NOISES FROM THE WARDROBE

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.”