The edge of Futaba’s towel catches on something

(chapter originally by doragom333 on writing.com)

In Futaba’s haste to collect the coinage critical to her cause, her towel that was once “super-duper secure” was no longer. With all the ducking and dashing she had been doing, the improvised garment had started to slacken ever so slightly, subtly enough to avoid Futaba’s notice.

So when Futaba threw caution to the wind to get back to the laundromat before anyone could see her, she did not notice that the towel billowed out a little bit at the bottom near her legs as she ran. Nor did she notice that bit of fabric catching on the gears of a parked bike that she ran a little too close to making the turn back to the bathhouse. The determined girl didn’t feel the pull on her towel, her keen mind focused exclusively on her end goal.

Just a minute later, Futaba had made it back to the laundromat once again, which fortunately was still unoccupied. Panting, she scooped up all of her gathered coins and put the payment into the machine, which started up with a satisfying whirring noise.

Now, all she had to do was wait, and use the rest of the money on the dryer after the wash cycle was complete.

“Ah...! Mission complete!” Futaba sighed heavily, sitting herself down on the lone stool in the corner to celebrate her success.

But, as soon as her butt touched the stool, Futaba realized something was terribly wrong. The feeling of the seat on her seat was too direct, too cold. The sudden sense of dread this contact had given her was confirmed true as she looked down at herself and realized with a garbled, horrified gasp that-