It Lurks in the Shadows

Conner's eyes itched and burned, but he refused to blink. Nothing could make him. He stared at his closet door with wide-eyed anticipation. The white door, old with chipped paint, was left open, and he peered into the darkness knowing something was in there. Cold sweat ran down his forehead, fear exposed by the treacherous water carving its way down his cheek. Deep down in his bones, he knew something was in his room, but hope told him he was wrong. It's not real, Mom said so. I'm just imagining things.

But as a soft groan hummed within the darkness of his closet, Connor wasn’t so sure his mother was right. Strange noises had been echoing from his closet every night for the last two weeks. Some nights there was loud banging. Other nights he could hear gnawing, but not just any gnawing. This was a wet, sloppy, hungry gnaw. Conner wondered if the noises were all in his head, too, as he heard a new sound creep toward him. Incessant scratching and clicking noises consumed his eardrums, creating a noise so loud not even his pillow could drown it out.

"Come out," he whispered, gripping his covers tighter and pulling them to his neck. His free hand searched his bed, dashing one way and then another. His eyes widened as he clutched nothing but air. C'mon, where is it?

His small, clammy hand wrapped around something soft and furry, and he held the toy to his chest with relief. It was Roger. Roger would keep him safe. Roger would never leave him. Roger always made the bad things go away. His mom had bought Roger when he first began having nightmares. A small plush bear with brown fur and large, jet-black eyes. She told him that if he was ever scared, he could squeeze it as much as he liked until the monsters went away.

Conner squeezed the bear until his knuckles turned white. It didn't help. He embraced the bear even more when he saw the darkness from his closet shift and move toward him, seeping from the closet like pus from a sore. It spread along his white carpet, then crawled across the sky-blue walls and plagued the popcorn ceiling looming over him.

"No!" Conner threw his only safety net into the closet, trying his best to hurt whatever was in there. There were no sounds of pain; instead, he heard faint laughter. A guttural, low chuckle seeped from the depths of his closet, floating to his ears like a demented lullaby. How many times had he fallen asleep to this tune of torture and torment? How often had he run to his mother, only to bring her into a room drowning in silence?

 His comforter served as his only form of protection now, and he tried to pull it high over his head and curl into a ball in his twin-sized bed. Before he could shield himself with the thick fabric of his cover, a wind rushed past his face, ruffling his hair, and caressing his blotchy cheeks. Conner shoved the covers over his head and made himself as small as possible. His chest heaved up and down and with trembling fingers, he created a tiny gap between the mattress and comforter, just big enough for one eye to poke through. The room blurred and shifted. There was something on the floor that he couldn't quite make out, but when he allowed himself to blink and the tears fell, the room slowly came into view. As it did, Conner drew in a quick breath and held it. Roger lay on the floor, his head almost entirely off its body.

"Roger!" The death of the bear was all the confirmation Connor needed. Something was in his room, and he had to get out of there. Mom, she'll know what to do. He started to stretch a leg from under the covers and froze.

"The interview," Connor sighed to himself. He pinched his eyes shut, and more tears fell. He needed his mom, but she needed him to leave her alone. It was her one request that tonight, of all nights, he let her sleep. She needed this job. They both did. Their savings were running dry, and Conner's dad refused to help. He never helped, and he hardly stopped by to visit, forgetting all about them when Tricia and the new baby came along.

His mom never involved him in adult matters, not intentionally. But Conner noticed the dark circles under her eyes. He was aware that he’d been coming home to a cold dinner in the fridge after school instead of to her. She was always working, always tired, always busy, and now she needed to sleep, which meant Conner couldn't wake her again with tales of monsters and things that go bump in the night. He had done that enough already.

A loud crack startled Conner, making him jerk his head out from underneath his covers. The room was dark, almost pitch black if not for the patch of moonlight peeking through his bedroom window. His nightlight had gone out. It had made it go out.

Light! All you have to do is get to the switch. Conner braced himself for what he was about to do. He knew two things. First, he had to leave the safety of his covers and run. Second, the thing in the closet would be after him as soon as he did.

Conner tossed the covers off and tried to sprint toward the light switch, but as soon as his heels hit the floor, something wrapped around his ankle. A long, spindly, bony hand squeezed his ankle, its sharp fingernails drawing fresh blood. It yanked hard, and Conner hit the floor with a loud thud. He felt his body being dragged underneath the bed into the darkness.

"Get off me! Mom!" He screamed loud enough for her to hear him, to save him. He would apologize later. He kicked and flailed his arms wildly, hoping to connect with anything solid. The sole of his foot collided with something soft and sticky, and his foot began to sink into a substance that felt like putty. He jerked his foot back toward him, and with it came the putrid, melting face of the thing that haunted his dreams: the monster. Its dark skin was like molasses, and as it crawled toward Conner, it left a slimy trail in its wake. Its teeth were sharp and elongated, stretching far over the place where its lips should be. Connor noticed his foot had landed right into one of its eye sockets, and he jammed his thumb into the other eye, a familiar emerald-green shade, and pressed until he felt a pop.

Connor scurried away and lunged for the door, afraid to look back. He sprinted down the hallway and collided painfully with his mom's closed door. Agony overtook his body, crawling up each limb like millions of tiny spiders. There was no time for pain, no time for panic. Conner had to get to his mom. She’d know what to do. She’d keep him safe.

He pulled her bedroom door open, stepped inside, and froze. His mom wasn't in her bed. Her stiff, cold body was on the floor, covered in a sticky, foul substance. Her eyes were gone, and her ears had been torn off. There was no longer a mother there to save him. The monster had gotten her first.