It Was In The Closet

While his parents busied themselves with unloading boxes from the U-Haul, Billy ran from room to room on the first floor of their spacious, new Victorian style home. His favorite blanket was draped around his shoulders and tied at his neck to act as his cape. In Billy’s hand was his favorite toy figurine. His bare feet made thuds in succession against the hardwood floors as he flew his action figure in the air. 

He stopped alongside the towering staircase that curved upward to the second floor. The banister was an old, chipped collection of wooden balusters beneath a thick, twisted handrail of matching material. Billy dropped his action figure and cupped a banister stick in each hand. As he attempted to climb the side of the staircase, his hands slid down and a splinter punctured the palm of his hand. 

“Ouch!” he yelled. 

He sat on his bottom and picked at his hand. He heard the sound of a purring cat. Billy’s head went up. At a perfect balance sat a black cat on top of the handrail. A shine radiated from its dark fur. It had long, thin whiskers and its yellow eyes intensely scrutinized Billy. 

“Kitty.” Billy smiled with delight and stretched his arms open, beckoning the cat. 

The cat meowed and ran upward on the railing. It leapt and landed on the wide mid-level landing step. It poked out its salmon-colored tongue and licked its fur.

Billy got up and started climbing the stairs to get to the cat. The steps were huge planks for his small legs to conquer. He took one step at a time, careful not to fall. He was only three steps away from the cat that had been staring down at him. 

“I’m coming, kitty.” Billy took another step and the cat took off running to the second floor. As it moved, its legs barely hit the stairs. Billy followed the charcoal-colored feline. He picked up his pace up the steps and made it to the top. 

The sun shined bright through a window at the end of a long hallway. Billy looked around at the peeling wallpaper along the massive walls, the old, wooden flooring, and the collection of closed doors that led to rooms he had never been in. The cat was nowhere in sight.

Billy’s attention went to the click of a doorknob. One of the doors opened halfway. 

“Kitty, are you in there?” 

He wandered to the door. The smell of mildew escaped the room. Billy pushed the door and it opened completely with a creaky sound as if the hinges were in need of oil. He pulled at his blanket to cover his arms from the draft that escaped the only window on the other side of the room. The glass was missing and it was boarded by two pieces of wood. There were cracks where rays of sunlight seeped through. The room was mostly dark except for the areas hit by the bits of sun ray. 

Billy stepped further into the room. The door shut behind him. He jumped. 

“Meow.”

Billy heard the cat. “Kitty. Where are you?” 

He eased toward the cat’s meow. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet. He bumped into something solid and dusty. It was a vanity left by the previous owner of the house. The reflection in the vanity mirror was the cat perched on top of a bed. 

“Kitty, I found you.” 

As Billy took a couple of steps toward the bed, the cat vanished into thin air. Billy’s eyes blinked as he stood dumbfounded. The door to the closet slowly screeched open. Billy turned his head in the direction of the sound. The closet was coated in darkness except for a morsel of light that came through from the window. 

Rapid scratching at the floor started from within the closet. It sounded like something with sharp talons was trying to desperately claw its way out. The sound got louder. Goosebumps covered Billy’s arms. His eyes were wide and he was too afraid to move. 

The scratching stopped and was replaced with cat whining. With his heart in his throat, Billy crept toward the closet. When he entered, he covered his nose as the mildew odor became more pungent. The cat whining turned into yowling. The cat’s yellow eyes appeared out of nowhere. They were like two egg yolks floating in a sea of darkness. 

Billy reached out his hand to the eyes. The yowling noise became a deep growl, and then a snarl. Before Billy’s finger could touch either of the eyes, they disappeared. A pale, giant hand with sharp, pointy nails grabbed his arm. Billy let out the loudest, most agonizing scream.

His parents had just brought in the last of the boxes when they heard their son scream. They ran to the stairs and saw his figurine that still laid where Billy had left it. They hustled up the steps. There was another scream followed by a thunderous roar. Billy’s parents arrived at the door that Billy had entered earlier. His mother twisted and yanked the doorknob, but the door would not open. 

“Move out of the way!” yelled Billy’s father to his wife. She quickly stepped aside. He kicked the door several times before it finally busted open. 

Billy’s mother rushed into the room first. Out of breath and with their hearts racing, she and her husband searched the entire room and under the bed for their son. They could not find him. The two of them glanced at each other, then at the closet door, and back at each other. 

Billy’s father grabbed the doorknob and turned it. The door squeaked open. The odor caused them to cover their noses. 

“It smells like something died in here,” said Billy’s mother.

His father reached overhead and yanked the pull chain. The light came on and illuminated the tiny space. They saw that the closet was empty except for Billy’s blanket lying on the floor.   

End