I was crying when Mummy came to tuck me in for the night.
“Come on, Jamie, my love, dry those tears away. And please let’s not have any more of that silly nonsense about monsters in your wardrobe again tonight,” she whispered, stroking my cheek. “You know how cross Bill gets about it.”
Bill! My stepfather. A horrid man, always shouting at me for one thing or another. How I wish he and Mummy had never met. It was only since he had come to live with us that the scary noises had begun.
“But they are real, Mummy, I swear to you. I hear them.”
She sighed and stood up, padded over to the wardrobe and opened the door, revealing a small closet packed with my clothes on hangers which she shuffled from side to side.
“See, sweetheart, only your clothes in here. There’s nothing at all to be frightened of now, is there?”
I swallowed as hard as I could and managed a tiny little shake of my head. Bill stood watching at the door. He narrowed his eyes, giving me one of his mean, sideways looks and told me that if I disturbed them again that night, I would have to stay inside my room the whole of the following day. Mummy was watching me so she didn’t see the expression in his eyes. He never does it when she’s looking. She smiled, kissed me again and walked over to him.
“Look, we’ll leave your nightlight on for you, my darling,” she said. “Goodnight now.”
***
It was my shivering that woke me. It was exactly three o’clock. I am sure of that because I heard our grandfather clock in the hall downstairs chime three times. I was ice-cold. My duvet had tumbled to the floor and my fingers and toes felt numb. Outside, it was ever so windy and raindrops were hammering against the window pane. I liked to keep my curtains open so I could see the man in the moon when he smiled at me. That night though, I couldn’t see him at all; the clouds were hiding him from me. I reached down for my duvet and wrapped it around me, blowing on my fingers to warm them up.
That’s when I heard it: the rattling of someone fiddling with the wardrobe doorknob! I longed to shout for Mummy, but I knew Bill would be angry if I disturbed them. Instead, I slowly pulled the pillow over my head and tried my best not to listen… but it was no use. Then came a familiar sound—my wardrobe door always creaked when you opened it slowly. I could tell that it was edging open… little by little! You couldn’t mistake those short, staccato creaks as the door jerked. It had to be the monster! And tonight it was coming out to get me. Normally, it stayed inside the wardrobe. My heart began hammering in my ears so loudly I remember being terrified that it would hear. Curling myself into a ball as tightly as I possibly could, I squeezed my eyes shut and bit down on my lip to stop myself from crying out loud. I remember tasting the blood as it trickled into my mouth but I still didn’t dare move an inch.
Eventually, the door stopped moving and I heard a shuffling of something brushing against wood. Peeping through my fingers, I was just about able to make out a human shape in the dim glow of my nightlight. A smallish figure was standing at the bottom of my bed, staring at me. I could hardly believe it… the monster was no bigger than me! But the thing was, it was pure evil, I just knew. I think that was when I wet the bed in terror, I couldn’t help myself. But I couldn’t let it know! I remember the sensation of warm liquid spreading down my legs and hoping that if I simply refused to budge, the horrid monster might not find out. Maybe if I recited the Lord’s Prayer to myself it would go away and leave me alone. It stayed there, watching me for ages, whilst I prayed with all my heart for it not to hurt me.
Eventually, it hissed, “It’s time!” Then, it stomped over to my door, cracked it open and slipped out onto the landing. When I heard it knocking on my parents’ bedroom door, I almost had heart failure. My stepfather would be furious! It hammered on the door again and then I heard Bill groan and ask in his cross voice what the hell I thought I was up to. Suddenly, their bedroom door crashed open and slammed against the wall.
What I heard in the next few seconds were the worst sounds I had ever heard in my entire life. First, there was a scuffling and I heard Bill swear out loud. After that, there were lots of heavy crashes, followed by a kind of gurgling and a piercing shriek that sounded like Mummy’s voice. Afterwards, I heard her screaming, screaming and screaming. There were more bangs, then a few resounding thuds and weird moaning noises. And still the screaming didn’t stop.
