August 20, 2025 • 13 mins
#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #mrlongfingers #showerhorror #childhoodtrauma #bathroomfear #monstertale This spine-chilling story reveals the terrifying childhood encounter that changed a young boy’s life forever. At the age of ten, he came face to face with a mysterious, grotesque entity he calls Mr. Long Fingers—a shadowy figure lurking behind the shower curtain. The traumatic event left deep psychological scars, leading to a lifelong fear of bathing. A disturbing blend of childhood horror, trauma, and supernatural fear that will make you think twice before stepping into the shower again. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, mrlongfingers, bathroomhorror, childhoodfear, traumaticmemory, unseenmonster, supernaturalentity, childhoodtrauma, sleeplessnights, psychologicalterror, creepyencounter, hauntedmemories, shadowfigure, fearofshowers, nightmares
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
My Grandma used to tell me scary stories when I
was little. There's one I'll never forget. I was ten
years old when Grandma came to live with us. It
was about six months after Granddad passed away, and I
guess looking back, she must have been lonely in that
big house of theirs, rattling around with only the grief
and memories for company. So despite a few protests from Mum,
(00:24):
my parents took her in. There were no protests from me,
none at all. Grandma was loud and fun, and I
loved her. She had an almost limitless supply of boiled sweets,
and she'd always slip me a couple whenever she saw me.
She was always the first to stick up for me
when I got in trouble, too, But it was her
(00:46):
stories I loved best. Grandma had all kinds of stories,
stories about growing up during World War Two, and stories
about the things she'd get up to with her friends
on the South Coast after her family had been evacuated,
sad stories, funny stories, adventure stories. But it was her
scary stories that were my favorite. Grandma had lots of
(01:09):
scary stories she told me. She dabbled in the occult
when she was a teenager trying out weega boards with
her friends, tarot cards, fortune telling all that stuff. Most
of the stories I'd laugh off or forget about not
long after she was done telling them. But there were
a couple that really did spook me a bit. I
(01:30):
was only ten at the time, you have to understand,
and Grandma certainly knew how to bring the stories to life.
She'd shut off the lights in my room so only
the glow of the night sky shone through the curtains,
and she'd shuffle in real close, close enough so I
could see the wrinkles on her face and smell the
boiled sweets on her breath, close enough so her deep
(01:52):
blue eyes could stare straight into mine. She must have
given me nightmares with a few of those tales, But
now year's later, there's only one that I can still remember,
only one that stuck with me, the story about the
shower and mister long Fingers. Grandma told me about mister
long Fingers one night after I asked about her baths.
(02:14):
Grandma used to love her baths. She'd spend ages in them,
light candles and incense, and lie in the tub, humming
to herself. Until the water turned cold. It drove my
mum crazy, But when I asked her why she loved
them so much, she said it was the only place
she could relax. It was the only place that was
(02:34):
safe for her to relax. You know, people like me
who are well more sensitive to certain things. We have
to have baths, she told me seriously one night, Shuffling
closer on the bed, I couldn't possibly spend that long
in the shower. It'd be far too risky. Grandma stared
at me with those blue eyes of hers, unsmiling, and
(02:57):
I knew it was time for one of her stories,
one of the scary ones. I shivered with pleasure and
pulled the covers up to my chin. Why is it risky, Grandma?
She half turned to look out the window, watching me
from the corner of her eye, pausing for effect. I waited,
feeling my heart rate pick up ever so slightly in
(03:19):
my chest. Well, she said, after a moment, It's only
risky if you close your eyes. Of course, if you
close your eyes for longer than ten seconds. What do
you mean, why, well, do you ever play that game
in the playground with your friends, the one where someone
turns their back and the others sneak up on them
(03:40):
when they're not looking. I nodded, and Grandma nodded back. Exactly.
So that's what it's like in the shower, when you
have your eyes closed. That's what it's like with mister
long fingers. A colditch tickled back. Who's mister long fingers? Grandma?
She he let out a deep breath, as if she
(04:01):
wished she hadn't said anything, turned her head back to
face mine. When she next spoke, she'd lowered her voice.
No one knows exactly, Grandma whispered. Some think it's a
creature that's attracted to the heat and smell we give
off in there. Others think it's a demon that finds
a way into our realm through the dense steam clouds.
(04:24):
No one can say for sure, because the only ones
who have actually seen mister long fingers aren't ever going
to be able to tell you. I pulled in a breath,
Why not? Grandma shuffled closer along the bed and leaned
towards me, leaving my question hanging in the air. Don't
you worry about it, sweetheart, Don't worry your pretty head.
