Midnight Musings: A Collection of Short Stories

Creature in the Closet

I lie in bed, tossing and turning. The moonlight filters through my curtains softly, making the floor glow with luminescence. I can't fall asleep. My head turns to my clock, checking the time for about the thousandth time. 3:04 AM.

With a sigh, I stare up at my ceiling, just barely visible in the weak light. It's then that I hear the scratching.

Scratch. Scratch. Scraaaaaatch.

I can tell that it's coming from my closet. Is it perhaps a mouse? This is a new house after all, who knows how long it's sat untouched. The scratching continues and I sit up in bed, staring at my closet.

BANG!

I jump in my bed with a yelp, startled. Mice don't bang on closet doors. I duck under my blankets, chanting protective charms in my head. As if that would help me. You can't hurt me, I think. This is my house now.

The door begins to slide open. Something steps out. I hear it's long claw-like fingers drag across the door: a screeching sound that makes all my hair stand up on end. I can hear shuffling sounds as it opens the drawers just under my closet, then both cabinets on top.

I shut my eyes tight.

I hear the thing as it slowly walks over to my dresser, pulling open it's drawers with haste. It rummages around for something, yet doesn't seem to find it. I can hear it's raspy breath.

I cover my ears.

I feel it as the creature moves beside me. It's just in front of my night table now; just beside my bed. I hear nothing, I see nothing. But as it leans close to my face, I feel it's cold breath on my neck. Even through my covered ears, I hear its whisper: "Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it to me and I'll let you live."

It is at that point that I can no longer stay in reality. The world fades around me with those raspy words, like an old man with asthma. When I awaken in my bed the next morning, with the sunlight shining on my face, I almost scream.

Because every single one of my drawers are wide open, their contents spilled onto my new, clean floor. And the three long scratch marks that still decorate my closet doors to this day remind me that we are never alone in this world.