What could I do? I wanted to run and help Mummy but how could I? Paralysed by fear, I jammed my fingers hard into my ears to block out her screams. After what seemed like ages, there was silence. Utter silence! Not a sound! I tell you, that deafening silence was ten times worse than the screaming.
I then watched, horrified and open-mouthed, as the monster crept stealthily past my bed without so much as a single glance in my direction, wrenched the wardrobe door open and stepped inside. It wasn’t until it had pulled the door firmly shut with a click that I felt able to move. My pyjama bottoms were still soaking wet and now they felt yucky and cold, but I didn’t even care. I jumped up and shot out of my room to see what the monster had done. It had hurt Mummy, I was certain. I had to help her.
I spotted Bill first. He lay sprawled face-down in the entrance to their bedroom. I didn’t care two hoots about Bill, but where was Mummy? I needed to find Mummy! I leaped over the motionless form that had been my stepfather and slipped to my knees in a dark-red, sticky puddle of gooey stuff slowly expanding across the parquet from underneath his head. It was gross! I wiped my hands clean on my pyjamas as I struggled to my feet and gazed around. The room looked like a scene from one of those scary murder movies Bill liked to watch on the TV.
There she was! My dear mother was slumped sideways, half in, half out of the bed. Her frilly white nightdress was crimson. Her beautiful hazel eyes were wide open, still full of shock, her mouth gaping in a now silent scream. A huge kitchen knife protruded from her throat. I recognised it. It was the sharp, shiny one from the back of the kitchen drawer; the one Bill always used to carve the lamb on Sundays.
As gently as I could, I gripped the smooth brown handle of the knife and tried to lever it out of her poor, lifeless body, but it was ever so difficult to do. When it finally came free, there was an awful slurping noise and more blood trickled down her neck. I fell backwards and let the knife drop to the floor. The coppery smell of all that blood was suddenly overpowering. I think that must have been when I began to scream. I was still screaming when the police broke down the door, having been alerted by Mr Wilson, our next-door neighbour.
I very quickly learned that, just like Mummy and Bill, they didn’t believe there was anything or anybody in the wardrobe. Even to this day, nobody believes a word of what I say!
***
It has become unbearably hot in this room. I start to feel skittish and wipe my sweaty palms up and down my jumpsuit legs to prevent my knees from jiggling up and down. It is made of scratchy, nylon material. Horrid orange colour, too. My jaw clenches tight.
“Why doesn’t anybody believe me, Doctor?” I whisper through gritted teeth. “That’s all I can remember. I swear to God I have not invented anything. It is honestly what happened on the night my mother and… that man were killed.”
My hands ball themselves into fists. I have learned this is not considered good behaviour, however, so I force myself to uncurl them, finger by finger and carefully place both my rigid hands, palm down and fingers outstretched, on my lap. Tears are flowing, dripping from my chin to my chest. I let them fall. But they begin to cause the cloth to become clammy and it sticks to my chest. Feels like blood! God, I can’t stand it! My left eye twitches and I begin to rock back and forth. My throat is dry. I feel myself slipping…
Doctor Simpson is staring at me. “All right, James, I think that is more than enough for today.” he says, removing his spectacles and placing them with his pen and pad on the small table at his side “You’ve done well. This is fine progress, we have made this afternoon. I believe our sessions are finally getting somewhere.”
He then smiles and reaches for my hand. I’m sweating, shaking, still sobbing.
“I’m proud of you, James. This is the first time in the eleven years you’ve been in here with us that you have actually mentioned these sentiments of ambivalence towards your stepfather. It is excellent that you are beginning to admit and evacuate any feelings of pent-up hatred you have been suppressing all this time.”
He hands me a small plastic cup and presses a button on his pager.
“Here you go now, take your meds. Look, the nurse is here to escort you back to your ward. I’ll see you for our next session, same time next week.”