(04:45):
As long as you remember the rules, you'll be fine.
What rules? Well, when you're in the shower, you try
not to close your eyes for too long. Five seconds
is fine, and ten is just about o K two.
But any longer than that, yea, then what well? Any
(05:05):
longer than that and you may just start to feel
something in the room with you, something watching. And if
you ever go longer than fifteen seconds, that's when you
might start to hear a noise too. Hear what the
soft tap tap tap of fingers on glass, fingers drumming
against the glass door of the shower. If you do
(05:26):
ever hear that noise, God forbid, Will you make me
a promise? What Grandma? Promise me? You'll never open your eyes.
I barely slept that night, hardly at all. I'd close
my eyes and try to relax, but every time I did,
I'd imagine a face pressed against my bedroom window staring
(05:46):
in at me. And when I did finally get to sleep,
I had nightmares, bad ones. I had them all weak
in fact, dreams about disembodied eyes watching me in the dark,
and long fingers reaching out to touch my exposed skin.
It wasn't any better when I was awake either, not really.
(06:08):
The shower was the worst That's when Grandma's story really
got to me. I'd never thought about it before, but
suddenly I had trouble shutting my eyes. In there, I'd
be standing beneath the beating water, shampoo running down my face,
and as soon as I squinted my eyelids closed, I'd
hear Grandma's words running through my head. Five seconds is fine,
(06:30):
and ten is just about ok. Two, but any longer
than that. I'd rub my hair fast, feeling the shampoo
dripping off my chin, and as soon as I'd counted
past five seconds, I'd feel it a sort of pressure,
not a feeling of being watched exactly, but something close
to that. I'd run my fingers faster and faster through
(06:52):
my hair, frantically trying to get the SuDS out, and
the ready blackness behind my closed eyes, coupled with the
rush of water in my ears, would like a held breath,
like the silence before a scream. The seconds would race
through my mind, and I'd be so desperate to open
my eyes again that I'd sometimes do it before my
hair was rinsed fully clean, and my eyes would sting
(07:13):
with shampoo, But before I shut them again, I'd always
be sure to peer out through the steamed glass door
of the shower cubicle, just to make sure I was
still alone. It wasn't long before Mum realized something was up.
She heard me crying out in my sleep one night
and came in to comfort me. Asked me what the
matter was, and it all came out. I told her
(07:36):
about Grandma's stories and about mister long Fingers. She got
this look on her face when I was telling her,
like she used to get with me when I'd made
her really mad, this wide eyed, angry look. Only this
time she wasn't angry with me. She was angry with Grandma.
My parents room was next to mine, and sometimes if
(07:57):
I pressed my ear against the wall, I could hear
them talking in there, soft whispers. That night, though, after
Mum was satisfied I wasn't scared any more and she'd
gone back to her room, the whispers weren't soft at all.
Oh No, I heard Mum hissing to Dad about Grandma,
about the story she told me. Mum's voice floated through
(08:20):
the wall, sharp and crisp. You know what your fucking
mother said to him, now, don't you, Simon. Dad's response
was an unintelligible mutter. She's told him there's a monster
that'll get him if he shuts his eyes in the shower.
A monster. The poor kid's been having nightmares about it
all week. Seriously, Simon, you'd better say something to her
(08:43):
tomorrow morning, first thing, or I will. Grandma came to
visit me in my room the following night. That time,
as she perched on the end of my bed, there
were no stories, nothing like that. Grandma just sat there
and stared down at me, her blue eyes wide and sad.
The light from the moon outside my window lit up
(09:06):
her wrinkled face. You know I'd never let anything bad
happen to you, don't you, she said, After a moment.
I nodded my head. I know, Grandma. You know I
wouldn't let you come to any harm. I nodded again. Okay, good,
that's good. She looked away from me for a moment
(09:27):
out the window. You know, the things I tell you
in the evening are meant to help you, sweetheart. They're
meant to toughen you up a bit, protect you. She
paused and shook her head. But maybe your mum's right,
Maybe I went too far this time. She looked down
at me and smiled. But even then, even though I
(09:50):
was only ten years old, I could tell it didn't
quite reach her eyes. I'll tell you what Grandma said.
You know what I told you about mister long finger
and the shower. Well, I'm going to make sure you're safe.
I'll scare the bastard off. How about that it won't
come back in a hurry if it has to face me.
(10:11):
I stared up at Grandma, watching her face glow in
the moonlight, watching her smile down at me. I nodded
my head. Once I was the one who found her.
