards cleaning it. Just another pitfall, just another day.Cathy was used to the heat, a Texas baby. But what she wasn't prepared for was the humidity. A thick sludge that oozed its sweaty residue on to your skin, fuzzing hair, and buzzing incessantly. It was disgustin