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54 comments
Now that's a story! You hooked me right away and I had to find out what would happen next. Your description of the evil being carried a lot of weight as I was trying to figure out where the story was going. But when he went into their room to see what had happened, I thought, "Oh no! He's leaving incriminating evidence all over the place and he's going to get the blame. The clincher on that was when he pulled the knife out. Sure enough! One thing that threw me for a loop was that the child's name was Jamie. I though and visualize a girl unti...
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Thank you so much for this thoughtful and detailed feedback, Steven 🙏 It’s always really helpful to know which bits work (or don’t work) for the reader and you’ve obviously given this plenty of thought. So Interesting that you presumed that I was talking about a girl at the start. That thought had actually never entered my head, (I’d only altered it so it would appear more adult-like 🤣), but I think it works even getter as you saw it. I’m pleased you enjoyed the tale - makes everything worthwhile, tks once again
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What a powerful short story. Great psychological insight.
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Thanks so much, Yvonne
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This was really exceptional. Great gothic horror style and you definitely captured that true sense of childhood fear, that adolescent stage when you just don't really know what exists and does not exist in this world just yet. The monster in the closet can be very real at that age. (I put a few .38 slugs in the bedroom wall when I was a kid. I was a little off balance. They didn't have Prozac back then.) Super cool and super dark with a great ending. Very nicely done. (Chef's kiss!)
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Many thanks for your lovely comment. & tks as well for the bisou (Seeing as I know you like French words😉)
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My French is basically f#cking limited to the NYC variety. Mais merci. J'espère que tu vas bien! I'm way better with German. I had three grandparents who spoke it almost exclusively when I was growing up and they basically raised me. (Mom was always at work, God bless her workaholic soul.) The 4th grandparent was Russian. He's the one who taught me how to curse and fight and drink vodka and threaten people with a knife. He was awesome. My primary role model.
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Wow, a real multi-lingual background! Your Dad certainly sounds a colourful soul
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Grandfather. Never met my dad. (F#ck him. I'm not even gonna capitalize the D in dad.) I had a crazy but fun childhood though. No complaints. My mom and my Opa and Omas and my Grandpa Anastasia were all great. They took good care of me and tried to keep me out of trouble. ("Tried" is doing all of the heavy lifting in that sentence.)
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Hi, Good story. Here's my thoughts: 1. I thought your introduction scene was excellent. You quickly established the mystery at the centre of this story and gave us a couple of leads for what it could be. 2. I like the twist at the mid-point and the move to the Doctor's office, and in particular the ambiguity left at the end of the story. 3. If I were to look for improvements in this story, I would try to tighten up some of the sentences, make them more declarative, precise and compressed. For example: Eventually, the door stopped movin...
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Thanks a million for your feedback and suggestion to tighten up my writing - I fully agree, I sometimes tend to woffle too much. Less is more, you’re quite right 😉
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Oh the scary part of the story is exciting to read, but the psychological part at the end... ooh! The monster has been defeated, but in the process have you yourself become a monster?
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Many thanks for your feedback, Dalia, glad it hit a note with you
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Great story! I like how you've written it in the child's voice but that it's not overly childish, so it engages you straight away. The story works well on so many different levels depending on the readers beliefs and experiences. A great read that had me captured from the start!
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Thanks “Chuck” for your lovely feedback 😁 So glad you appreciated the multiple levels
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Amazing story, Shirley. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it appears the monster from the wardrobe was James inner deamon? The thoughts and emotions he suppressed that eventually spiraled. Regardless, a very engaging tale! Phenomenal writing, and I love the twist at the end.
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Thanks ever so much for your kind review. I think you could be on the right track about the inner demon… but then again, who knows for sure???🤷♀️
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Pretty much agree with Steven's comments. Jamie could have been girl or boy, but does it matter, this was a child - obviously disturbed for whatever reason. I'm thinking schizophrenic as I tend towards the real and logical and also because the monster was small, like another self. Good piece.