I don't know when exactly it happened, but i'd guess
it was about a week after we had that talk
in my room, a week after she told me she
wouldn't let me come to any harm. I woke early
(10:34):
that morning from a bad dream to a heavy thumping sound.
I sat bolt upright in bed. My room was quiet
around me, and I couldn't hear anything from the wall
that joined my parents room either, But the house wasn't
entirely silent. Floating down the hall muffled by my closed door,
I could hear the sound of rushing water, the noise
(10:56):
of the shower. I leapt out of bed and ran
down the upstairs, heart already pounding in my chest. As
soon as I reached the closed bathroom door, I started
banging on it. A deep terror was welling up inside me,
like cold water from a well, something I couldn't place,
and I kept banging and shouting Grandma over and over again,
(11:17):
even though she didn't respond. Off to my right, I
was dimly aware of voices from my parents room, the
sleepy shuffle of footsteps, But before they had a chance
to make it out on to the landing, I'd lifted
my hand to test out the door handle, more out
of instinct than because I thought it might actually open.
But the door wasn't locked. I kept banging with my
(11:37):
free hand, and it swung suddenly inwards, bringing me face
to face with a wall of steam. Heat struck my skin.
I squinted my eyes against the damp fog and peered
into the bathroom, and before Dad pushed me to one side,
before everything around me descended into shouting and tears and chaos,
I saw her. I saw Grandma. She was lining naked
(12:01):
on the floor in the shower cubicle, the water beating
down around her. Blue eyes bulging from her face. One
hand was curled against her chest like a dead bird,
while the other trailed against the glass of the shower cubicle.
The flailing finger marks she'd carved through the steam still
clear and fresh. It was a heart attack that killed her,
(12:22):
That's what my dad told me. He said. Grandma was old,
and the thing had struck her quickly and suddenly. She
would have died fast and without pain. Dad said, she
wouldn't have suffered. I knew better, though, even as a
ten year old kid, I knew better, and years later,
writing this as an adult, I still know better. I
(12:45):
also know my wife and kids resent me for refusing
to have a shower in the house, for insisting every
one take baths. They pretend it's OK, and they humor me,
but I can tell they don't really understand it, not
at all. My wife thinks she does. She thinks I
still carry the trauma of seeing my grandmother dying in
(13:06):
front of me when I was little. I guess she's
right in a way, but she doesn't know the full truth.
Nobody does, and no one would believe me even if
I told them. No one would believe me if I
said the reason I don't take showers, the reason I
haven't had one since I was ten years old, isn't
because I'm scarred from the sight of a dead body.
(13:27):
It's because all those years ago, when I crept back
into the still hot bathroom after the paramedics had taken
Grandma's body downstairs, I made sure to check the marks
her fingers had carved through the steamed glass of the
shower cubicle. And those marks weren't just on the inside
the end
My Grandma used to tell me scary stories when I
was little. There's one I'll never forget. I was ten
years old when Grandma came to live with us. It
was about six months after Granddad passed away, and I
guess looking back, she must have been lonely in that
big house of theirs, rattling around with only the grief
and memories for company. So despite a few protests from Mum,
(00:24):
my parents took her in. There were no protests from me,
none at all. Grandma was loud and fun, and I
loved her. She had an almost limitless supply of boiled sweets,
and she'd always slip me a couple whenever she saw me.
She was always the first to stick up for me
when I got in trouble, too, But it was her
(00:46):
stories I loved best. Grandma had all kinds of stories,
stories about growing up during World War Two, and stories
about the things she'd get up to with her friends
on the South Coast after her family had been evacuated,
sad stories, funny stories, adventure stories. But it was her
scary stories that were my favorite. Grandma had lots of
(01:09):
scary stories she told me. She dabbled in the occult
when she was a teenager trying out weega boards with
her friends, tarot cards, fortune telling all that stuff. Most
of the stories I'd laugh off or forget about not
long after she was done telling them. But there were
a couple that really did spook me a bit. I
(01:30):
was only ten at the time, you have to understand,
and Grandma certainly knew how to bring the stories to life.
She'd shut off the lights in my room so only
the glow of the night sky shone through the curtains,
and she'd shuffle in real close, close enough so I
could see the wrinkles on her face and smell the
boiled sweets on her breath, close enough so her deep
(01:52):
blue eyes could stare straight into mine. She must have
given me nightmares with a few of those tales, But
now year's later, there's only one that I can still remember,
only one that stuck with me, the story about the
shower and mister long Fingers. Grandma told me about mister
long Fingers one night after I asked about her baths.
