there's
something in the closet
In the flickering light, the chaos was hard not to
appreciate. The sheer ferocity of the damage around him was perfect in its
devastating beauty. Cracked mirrors cackled from within its myriad of horrifying
images. Amongst the roaring, tumbling sea of destruction, a man sat in the
relative safe harbor of a wooden chair. He cradled his shotgun, even as the
blood rolling down his wrist stained the trigger a drying red.
As he huddled over, his broad shoulders trembled and shook as
he whimpered and wept, but no sound escaped his lips and his eyes ran dry.
He wept, all the same.
I quietly knocked as I slipped open the door. My smile, replaced by a
frown as I saw her crying quietly into her pillow. I rushed to her side, stepping
over dolls with vacant smiles and stuffed animals with dead eyes. She sobbed
even as I put my arms around her and told her that I would never let anything
happen to her.
LIAR!
The fell stench filled the air again now. He jerked out of
his reverie as the air grew dank,as he felt the cold enter his bones again.
Her tiny frame trembled in my arms as her tears were soaked by my shirt. I
felt the fear only a parent could feel for a threatened child, as my heart
pounded in my chest, as I sought to find what would scare her like this, what
would steal her smile and sow disharmony in its place. No matter what I did, I couldn't bring
her back to me, I couldn't find my little girl, in the middle of
her own room, in the bed she slept. I wasn't a good father, I knew
that. I drank too much and too often. Sometimes I came home and brought my
own frustrations and anger to bear upon my family. Sometimes ,in the murky
waters of my mind, I drowned. Sometimes I swung before I could think. There had
been some bad nights. But for the life of me, I loved my family.
I picked a strand of hair off of her forehead, even as the sweat clung on to
it, and wiped eyes dry. I told her how much I loved her, how I would never let
anyone hurt her.
Finally she
lifted her arm and pointed a trembling finger.
There's something in the closet, she
said.
I laughed out loud as I felt the hold on my heart being lifted. Even the
irrational can be justified in the mind of a child, as long the spark of terror
existed. A spark that can stoke the fire. But even as my voice filled the air, there
was something lurking underneath it. An emptiness. I had almost laughed a
little too loud, almost as if I was trying to convince myself. I tossed her on
the bed in mock rage and strode to the door, determined to prove her wrong.
Each step got heavier, as I dragged my feet to the door. The smile on my
face seemed blank, etched on my some macabre artist. But I wore it still, like
I would a mask at a party. It wasn't mine,
it didn't belong to me. I wore it all the same. The icy
grip sneaked its way in, caressing ever so lightly, a lovers touch. As the tips
of my fingers touched the slightly cold handle, I paused for a moment. I
hesitated, as I saw how much my hands were trembling, how afraid I really was.
Was it really that crazy? Schrödinger's cat could be alive and dead at the same
time, but worse still, it might not be there at all. Was it really that insane
to let whatever fear she had, whatever she thought was hiding behind this door,
to let it fester inside by itself, undisturbed, rather than let it out and face
the consequences?
What was wrong with me?
I grabbed the handle and pulled it open with so much force, the door
almost came off the hinges. The flotsam of every childs closet awaited me, clothes,
toys,books and miscellaneous nothings. I pretended to ruffle around
through her belongings as common sense took over me and I called out to her.
See! Nothing in here except your own imagination!
The cold, high laugh of a child rung out around the room...
Mocking.
Terrifying.
I spun around to look at her, only to see no smile on her face. No smile
at all. Fear and horror, as she raised a finger again, at the door, at the
mirror on the inside of the door. I faced the mirror and the version of myself
staring back at me, smiling at me in the most unnatural fashion. I watched in
horror as the smile widened, and then kept on widening, till it spread from ear
to ear, like a caricature, like a fairytale animal, like no human at all. There
was not a trace of humanity in that smile.
The door slammed against me with blinding force, and as I was thrown off
my feet, her screams filled the air. And I watched as it rushed to her, grabbed
her, snapped her tiny neck.
As it ran from room to room, a rushing force, dragging behind and
destroying everything in its path, like a possessed gale. Hands
around my wife's neck and staring as the life ebbed out of her eyes. Stabbing
my teenage son till his blood soaked the walls and the floor and the very
foundations of our house.
I watched.
And I screamed.
A light tap, almost as if to not wake the occupants inside
the house. A gentle and courteous knock.
The man jumped to his feet, fear scarring his face. He
brought the barrel of the gun to bear on the door.
He opened his mouth to ask who was out there, but he already
knew.
The tapping had been replaced by dull thuds now. The window
panes began to rattle in earnest, joining in and forming a symphony of
destructive sounds. With each beat, the sound of the door being beaten down
grew louder and louder, as time drew to a close.
He slipped his shoes off, sat back in the chair and looked
around his home, at the blood of his family splattered all around and over him.
He cocked the gun and placed the butt on the ground. The banging grew louder, the
very earth around him shook now. Whatever little of the house and its contents
remained intact, prepared to break now. He placed the barrel in his mouth and
slipped his over the trigger. The cold, wet feel of blood on his bare foot sent
a shudder through him.
There was almost no fear, there was only the quiet between
each bang. A quite that lasted only a moment, and an infinity. Peace in the
chaos.
The door shattered in front of him, debris flying across the
room.
there's
something in the closet
The fear was back. As he watched the figure
lurking in the darkness beyond step into the flickering radiance of his
devastated home. As he watched himself smile.
The glory of a childs imagination. The fear of reality, of an
abusive father.
nothing in here except your own imagination
That's all it took.