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Thanks ever so much for this, Carol 🙏 Amazing to believe that you’re the very first person here to have suggested schizophrenia…..!
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WOW ! This is powerful. So well done. Honestly, the beginning brought back a memory from when I was very young, hearing voices in the closet, but of course my story was only in my imagination. I loved that your ending was not predictable, and left your readers wanting more of everything; more detail, more history, more progress. Thank you for sharing this with us.
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Many thanks for your kind and positive feedback. Pleased you enjoyed reading - (makes it all worthwhile 😊)
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Your descriptions of the child's fears were excellent. I was not anticipating the ending! This is my favorite kind of spooky story. Wonderful job!
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Oh Wow! Thank you so much for your kind compliment. I really appreciate it
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Using duvets and pillows as armor against monsters and evil... amazing how those images are so universal and so easily drug back up, even if childhood is long in the past for some of us (speaking for myself). I really liked the two part story, with the 2nd part giving just the right amount of update to make you wonder what the truth of it all is. Plus, the story just makes you think about what might be in the dark, in the closet, under the bed, or wherever
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Thanks a million for your feedback. My childhood is also in the distant past - but as you say, memories from that long-gone era stick in your head far more vividly than those from just last week somehow, don’t they? 🤣
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Amazing how the first part truly reads like a young child, reminded me of myself hiding under the duvet because everything in the dark looked like an intruder. I like that we don't know if the twist .. twisted or not, it's so.much better (and scarier!) leaving it up to interpretation!
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Many thanks for your positive comment. Am pleased the childhood part hit the spot with you
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What a terrifying story! Whether the monster was real or in the boy’s head ultimately made no difference to the outcome. It was chillingly real. Well done.
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Many thanks for your positive comment, Helen. I hope it was an enjoyable read…
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It was. Most important, it made me want to keep reading.
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This is an incredible story about how childhood experiences can turn into something terrifying. The ending ties everything together perfectly. I really enjoyed it)
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Many thanks for your insightful feedback, Stasia. Much appreciated and glad you enjoyed it.
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I believe there really was a monster who did all this unless the boy is truly out of his mind. But he seems lucid enough to tell the story. It's a comfort that he is locked away for his own good . . . incase . . .
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Good point Kaitlyn Thanks so much for reading and commenting
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It seems we have a case of evil begets evil here. The first act of violence against the stepdad has justification, but the second against the mother is so tragic! I like the scene of the boy praying for the evil to leave, before apparently giving into it, compared with the closing vignette, where he seems to be re-engaged with the struggle against whatever was suppressed in the wardrobe---and we are left to guess if the evil is ultimately banished, or if it is set free again. I read the ending as a hint at hopefulness!
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Hmmm yes, although is it a struggle against what’s in the wardrobe or what’s in somebody’s head? I like that you see the end as hopeful??? Many thanks for your thoughts 🤔 Methinks you must be an optimist… 😁
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Oh no! I thought there was a hint at progress, but maybe it is just the wardrobe/head rattling again...
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🤣🤷♀️
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You had me early on in the story and I couldn't stop reading Very well done.
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Oooh thanks a million 🙏 - I take your comment as a massive compliment 🥰
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My inner child is gonna have a hard time forgetting this one. Love it! Happy Halloween, Shirley.
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A very happy Halloween to you too, Sarah. I do appreciate your feedback. Thank you very much indeed.
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Wonderfully storytelling and a chilling tale! A great read 📚
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Thank you for your feedback, Kate. I'm glad you enjoyed it
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Wow, Shirley! Your story is absolutely chilling and brilliantly written. The suspense and vivid imagery kept me on the edge of my seat from start to finish. Fantastic work!
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Thank you so much for such positive feedback Jim - very much appreciated 🙏 I’m pleased you enjoyed reading
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