(02:14):
Grandma used to love her baths. She'd spend ages in them,
light candles and incense, and lie in the tub, humming
to herself. Until the water turned cold. It drove my
mum crazy, But when I asked her why she loved
them so much, she said it was the only place
she could relax. It was the only place that was
(02:34):
safe for her to relax. You know, people like me
who are well more sensitive to certain things. We have
to have baths, she told me seriously one night, Shuffling
closer on the bed, I couldn't possibly spend that long
in the shower. It'd be far too risky. Grandma stared
at me with those blue eyes of hers, unsmiling, and
(02:57):
I knew it was time for one of her stories,
one of the scary ones. I shivered with pleasure and
pulled the covers up to my chin. Why is it risky, Grandma?
She half turned to look out the window, watching me
from the corner of her eye, pausing for effect. I waited,
feeling my heart rate pick up ever so slightly in
(03:19):
my chest. Well, she said, after a moment, It's only
risky if you close your eyes. Of course, if you
close your eyes for longer than ten seconds. What do
you mean, why, well, do you ever play that game
in the playground with your friends, the one where someone
turns their back and the others sneak up on them
(03:40):
when they're not looking. I nodded, and Grandma nodded back. Exactly.
So that's what it's like in the shower, when you
have your eyes closed. That's what it's like with mister
long fingers. A colditch tickled back. Who's mister long fingers? Grandma?
She he let out a deep breath, as if she
(04:01):
wished she hadn't said anything, turned her head back to
face mine. When she next spoke, she'd lowered her voice.
No one knows exactly, Grandma whispered. Some think it's a
creature that's attracted to the heat and smell we give
off in there. Others think it's a demon that finds
a way into our realm through the dense steam clouds.
(04:24):
No one can say for sure, because the only ones
who have actually seen mister long fingers aren't ever going
to be able to tell you. I pulled in a breath,
Why not? Grandma shuffled closer along the bed and leaned
towards me, leaving my question hanging in the air. Don't
you worry about it, sweetheart, Don't worry your pretty head.
(04:45):
As long as you remember the rules, you'll be fine.
What rules? Well, when you're in the shower, you try
not to close your eyes for too long. Five seconds
is fine, and ten is just about o K two.
But any longer than that, yea, then what well? Any
(05:05):
longer than that and you may just start to feel
something in the room with you, something watching. And if
you ever go longer than fifteen seconds, that's when you
might start to hear a noise too. Hear what the
soft tap tap tap of fingers on glass, fingers drumming
against the glass door of the shower. If you do
(05:26):
ever hear that noise, God forbid, Will you make me
a promise? What Grandma? Promise me? You'll never open your eyes.
I barely slept that night, hardly at all. I'd close
my eyes and try to relax, but every time I did,
I'd imagine a face pressed against my bedroom window staring
(05:46):
in at me. And when I did finally get to sleep,
I had nightmares, bad ones. I had them all weak
in fact, dreams about disembodied eyes watching me in the dark,
and long fingers reaching out to touch my exposed skin.
It wasn't any better when I was awake either, not really.
(06:08):
The shower was the worst That's when Grandma's story really
got to me. I'd never thought about it before, but
suddenly I had trouble shutting my eyes. In there, I'd
be standing beneath the beating water, shampoo running down my face,
and as soon as I squinted my eyelids closed, I'd
hear Grandma's words running through my head. Five seconds is fine,
(06:30):
and ten is just about ok. Two, but any longer
than that. I'd rub my hair fast, feeling the shampoo
dripping off my chin, and as soon as I'd counted
past five seconds, I'd feel it a sort of pressure,
not a feeling of being watched exactly, but something close
to that. I'd run my fingers faster and faster through
(06:52):
my hair, frantically trying to get the SuDS out, and
the ready blackness behind my closed eyes, coupled with the
rush of water in my ears, would like a held breath,
like the silence before a scream. The seconds would race
through my mind, and I'd be so desperate to open
my eyes again that I'd sometimes do it before my
hair was rinsed fully clean, and my eyes would sting
(07:13):
with shampoo, But before I shut them again, I'd always
be sure to peer out through the steamed glass door
of the shower cubicle, just to make sure I was
still alone. It wasn't long before Mum realized something was up.
She heard me crying out in my sleep one night
and came in to comfort me. Asked me what the
matter was, and it all came out. I told her
(07:36):
about Grandma's stories and about mister long Fingers. She got
this look on her face when I was telling her,
like she used to get with me when I'd made
her really mad, this wide eyed, angry look. Only this
time she wasn't angry with me. She was angry with Grandma.
My parents room was next to mine, and sometimes if
(07:57):
I pressed my ear against the wall, I could hear
them talking in there, soft whispers. That night, though, after
Mum was satisfied I wasn't scared any more and she'd
gone back to her room, the whispers weren't soft at all.
