Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Tale of Mr Long Fingers Why I Haven’t Taken a Shower Since I Was Ten Years Old #13

Episode Date: August 20, 2025

#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

There's so much rugby on Sports Extra from Sky. They've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter Sports Extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place.

Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months for the terms apply. You didn't deserve what happened.

And it doesn't have to define you. You don't have to carry it alone. I know a safe place where you can tell your story, and you'll be believed. Call the Dublin Rape Crisis Center National Helpline on 1-800-77-888-8. Whenever you're ready to talk, they'll be ready to listen. 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 Mom, my parents took her in. There were no protests from me. None at all. Grandma was loud and fun, and I'd have.

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 stories I loved best. Grandma had all kinds of stories. Stories about growing up during World War II, 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 scary stories.

She told me she dabbled in the occult when she was a teenager, trying out Ouija 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 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 blue eyes could stare straight into mine. She must have given me nightmares with a few of those tales, but now, years later, there's only one that I can still remember. Only one that stuck with me. The story about the shower and Mr. Longfingers.

Grandma told me about Mr. Longfingers one night after I asked about her baths. 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 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 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 pickup ever so slightly in 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 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 Mr. Longfingers. A cold itch tickled back.

Who's Mr. Long Fingers, Grandma? She let out a deep breath, as if she 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. No one can say for sure, because the only ones who have actually seen Mr. Longfingers 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. 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 okay, too. But any longer than that? Yeah. Then what? Well, any 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 15 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 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 in at me. And when I did finally get to sleep, I had nightmares. Bad ones. I had them all weak, in fact. Dreams of 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. 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 word. running through my head. Five seconds is fine, and ten is just about okay, too. But any longer than that. I'd rub my hair fast, feeling the shampoo dripping off my chin, and as soon as I'd count it 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 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 feel 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 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. Ask me what the matter was, and it all came out. I told her about Grandma's stories, and about Mr. Longfingers. 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 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 anymore 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 the wall, sharpened. crisp. You know what your fucking mother's 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 kids been having nightmares about it all week. Seriously, Simon, you'd better say something to her 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 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, 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 mom's right. Maybe I went too far this time. She looked down at me and smiled. But even then, even though I 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 Mr. Longfingers, 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. I stared up at Grandma, watching her face glow in the moonlight. Watching her smiled 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 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 of the shower. I leapt out of bed and ran down the upstairs hallway, 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, 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 onto 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 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 lying naked 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. 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 10-year-old kid, I knew better.

And years later, writing this as an adult, I still know better. I also know my wife and kids resent me for refusing to have a shower in the house, for insisting everyone take baths. They pretend it's okay, 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 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. 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.