Oh No, I heard Mum hissing to Dad about Grandma,
about the story she told me. Mum's voice floated through
(08:20):
the wall, sharp and crisp. You know what your fucking
mother said to him, now, don't you, Simon. Dad's response
was an unintelligible mutter. She's told him there's a monster
that'll get him if he shuts his eyes in the shower.
A monster. The poor kid's been having nightmares about it
all week. Seriously, Simon, you'd better say something to her
(08:43):
tomorrow morning, first thing, or I will. Grandma came to
visit me in my room the following night. That time,
as she perched on the end of my bed, there
were no stories, nothing like that. Grandma just sat there
and stared down at me, her blue eyes wide and sad.
The light from the moon outside my window lit up
(09:06):
her wrinkled face. You know I'd never let anything bad
happen to you, don't you, she said, After a moment.
I nodded my head. I know, Grandma. You know I
wouldn't let you come to any harm. I nodded again. Okay, good,
that's good. She looked away from me for a moment
(09:27):
out the window. You know, the things I tell you
in the evening are meant to help you, sweetheart. They're
meant to toughen you up a bit, protect you. She
paused and shook her head. But maybe your mum's right,
Maybe I went too far this time. She looked down
at me and smiled. But even then, even though I
(09:50):
was only ten years old, I could tell it didn't
quite reach her eyes. I'll tell you what Grandma said.
You know what I told you about mister long finger
and the shower. Well, I'm going to make sure you're safe.
I'll scare the bastard off. How about that it won't
come back in a hurry if it has to face me.
(10:11):
I stared up at Grandma, watching her face glow in
the moonlight, watching her smile down at me. I nodded
my head. Once I was the one who found her.
I don't know when exactly it happened, but i'd guess
it was about a week after we had that talk
in my room, a week after she told me she
wouldn't let me come to any harm. I woke early
(10:34):
that morning from a bad dream to a heavy thumping sound.
I sat bolt upright in bed. My room was quiet
around me, and I couldn't hear anything from the wall
that joined my parents room either, But the house wasn't
entirely silent. Floating down the hall muffled by my closed door,
I could hear the sound of rushing water, the noise
(10:56):
of the shower. I leapt out of bed and ran
down the upstairs, heart already pounding in my chest. As
soon as I reached the closed bathroom door, I started
banging on it. A deep terror was welling up inside me,
like cold water from a well, something I couldn't place,
and I kept banging and shouting Grandma over and over again,
(11:17):
even though she didn't respond. Off to my right, I
was dimly aware of voices from my parents room, the
sleepy shuffle of footsteps, But before they had a chance
to make it out on to the landing, I'd lifted
my hand to test out the door handle, more out
of instinct than because I thought it might actually open.
But the door wasn't locked. I kept banging with my
(11:37):
free hand, and it swung suddenly inwards, bringing me face
to face with a wall of steam. Heat struck my skin.
I squinted my eyes against the damp fog and peered
into the bathroom, and before Dad pushed me to one side,
before everything around me descended into shouting and tears and chaos,
I saw her. I saw Grandma. She was lining naked
(12:01):
on the floor in the shower cubicle, the water beating
down around her. Blue eyes bulging from her face. One
hand was curled against her chest like a dead bird,
while the other trailed against the glass of the shower cubicle.
The flailing finger marks she'd carved through the steam still
clear and fresh. It was a heart attack that killed her,
(12:22):
That's what my dad told me. He said. Grandma was old,
and the thing had struck her quickly and suddenly. She
would have died fast and without pain. Dad said, she
wouldn't have suffered. I knew better, though, even as a
ten year old kid, I knew better, and years later,
writing this as an adult, I still know better. I
(12:45):
also know my wife and kids resent me for refusing
to have a shower in the house, for insisting every
one take baths. They pretend it's OK, and they humor me,
but I can tell they don't really understand it, not
at all. My wife thinks she does. She thinks I
still carry the trauma of seeing my grandmother dying in
(13:06):
front of me when I was little. I guess she's
right in a way, but she doesn't know the full truth.
Nobody does, and no one would believe me even if
I told them. No one would believe me if I
said the reason I don't take showers, the reason I
haven't had one since I was ten years old, isn't
because I'm scarred from the sight of a dead body.
(13:27):
It's because all those years ago, when I crept back
into the still hot bathroom after the paramedics had taken
Grandma's body downstairs, I made sure to check the marks
her fingers had carved through the steamed glass of the
shower cubicle. And those marks weren't just on the inside
the end
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